were it not for hours like these, the hope of them or the memory of them, few people would continue to trudge the dolorous road of the playwright. such hours come

rarely and they do not linger unspoiled, but they are glimpses of heaven while they last. it was not for long that vickery and sheila were left seated upon the sunny

side of saturn with the rings of unearthly glory swirling round them.

their return to earth was all the more jolting for the distance they had to fall.

sheila saw eldon turn away in a sudden rancor of jealousy. she saw reben turn swart with rage. his cruel mouth twisted into a sneer, and when vickery turned to him

with the gratitude of a child to a rescuing angel reben’s comments wiped the smile off vickery’s rosy face and left it white and sick.

sheila suffered all her own shocks and vicariously those of each of the three she had embroiled. she suffered most for the young creator who had seen that his work was

good but must yet hear satan’s critique. and reben looked like a wise and haughty lucifer when in answer to vickery’s appealing “well?” he said:

“well, you certainly got over—here. they like it. no doubt of that. but they liked ‘the nautilus.’ it broke all records here in clinton and lasted two nights in

new york.

“you mustn’t let ’em fool you, my boy. this stock company is a kind of religion to these yokels. they snap up whatever you throw ’em the way a sea-lion snaps up a

fish. anything on god’s earth will go here. just copper your bets all round. whatever went here will flop in new york, and vice versa. did you hear ’em howl at that

old wheeze in the first act? broadway would throw the seats at you if you sprung it. the one scene that fell flat to-night is the one scene worth keeping in.

“you’ve got a lot of work to do. you’d better let me bring ledley or somebody down here to whip it into shape. as it stands, i don’t see how i can use it. look me

up next time you’re in town—if you can bring me some new ideas.”

then he turned to sheila and, taking her by that dangerous elbow, led her aside and murdered her joy. he was perfectly sincere about his distrust of the piece. he had

seen so many false hopes come up like violets in the snow, only to wither at the first sharp weather.

he answered sheila’s defiant “say it” with another icy blast:

“you poor child!” he said. “you were awful. i want you to close with this stock company and take a good rest. you’re all frayed out. you looked a hundred years old

and you played like a hack-horse. that man eldon was the only one of you who played up to form. he’s a discovery. now i’m going back to town to see if i can get a

real play for you, and you run along home to your papa and mamma and see if you can’t get back your youth. but don’t be discouraged.” having absolutely crushed her,

he told her not to be discouraged.

when he had pointed out that the laurel crowns were really composed of poison ivy he waved a cheerful good-by and hurried off to catch the midnight train to new york.

sheila turned the eyes of utter wretchedness upon vickery, in whose face was the look of a stricken stag. they had planned to take supper together, but she begged off.

she felt that it was kinder.

besides, vickery would have to work all night. the stage director had told him that he must cut at least an hour out of the manuscript before the special rehearsal

next morning. and the cuts must be made in chunks because the company had to begin rehearsals at once of the next week’s bill, an elaborate production of one of mr.

cohan’s farces, in his earlier manner.

as sheila left the stage she met eldon staring at her hungrily. reben had not spoken to him. sheila had to tell him that the manager’s only praise was for him. but he

could get no pleasure from the bouquet because it included rue for sheila:

“he’s a liar. you were magnificent!” eldon cried.

“thank you, floyd,” she sighed, and, smiling at grief like patience, shook her head sadly and went to her dressing-room. she was almost too bankrupt of strength to

take off her make-up. she worked drearily and smearily in disgust, leaving patches of color here and there. then she slipped into a mackintosh and stumbled to the

waiting carriage.

when she got to her room she let pennock take off the mackintosh and her shoes and stockings; she was asleep almost before she finished whimpering her only prayer:

“o god, help me to quit the stage—forever. amen!”

pennock stared at her dismally and saw that even her slumber was shaken with little sobs.