"That depends on the price," stammered Mortimer, rising.
Lizzie had handed Mrs. Anderson a telegram, and stood waiting for instructions.
"Lizzie, show Mr. Mortimer the vacant rooms on the third and fourth floors front," directed Aunt Jane, tearing open the dispatch. "Oh, by the way, Mr. Mortimer, do you happen to have a photograph you can let me have?"
"My photograph?" repeated Mortimer, surprised and flattered. "I have some in my trunk."
"If you come with us I'll want to include yours in my collection of famous actors," explained Aunt Jane.
"But I'm not famous—" protested Mortimer.
"Never mind—you will be some day. You see all these photographs of celebrities"—she waved her hand—"all of these people are with me now, except Maude Adams, Ethel Barrymore and one or two others. Somewhere in this house I have a photograph of every actor or actress who ever stayed here. Fifteen years and more I've kept them. Many a famous star of to-day gave me a photograph years ago, when only an unknown lodger in my happy little home."
"I'll sure bring you one," cried the delighted Mortimer. As he started toward the hall, with Lizzie as his guide, Mrs. Anderson called after them:
"One moment, Lizzie," she cried, holding the telegram. "Mr. Lawrence is coming from Boston this evening and wants his old room. Be sure and have it ready."
"Yes, ma'am," responded the ubiquitous Lizzie.