Clayton slapped him eagerly on the back. "Then carry out my orders," he cried enthusiastically, "and I will pay the bills."
"You?" Weldon's eyes lit up with renewed interest. He saw before him another prospective backer to take the place of the one who had just deserted him. "You? Of course it could be done, Clayton, the lease is in my name."
"Then that's settled," declared Clayton, quickly. "You know me and you know my checks are good. Quick—send some one out to make an announcement to the audience that there will be a performance."
As the stage manager hurriedly started toward the curtain, Lawrence, who had overheard this dialogue, strutted toward Clayton.
"All very good," he cried pompously. "But what about my salary?"
"How much do you get?" inquired Clayton.
Lawrence came close to him. "Four hundred a week," he whispered.
Clayton turned to Weldon. "How much does this man get, Weldon?" he inquired.
"Seventy a week," Weldon answered quickly.
Lawrence fairly fumed with rage, while the members of the company tittered.