made a dollar and a half, box office. We nearly had to give it back."

"Bad weather?" suggested Barnes feelingly. He had removed his wet
coat, and stood waiting.

"Nope. Moving pictures. They'd sooner pay ten cents to see a movie
than to come in and see us free. The old man was so desperate he tried
to kill himself the morning we arrived at this joint."

"You mean the star? Poison, rope or pistol?"

"Whiskey. He tried to drink himself to death. Before old Jones got
onto him he had put down seven dollars' worth of booze, and now we've
got to help wipe out the account. But why complain? It's all in a
day's--"

The cracked bell on the office desk interrupted him, somewhat
peremptorially. Mr. Dillingford's face assumed an expression of
profound dignity. He lowered his voice as he gave vent to the
following:

"That man Jones is the meanest human being God ever let--Yes, sir,
coming, sir!" He started for the open door with surprising alacrity.

"Never mind the hot water," said Barnes, sorry for the little man.

"No use," said Mr. Dillingford dejectedly. "He charges ten cents for
hot water. You've got to have it whether you want it or not. Remember
that you are in the very last stages of New England. The worst
affliction known to the human race. So long. I'll be back in two