And it was thus a moment or two later that the Celebrated Actor found them.
"Successful." He barked the word grandiloquently from the window. "Utterly and completely successful. The curtain is shortly going up: it would be well if the audience took their seats as silently as possible."
"What do you mean, Mr. Trayne?" The girl was staring at him in amazement through her tears.
"A very human play, my dear young lady, is on the point of being acted. As producer, general manager, and box office combined, I beg to state that there will be only one performance. The financial receipts will be nil: the moral receipts will be a soul regained. And who shall say that it is not a more tangible asset?" For a while he stared magnificently at nothing, with one hand thrust carelessly out—that attitude which had long caused infatuated denizens of the pit to stand for hours in dreadful draughts lest they should fail to secure the front row. Then he returned with an effort to things mundane. "Follow me," he ordered, "and do not talk or make a noise."
"Where's the boy, Trayne?" demanded the General, almost angrily. In his own vernacular, he was feeling rattled.
"You shall see in good time. Come."
It was a strange procession which might have been seen wending its way through the darkness a little later. First came the Celebrated Actor—supremely happy, as befits the great showman who has the goods to offer. Then, a few steps behind him, was the Well-known Soldier, periodically muttering under his breath, and with the girl's hand on his arm. Behind them again trotted the Eminent Divine, unable to see very well in the dark, and continually stubbing his toes on various obstructions in the ground.
"Where is he taking us to?" whispered the girl to her uncle.
"Heaven knows, my dear!" he answered, irritably. "The man's an ass, as I've said before."
"But what did he mean about the very human play?" she persisted. "And the soul regained?"