"Certainly not. I must forbid it as your physician. Can't you get a few days off?"
Mr. DeVere shook his head.
"Aren't there such things as understudies? Seems to me I have heard of them," persisted the physician.
"I—I wouldn't like to have to put one on," said the actor.
His daughters knew the reason. Times were but little better than they had been in the theatrical business. Many good men and women, too, were out of engagements, and every available part was quickly snapped up. Mr. DeVere had waited long enough for this opening, and now to have to put on an understudy when the play was on the eve of opening, might mean the loss of his chances. Theatrical managers were uncertain at best, and an actor in an important part, with a voice that would not carry beyond the first few rows, was out of the question.
Mr. DeVere knew this as well as did his daughters.
"I'll tell you what I'll do," went on Dr. Rathby. "I'll speak to your manager myself. I'll explain how things are, and say it is imperative that you have one or two days of rest. It may be that your chords will clear up enough in that time so that I can treat them better and you can resume your duties."
"Will you do that?" cried the actor, eagerly. "It will be awfully good of you. Just say to Mr. Gans Cross—he's the manager of the New Columbia theater—that I will be back in two days—less, if you will allow me, Doctor."
The physician shook his head.
"It must be at least two days," he said, and he went off to telephone, promising to come back as soon as he could.