It was not without difficulty that the man who volunteered to quell the storm in front could get a hearing from the audience. At last he succeeded, and after he explained the suddenness and severity of the attack, the storm subsided and the people went quietly out. On the stage poor Fogg lay stretched out, Handy supporting his head. He was a sight. His mouth was liberally marked with Smith's home-made blood, for the carmine had been generously though dexterously employed. Everyone expressed sympathy for him. Handy, with the assistance of Smith, succeeded in getting him to his feet and managed to get him to the stage door in his _Melnotte_ garb. Mrs. Doolittle's carriage was outside waiting, and he was assisted into it. As Handy was about to follow, Fogg leaned over and whispered in his ear: "For the Lord sake, Handy, bring my street clothes from the dressing-room, or I'll never be able to leave the house." Handy pressed his hand, Smith went after the clothes, and the three then drove to Fogg's home, and the carriage returned to the theatre for the lady chairman. "Well," said Handy, when within the safety of the star's quarters, "I've played many parts in my varied career, but this one is the limit. It beats the deck. Fogg, you will have to keep the house for a week, at least; then go and rusticate for another week, but above all things, for heaven's sake don't recover too hastily!" "Oh, bless my soul!" remarked Fogg, as he surveyed himself in the mirror, "you have ruined Draper's _Melnotte_ blouse. What the blazes did you inundate me with that confounded red stuff for?" Handy looked at him seriously for a minute, and then replied: "There's gratitude for you. Ah! well, it's the way of the world all over. Help a man to get out of a scrape, and do you think he will appreciate your meritorious act? Not even a little bit, and the chances are he will begin to find fault with your manner of saving him. Darn it, man! that fiddler, costumer, and stage carpenter would never have swallowed an ordinary, common garden, every-day fit, but when they saw the gore, the blood-red gore, they caved-in. It was a demonstration in red, and it did the work. And now, then, when you are going to have your next testimonial you can get someone else to manage your fits. Come, Smith. Good-night, Fogg!" CHAPTER XV "Come what, come may, Time and the hour runs through the roughest day." --MACBETH.