"Well," mused Al, "if Mr. Wattles is a man of his word I am his advance agent now. It will be my fault if I don't make the best of the opportunity. But it's dollars to doughnuts that I shall have trouble with that loafer, Farley. Well, I guess I can hold my own." He was interrupted by the sudden entrance of Mr. Wattles. "It's all right, my boy," laughed the manager. "You haven't seen her yet?" "No, but I've seen Perley, and he tells me she is here, and is dressing for the part. He thinks that she is going to make a big hit." "Of course she will," laughed Al; "she is the leader of society here, and it would be treason not to like her." The manager smiled. "You know something of the world," he said. "Not as much as I would like to. But, seriously, sir, Mrs. Anderson is not such a bad actress, and I shouldn't wonder if she did make a hit." "She'll have to be a second Ristori, if she does in that part," grinned Mr. Wattles. "There's nothing to it; but, for all that, the woman who has been playing it is wild because I have taken it away from her for one night." "Have you explained the circumstances to her?" "Have I? I've talked myself nearly deaf in doing so, but it was of no use." "She must be very thick-headed if she can't see how you are placed." "My dear boy, a woman will never see anything she doesn't want to see. But never mind about all that. I don't care particularly whether the woman is suited or not; I can fill her place at a few hours' notice. And now I must go and see how things are going. I have a good stage manager, but I have to do a lot of the work myself, for all that. And I must acknowledge that I do feel a little nervous at letting an untrained amateur appear in the piece without a rehearsal. Come with me, and we'll see if everything is going smoothly." Al followed the manager through the long passage way and out into a damp, dingy court, on the opposite side of which was a door bearing the inscription: "Stage Door. No Admittance." Passing through the sacred portals, Mr. Wattles and Al stepped upon the stage. Al had been "behind the scenes" before; the scene that met his eyes was not an entirely unfamiliar one, and he trod the boards with the nonchalant air of a veteran. "Well, Sparkley, how does everything go?" asked the manager of an anxious-looking elderly man, whom the boy rightly guessed to be the stage manager. "Badly enough," was the reply. "There's been a big row, and your society amateur refuses to appear." CHAPTER VII. THE DEBUT. Mr. Wattles sank into a convenient chair. "Well," he said, with an air of stony resignation, "there's no use in fighting against fate. I give it up. We'll return the people their money and shut up the house." "What's the matter?" asked Al.