"Never mind," interrupted Mr. Wattles; "it's a good ad., anyway, and we got it for nothing. You mustn't be so thin-skinned, my boy. You see here"--in a changed tone--"that ad. of yours in the _Bugle_ must have cost a young fortune. You ought to have consulted me by wire before you did that. The idea is a good one, and everyone is talking about it, but it will not be worth to us what it cost." "How much do you suppose I paid for it, sir?" "Oh, I don't know; three hundred at least, probably more." "It cost just fifty dollars; and if it is not worth that to you, I'll pay it out of my own pocket." "Fif---- Is that straight?" "Certainly." "How did you do it?" Al explained. "Well, that was a mighty good transaction, and you deserve credit for it, as well as for writing the ad. The new paper was selling like hot cakes on the train this morning, and everyone was reading that ad. Al, my boy, you're a genius!" "Not quite that, I guess," laughed the boy. "You are, I tell you. But who is the queer old man in the third row of the orchestra?" "A myth, a creation of my imagination." "I supposed so, though I did not know but you had hired some one to play the part." "No." "Well, there'll be lots of people out to see the old man. How did you happen to strike the idea?" "I don't know. I had to get the copy ready in a hurry, and I wanted something new and taking." "Well, you got it. I believe that ad. and the interview are going to produce results." They did; though some of the results were quite different from those Mr. Wattles and his advance agent expected. While Al went into the restaurant for breakfast, his employer hurried to the theater to inquire about the advance sale. He returned an hour later, flushed and excited. "Well?" questioned the boy. "Well, we've caught 'em again. Half the house is already sold, and that means a crowd to-night. The local manager says you're a corker." Al laughed. "He didn't think so yesterday." "He does now. He's going to try to get you to stay here under his employ." "I shall not do it." "I told him you wouldn't, but he's going to make you an offer, anyhow. Oh, by the way!" "What is it, sir?" "I nearly forgot that Miss Gladys March, who, with the rest of the company, came with me this morning, is very anxious to have a talk with you." "With me? Aren't you mistaken, Mr. Wattles?" "No; she asked me to tell you as soon as I saw you, but I did not think of it." "What can she want of me?" "I give it up." "I don't know her; I never spoke to her in my life." "So I thought. Well, the best way to find out what she wants is to go and ask her. You'll find her upstairs in her room." "I'll go at once." A few minutes later Al presented himself at the door of Miss March's room and knocked rather timidly. "Come in," said a sweet voice, which the boy recognized as that of the young actress. He entered the room. Miss March, who was seated by the window, rose to meet him.