The play was a great success, and often the reading of the suicide's letter was punc
tuated by actual sobs from the audience, instead of those from the mother. Young club-men used to make a point of going to the "Saturday Funeral," as they called the "Alixe" matinee. They would gather afterward, opposite to the theatre, and make fun of the women's faces as they came forth with tear-streaked cheeks, red noses, and swollen eyes, and making frantic efforts to slip powder-puffs under their veils and repair damages. If glances could have killed, there would have been mourning in earnest in the houses of the club-men.
One evening, as the audience was nearly out and the lights were being extinguished in the auditorium, a young man came back and said to an usher:—
"There is a gentleman up there in the balcony; you'd better see to him, before the lights are all put out."
"A gentleman? what's he doing there, at this time, I'd like to know?" grumbled the usher as he climbed up the stairs.
But next moment he was calling for help, for there in a front seat, fallen forward, with his head on the balcony rail, sat an old man whose silvery white hair reflected the faint light that fell upon it. They carried him to the office; and after stimulants had been administered he recovered and apologized for the trouble he had caused. As he seemed weak and shaken, Mr. Daly thought one of the young men ought to see him safely home, but he said:—
"No, he was only in New York on business—he was at a hotel but a few steps away, and—and—" he hesitated. "You are thinking I had no right to go to a theatre alone," he added, "but I am not a sick man—only—only to-night I received an awful shock."
He paused. Mr. Daly noted the quiver of his firm old lips. He dismissed the usher; then he turned courteously to the old gentleman and said:—
"
As it was in my theatre you received that shock, will you explain it to me?"