Tavern. That, they declared, would be charity, and they preferred his
friendship and his respect to anything of that sort. Miss Thackeray,
however, was to be immediately relieved of her position as
chambermaid. She was to become a paying guest.

"I'll be glad to have my street togs, such as they are," said she,
rosily. "I dare say you are sick of seeing me in this rig, Mr. Barnes.
That's probably why you opened your heart and purse."

"Not at all," said he gaily. "As I presume I shall have to remain here
for some time, I deem it my right to improve the service as much as
possible. You are a very incompetent chambermaid, Miss Thackeray."

Rushcroft took the whole affair with the most noteworthy complacency.
He seemed to regard it as his due, or more properly speaking as if he
were doing Barnes a great favour in allowing him to lend money to a
person of his importance.

"A thought has just come to me, my dear fellow," he remarked, as they
arose from table. "With the proper kind of backing I could put over
one of the most stupendous things the theatre has known in fifty
years. I don't mind saying to you,--although it's rather sub rosa--
that I have written a play. A four act drama that will pack the
biggest house on Broadway to the roof for as many months as we'd care
to stay. Perhaps you will allow me to talk it over with you a little
later on. You will be interested, I'm sure. I actually shudder
sometimes when I think of the filthy greenbacks I'll have to carry
around on my person if the piece ever gets into New York. Yes, yes,
I'll be glad to talk it over with you. Egad, sir, I'll read the play
to you. I'll--What ho, landlord! When my luggage arrives this evening