“Say, some little hero act, eh, Andy?” exclaimed Chet, as Andy rejoined his friends.
“Forget it!” was the retort. “Tom, here, had his wits about him.”
“All right, old man. But you never got down the field after a football punt any quicker than you hurdled that orchestra leader, and made a flying tackle of that singer!” exclaimed Tom, admiringly. “My hat off to you, Andy, old boy!”
“Same here!” cried Chet.
The young men in the box were talking to the manager, and the one who had knocked the lighted match on the stage came over to speak to Andy, who was standing with his chums in the aisle near their seats.
“Thanks, very much, old man!” exclaimed the chap whose impulsive act had so nearly caused a tragedy. “It was mighty fine of you to do that. I had heart failure when I saw her on fire.”
“You couldn’t help it,” replied Andy. “They ought not to allow smoking in places like this.”
“That’s right. Next time I throw a rose at a girl I’ll look to see what’s going to happen.”
The theatre was almost deserted by now. All that remained to tell of the accident was the smell of smoke, and a few bits of charred cloth on the stage.
A man came out in front of the curtain.