"The terms of my contract are sacred and confidential," he protested. "I accepted the reduced salary only because it is late in the season. You had no right to expose the secrets of our contract."
Clayton laughed. "I'll give you a hundred if you go on and give a good performance," he volunteered. "Weldon, make out the salary list of this company, and I'll give you a check covering two weeks' salaries for each member of the organization. Figure up how much the theater costs, and whatever Gordon hasn't paid, I will. Now, everybody get ready for the first act, and ring up the curtain."
Martha, alone in her dressing-room, had heard Clayton giving his peremptory commands. Half dazed yet at the sudden apparent collapse of the play, she scarcely realized that defeat was even now being turned into victory. But the command to get ready for the act awoke her from her lethargy.
"Mr. Clayton," she cried, coming to him, "how can you do all this?"
"I'm not as rich as Gordon," he replied, looking at her a bit reproachfully. "Not by a long shot, but I guess you can star for a night anyway, Martha, even with a one-horse angel."
"You are not doing all this for me? Why, it would be better to let the whole thing be a total failure than to take such a risk."
"I am doing it because it pleases me," explained Clayton. "And because I want you to have every chance for success that they tried to rob you of."
"Just wish me luck?" asked Martha, softly, holding out her hand.
"I wish you everything you wish yourself," he replied.
"The curtain is up, Miss Farnum," cried Lizzie, entering for a moment from the stage. "It is nearly time for your entrance."