The man in the green overcoat was the one who had started the riot on Maxwell Street by nearly running Jeanne down in his big car, and who had come to grief later.
“We’ll be long in knowing the last of that!” she told herself, and she was right.
CHAPTER XXVIII
A QUEEN FROM ANOTHER WORLD
No fairy princess, waving magic wand, could have wrought a more perfect change than came over Petite Jeanne and her beloved companions after that hour which the rather ugly Jew with the soul of an Abraham, a Moses and a David all wrapped in one, spent in their studio. It was by this man that they were guided out of the wilderness of doubt and despair into the land of joy and hope. By him, too, they were, on the very next morning, ushered into the most magnificent little theatre Jeanne’s glowing eyes had ever looked upon.
Unlike the Old Blackmoore, it was new. Its bright colors shone gayly forth. Its seats of velvet, its curtains of heavy velour and all its trimmings were perfect.
“How beautiful!” Jeanne exclaimed, as Solomon threw open the door revealing it all.
“And yet,” she sighed after a time, “poor, shabby old Blackmoore! I did so want to hear its walls ring once more with laughter and applause.”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed the good Solomon. “When a place is full of rats it should be torn down. Why do people live in such places—work in them, play in them? Is it not because they themselves are slow, stupid, without the will to tear themselves away from it all?
“At any rate,” he added quickly, “here is your grand opportunity. Make the most of it, my child.”
“Oh, yes. That I will. Yes! Yes! Yes! A thousand, million times, yes!”