S Douglass entered the theatre that night Westervelt met him with beaming smile. "I am glad to see you looking so well, Mr. Douglass." He nodded and winked. "You are all right now, my boy. You have them coming. I was all wrong."
"What do you mean?"
"Didn't she tell you?"
"You mean about the advance sale?—no."
Westervelt grew cautious. "Oh—well, then, I will be quiet. She wants to tell you. She will do so."
"Advance sale must be good," thought the playwright, as he walked on into the auditorium. The ushers smiled, and the old gatekeeper greeted him shortly.
"Ye've won out, Mr. Douglass."
"Can it be that this play is to mark the returning tide of Helen's popularity?" he asked himself, and a tremor of excitement ran over him, the first thrill of the evening. Up to this moment he had a curious sense of aloofness, indifference, as if the play were not his own but that of a stranger. He began now to realize that this was his third attempt to win the favor of the public, and according to an old boyish superstition should be successful.
Helen had invited a great American writer—a gracious and inspiring personality—to occupy her box to meet her playwright, and once within his seat Douglass awaited the coming of the great man with impatience and concern. He was conscious of a great change in himself and his attitude towards Helen since he last sat waiting for the curtain to rise.