From the doorway into the lobby of the hotel there came a pretty
sound of girlish voices whispering and laughing excitedly, and,
glancing that way, the three men beheld a group of peering
nymphs who fled, delighted.

"Ladies stop to rubber at Mr. Potter," explained the remarkable
headwaiter over the star's shoulder. "Mr. Potter, it's time you
got marrit, anyhow. You git marrit, you don't git stared at so
much!" He paused not for a reply, but hastened away to
countermand the order of another customer.

"Married," said Potter musingly. "Well, there is such a thing as
remaining a bachelor too long--even for an actor."

"Widower, either," assented Mr. Tinker as from a gentle reverie.
"A man's never too old to get married."

His employer looked at him somewhat disapprovingly, but said
nothing; and presently the three rose, without vocal suggestion
from any of them, and strolled thoughtfully back to the
theatre, pausing a moment by the way, while Tinker bought a
white carnation for his buttonhole. There was a good deal, he
remarked absent-mindedly, in what Mr. Potter had said about
lightening up a rehearsal.

Probably there never was a more lightened-up rehearsal than that
afternoon's. Potter's amiability continued;--nay, it increased:
he was cordial; he was angelic; he was exalted and
unprecedented. A stranger would have thought Packer the person
in control; and the actors, losing their nervousness, were