"I am delighted to meet you, Mr. Barnes," said Mr. Bacon, extending
his hand. As he did so, his coat sleeve receded half way to the elbow,
revealing the full expanse of a frayed cuff. "So delighted, in fact,
that it gives me great pleasure to inform you that you have at last
encountered a waiter who does not expect a tip. God forbid that I
should ever sink so low as that. I have been a villain of the deepest
dye in a score or more of productions--many of them depending to a
large extent upon the character of the work I did in--"

"Actor stuff," inserted Mr. Dillingford, unfeelingly.

"--And I have been hissed a thousand times by gallery gods and kitchen
angels from one end of this broad land to the other, but never, sir,
never in all my career have I been obliged to play such a diabolical
part as I am playing here, and, dammit, sir, I am denied even the
tribute of a healthy hiss. This is--"

The bell downstairs rang violently. Mr. Bacon departed in great haste.

While the traveller performed his ablutions, Mr. Dillingford, for the
moment disengaged, sat upon the edge of the bed and enjoyed himself.
He talked.

"We were nine at the start," said he, pensively. "Gradually we were
reduced to seven, not including the manager. I doubled and so did Miss
Hughes,--a very charming actress, by the way, who will soon be heard
of on Broadway unless I miss my guess. The last week I was playing
Dick Cranford, light juvenile, and General Parsons, comedy old man. In
the second act Dick has to meet the general face to face and ask him
for his daughter's hand. Miss Hughes was Amy Parsons, and, as I say,