Kipling poem. Barnes had heard it given a score of times at The
Players in New York, and knew it by heart. He was therefore able to
catch Mr. Rushcroft in the very reprehensible act of taking liberties
with the designs of the author. The "star," after a sharp and rather
startled look at the newcomer, deliberately "cut" four stanzas and
rushed somewhat hastily through the concluding verse, marring a
tremendous climax.

A genial smile wiped the tragic expression from his face. He advanced
upon Barnes and the beaming Mr. Dillingford, his hand extended.

"My dear fellow," he exclaimed resoundingly, "how are you?" Cordiality
boomed in his voice. "I heard you had arrived. Welcome,--thricefold
welcome!" He neglected to say that Mr. Montague Bacon, in passing a
few minutes before, had leaned over and whispered behind his hand:

"Fellow upstairs from New York, Mr. Rushcroft,--fellow named Barnes.
Quite a swell, believe me."

It was a well-placed tip, for Mr. Rushcroft had been telling the
natives for days that he knew everybody worth knowing in New York.

Barnes was momentarily taken aback. Then he rose to the spirit of the
occasion.

"Hello, Rushcroft," he greeted, as if meeting an old time and greatly
beloved friend. "This IS good. 'Pon my soul, you are like a thriving
date palm in the middle of an endless desert. How are you?"

They shook hands warmly. Mr. Dillingford slapped the newcomer on the