In clear defiance of the printed rules of the Fire Department young Mr. Hummer carefully lighted a cigarette and observed carelessly: "Can't see how any one loses unless it's Miss Farnum."
"Not lose?" repeated Weldon. "Why, man, haven't I rented the theater for six weeks on a guarantee, to say nothing of engaging the company and paying for the most expensive scenic production of the season? With a new Paris gown for every act? If Miss Farnum doesn't make good, where am I?"
"Exactly where you were three months ago," said Hummer.
"Nothing of the sort—" began Weldon, when Hummer, with a warning gesture, held his finger to his lips and nodded toward the dressing-room where Lizzie was preparing for the coming of her mistress.
"Cut it, Weldon," he whispered meaningly. "I know it's not your money, so what's the use?"
"Not my money? Don't I pay you your salary?"
"Certainly; but I know, and every one else in the company guesses, that you are only the figurehead."
"The idea!" sputtered Weldon, pompously. "Don't the bills read: 'Victor Weldon presents Miss Farnum'?—presents, mind you."
Hummer stepped closer a bit, puffed at his cigarette, and motioned toward the dressing-room.
"She's the meal ticket," he added.