much earnest endeavor should be thrown away.

* * * * *

Over the little lunch with which she kindly allowed Roland to entertain
her, to celebrate the purchase of the theater, Miss Verepoint outlined
her policy.

"What we must put up at that theater," she announced, "is a revue. A
revue," repeated Miss Verepoint, making, as she spoke, little
calculations on the back of the menu, "we could run for about fifteen
hundred a week--or, say, two thousand."

Saying two thousand, thought Roland to himself, is not quite the same
as paying two thousand, so why should she stint herself?

"I know two boys who could write us a topping revue," said Miss
Verepoint. "They'd spread themselves, too, if it was for me. They're in
love with me--both of them. We'd better get in touch with them at
once."

To Roland, there seemed to be something just the least bit sinister
about the sound of that word "touch," but he said nothing.

"Why, there they are--lunching over there!" cried Miss Verepoint,
pointing to a neighboring table. "Now, isn't that lucky?"

To Roland the luck was not quite so apparent, but he made no demur to
Miss Verepoint's suggestion that they should be brought over to their
table.