Nazimova or Maude Adams. That's going to be the rub, you see. Of
course, I shall not give in to them. It is Amy Colgate or no one." He
looked very rueful despite this firm and dauntless speech.

Mr. Bingle stared at the fire for a few minutes, his lips pursed in an
expression that spoke of calculation.

"I have been thinking, Dick," he said at last; "thinking very
seriously of taking a little flyer in the--er--theatrical business."
Immediately upon uttering this astonishing remark he became very red
in the face and shifted his gaze to the remote upper left-hand corner
of the room.

Figuratively speaking, Mr. Flanders fell upon his neck. Inside of
thirty minutes, Mr. Thomas Singleton Bingle was in a position to
regard himself as a producing manager and Miss Amy Colgate, one of
America's most promising young leading women, was on her way to become
a star, to say nothing of the ascendency of Richard Sheridan Flanders
as a playwright. The difficulties were all swept away. A Broadway
theatre was no longer a hope; it was a certainty. Mr. Bingle could buy
all the "time" he wanted in any house along the Great White Way. It
wouldn't be necessary to squabble over the relative drawing powers of
Ethel Barrymore or Maude Adams, nor was it anybody's business who Amy
Colgate was or where she came from--to use the words of the elated
dramatist--and it didn't make a bit of difference whether the second
week's "gross" was smaller than the first. Mr. Bingle was back of the
play and that settled everything.

"I have great faith in the play," admitted Mr. Flanders, with becoming
modesty.