of the land as star and leading support to stars, settling for his
supper by telling stories and reciting poetry in the tap-room of a
tavern?

"Still," he consented, when Barnes insisted that it would be a
kindness to him, "since you put it that way, I dare say I could do
with a little snack, as you so aptly put it. Just a bite or two. Like
you, my dear fellow, I loathe and detest eating alone. I covet
companionship, convivial com--what have you ready, Miss Tilly?"

Miss Tilly was a buxom female of forty or thereabouts, with
spectacles. She was one of a pair of sedentary waitresses who had been
so long in the employ of Mr. Jones that he hated the sight of them.
Close proximity to a real star affected her intensely. In fact, she
was dazzled. For something like twenty years she had nursed an
ambition that wavered between the desire to become an actress or an
authoress. At present she despised literature. More than once she had
confessed to Mr. Rushcroft that she hated like poison to write out the
bill-o'-fare, a duty devolving solely upon her, it appears, because of
a local tradition that she possessed literary talent. Every one said
that she wrote the best hand in the county.

Mr. Rushcroft's conception of a bite or two may have staggered Barnes
but it did not bewilder Miss Tilly. He had four eggs with his ham, and
other things in proportion. He talked a great deal, proving in that
way that it was a supper well worth speaking for. Among other things,
he dilated at great length upon his reasons for not being a member of
The Players or The Lambs in New York City. It seems that he had
promised his dear, devoted wife that he would never join a club of any
description. Dear old girl, he would as soon have cut off his right