"Not quite as dreadful as you think, mother," the girl replied, quietly. "I could not conscientiously leave Mr. Wattles until he had secured some one else to play the part. Then, however, if you wish me to give up the stage, I shall do so. We will talk it all over after the performance to-night." "Yes, we will talk it over after the performance," echoed the mother. The house was crowded to the doors that night. Not a seat was to be had at eight o'clock; even standing room was at a premium. Again Al had demonstrated his ability as a hustler. Everyone in town had read and re-read his strange advertisement; many eyes were bent on the third row of the orchestra, in search of the "queer old man." And Mr. Marmaduke Merry was there, too, not a whit abashed, a huge bouquet in his withered hand. A good many people had heard of his attempt to have Al arrested in the morning--such news travels fast--and he was the unconscious butt of many a covert jest. Some one--it will never be known who, though there may be reason to suspect Mr. Augustus Wattles--had caused the report to be spread that the pretty actress, Miss Gladys March, was the long-lost sister of the young press agent, Al Allston, and that they had been reunited through the article in the _Banner_. That more than one person knew about it was evident when Al made his appearance in a box, with his mother on his arm; the applause that greeted him was as unexpected as it was embarrassing. At first the boy did not realize that he was the object of these unusual demonstrations. "What are they making all that noise about?" he said. "Why, they are applauding you," his mother said. "Nonsense!" "Don't you see that every eye is fixed on this box?" "I don't know but you are right," gasped Al, feeling symptoms of a return of the "stage fright" with which he had been seized on the occasion of the first performance in Boomville. "Of course I am." "Of course she is," added Mr. Wattles, suddenly appearing upon the scene. "Bow, my boy, bow! And couldn't you make a little impromptu speech?" "Not much!" replied Al, very emphatically. "I tell you, Mr. Wattles, if I had had any idea that the duties of a press agent included so many public appearances, I should not have gone into the business." He bowed; then some one--probably under the manager's direction--called out: "Speech! speech!" But Al shook his head so emphatically that the audience saw he meant his refusal, and the applause soon subsided. A few moments later the curtain rose.