And with a withering glance at the actress, the mayor's wife swept away.
"You shan't forget this evening's work in a hurry, Mr. Gus Wattles!" hissed the enraged Miss Hollingsworth. "You'll rue the day when you made Dick Farley and me your enemies!"
"So Farley is at the bottom of all this, is he?" said the manager. "I thought so."
"Never mind whether he is or not," was the actress' reply. "I wish you good-evening, Wattles. I don't want your two weeks' notice. I wouldn't play in your company again for ten times the miserable salary you paid me. Find some one else to play the part to-morrow night or shut up the house."
With these words and a vindictive glance, the woman left the theater, slamming the stage door violently behind her.
Mr. Wattles drew a long breath of relief.
"I'm glad to get rid of her," he said. "This isn't the first time she and I have had words. I'll have another woman here to play the part to-morrow night, or I'll cut it out altogether; it isn't of any importance, anyhow. And, I say, I believe that Mrs. Anderson has the making of an actress in her, after all. She's as good a kicker as if she had been in the business all her life. No danger of her suffering from stage fright; she has too good an opinion of herself. Well, I must go around to the front now. Come with me and see how things look."
The house was, as Al had predicted, packed to the doors; even standing room was at a premium. Such an audience had never been seen in the opera house before.
The souvenir spoons had proved a great success; everyone was extolling the liberality of the management.
"This is immense," chuckled Mr. Wattles, rubbing his hands. "Allston, you are a trump. I wish you could do this in every town we visit."