could I find of my speech. I was cold—hot—cold again. I clutched Mrs. Gilbert's hand. I whispered frantically: "What is it? Oh! what is the word?" But horror on horror, in my fall I had dragged her down with me. She, too, was bewildered—lost. "I don't know," she murmured. There we were, all at sea. After an awful wait I walked over and asked Captain Lynde (Louis James) to come on, and the scene continued from that point. I was angry—shamed. I had never stuck in all my life before, not even in my little girl days. Mr. Daly was, of course, in front. He came rushing back to inquire, to scold. Every one joked me about my probable five-dollar forfeit. Well, next night came, and at that exact line I did it again. Of course that was an expression of worn-out nerves; but it was humiliating in the extreme. Mr. Daly, it happened, was attending an opening elsewhere, and did not witness my second fall from grace. Then came Le Moyne to
me—big and grave and kind, his plump face with the shiny spots on the cheek-bones fairly exuding sympathetic commiseration. He led me aside, he lowered his voice, he addressed me gently:—
[Illustration: W.J. Le Moyne]
"You stuck again, didn't you, Clara? Too bad! too bad! and of course you apprehend trouble with Daly? I'm awfully sorry. Ten dollars is such a haul on one week's salary. But see here, I've got an idea that will help you out, if you care to listen to it."
I looked hard at him, but the wretch had a front of brass; his benevolence was touching. I said eagerly: "Yes, I do care indeed to listen. What is the idea?"
He beamed with affectionate interest, as he said impressively, "Well, now you know that a bad 'stick' generally costs five dollars in this theatre?"
"Yes," I groaned.
"And you stuck awfully last night?"
"Yes," I admitted.