She could hardly conceal her impatience. "I wish you'd go over it this
morning. From the title it's one of those middle-age Italian things that
costume well."
"Oh, is it?" he exclaimed. "Well, I'll get right at it." Her interest in
it more than the title moved him. It was a most hopeful sign of
weakening on her part.
He came to lunch full of enthusiasm. "Say, sis, that play is a corker.
There is a part in it that sees the _Baroness_ and goes her one better.
If the last act keeps up we've got a prize-winner. Who's Edwin Baxter,
anyhow?"
Helen quietly stirred her tea. "I never heard the name before. A new man
in the theatrical world, apparently."
"Well, he's all right. I'm going over the whole thing again. Have you
read it?"
"No, I thought best to let you and Westervelt decide this time. I merely
glanced at it."
"Well, it looks like the thing to pull us out of our hole."
That night Westervelt came behind the scenes with shining face. "I hope
you will consent to do this new piece; it is a cracker-jack." He grew
cautious. "It really is an immensely better piece of work than _The
Baroness_, and yet it has elements of popularity. I have read it
hastily. I shall study it to-night. If it looks as big to me to-morrow
morning as now I will return to the old arrangement with you--if you
wish."
"How is the house to-night?" she asked.
His face dropped. "No better than last night." He shrugged his
shoulders. "Oh, ten or fifteen dollars, maybe. We can play all winter to
two hundred dollars a night with this play. I do not understand such
audiences. Apparently each man sends just one to take his place. There
is no increase."
"Well, report to me to-morrow about _Alessandra_, then I will decide
upon the whole matter."
In spite of herself she shared in the glow which shone on the faces of
her supports, for the word had been passed to the leading members that
they were going back to the old drama. "They've found a new play--a
corking melodrama."