salary gone and no railway fare to London. I wish to God I had never
taken it on. I could have gone with Garbutt in The White Woman--
he's straight enough--only this was a joint engagement. Oh, the
swine!"

He rose with a clatter, threw his cigarette on the floor and stamped
on it violently.

"He's a pretty bad wrong 'un," said Paul. "We hadn't been going a
fortnight before he asked me to accept half salary, swearing he
would make it up, with a rise, as soon as business got better. Like
an idiot, I consented."

His friend sat down again hopelessly. "I don't know what's going to
become of us. The missus has pawned everything she has got, poor old
girl! Oh, it's damned hard! We had been out six months."

"Poor old chap!" said Paul, sitting on the bed beside his
portmanteau. "How does Mrs. Wilmer take it?"

"She's knocked endways. You see," cried Wilmer desperately, "we've
had to send home everything we could scrape together to keep the
kids--there's five of them; and now--and now there's nothing
left. I'm wrong. There's that." He fished three or four coppers from
his pocket and held them out with a harsh laugh. "There's that after
twenty years' work in this profession."

"Poor old chap!" said Paul again. He liked Wilmer, a sober, earnest,
ineffectual man, and his haggard, kindly-natured wife. They had put
on a brave face all through the tour, letting no one suspect their