He came to lunch full of enthusiasm. "Say, sis, that play is a corker. There is a part in it that sees the Baroness and goes her one better. If the last act keeps up we've got a prize-winner. Who's Edwin Baxter, anyhow?"
Helen quietly stirred her tea. "I never heard the name before. A new man in the theatrical world, apparently."
"Well, he's all right. I'm going over the whole thing again. Have you read it?"
"No, I thought best to let you and Westervelt decide this time. I merely glanced at it."
"Well, it looks like the thing to pull us out of our hole."
That night Westervelt came behind the scenes with shining face. "I hope you will consent to do this new piece; it is a cracker-jack." He grew cautious. "It really is an immensely better piece of work than The Baroness, and yet it has elements of popularity. I have read it hastily. I shall study it to-night. If it looks as big to me to-morrow morning as now I will return to the old arrangement with you—if you wish."
"How is the house to-night?" she asked.
His face dropped. "No better than last night." He shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, ten or fifteen dollars, maybe. We can play all winter to two hundred dollars a night with this play. I do not understand such audiences. Apparently each man sends just one to take his place. There is no increase."
"Well, report to me to-morrow about Alessandra, then I will decide upon the whole matter."
In spite of herself she shared in the glow which shone on the faces of her supports, for the word had been passed to the leading members that they were going back to the old drama. "They've found a new play—a corking melodrama."