the sharply divided light and shadow of the wings as he saw
them. The brilliantly colored, fantastically clothed girls
leaning against the bare brick wall of the theatre, or
whispering together in circles, with their arms close about
one another, or reading apart and solitary, or working at some
piece of fancy-work as soberly as though they were in a
rocking-chair in their own flat, and not leaning against a
scene brace, with the glare of the stage and the applause of
the house just behind them. He liked to watch them coquetting
with the big fireman detailed from the precinct engine-house,
and clinging desperately to the curtain wire, or with one of
the chorus men on the stairs, or teasing the phlegmatic scene-
shifters as they tried to catch a minute's sleep on a pile of
canvas. He even forgave the prima donna's smiling at him from
the stage, as he stood watching her from the wings, and smiled
back at her with polite cynicism, as though he did not know
and she did not know that her smiles were not for him, but to
disturb some more interested one in the front row. And so, in
time, the company became so well accustomed to him that he
moved in and about as unnoticed as the stage-manager himself,
who prowled around hissing "hush" on principle, even though he
was the only person who could fairly be said to be making a
noise.

The second act was on, and Lester came off the stage and
ran to the dressing-room and beckoned violently. "Come here,"
he said; "you ought to see this; the children are doing their
turn. You want to hear them. They're great!"

Van Bibber put his cigar into a tumbler and stepped out