"I didn't think I had so much nerve," he mused. "I'm beginning to have a little more confidence in myself. If to-night's performance is a success I shall get the job sure--he can't refuse me. But if it isn't a success, if Mrs. Anderson refuses to have anything to do with the scheme--I won't let myself think of that." It was nearly an hour before Mr. Wattles returned. "Well, sir?" questioned the boy, breathlessly. "It's all right." "She will play?" "Not only that, but she is going to pay me for the chance. Oh, there are no flies on Augustus Wattles, my boy! Yes, she is going to play, and she is delighted because the part will give her a chance to exhibit herself in a new costume which she has just imported from Paris. Now, then, my lad, we must get up the ads. How much time have we before they must be in the newspaper office?" "An hour at least. And you had better get out some posters announcing Mrs. Anderson's appearance. They can be on the walls in two hours. Will you leave that part to me?" "Yes; but first you can help me with the advertisement. Undoubtedly you can give me some points." Al was able to do so. The manager was plainly delighted and surprised at the aptitude he displayed. "I begin to think," he said, "that you were cut out for this business." "That is what I have thought for a long while, sir," replied the boy, as, copy in hand, he started for the office of the _Herald_. Within a few hours everyone in Boomville knew that Mrs. Anderson, the mayor's wife, was to assume a role in the drama, "Loved and Lost," at the opera house that evening, and all the lady's friends, all her enemies and almost everybody else who ever attended theatrical performances at all had made up their minds to go and see her. Besides, the offer of a plated spoon as a souvenir was almost irresistible; people who had more solid silver spoons than they had any use for fell over each other in their frantic haste to secure seats for the evening's performance and make sure of the coveted spoon. "We haven't had an advance sale like this since the house was built," said the local manager to Mr. Wattles, a short time before the doors were opened. "Why, there isn't a seat left in the house except in the gallery, and they will be all filled as soon as the doors are thrown open. And I understand that there is no sale at all at the other house. I don't believe there'll be a baker's dozen there. It was a great idea of yours to get Mrs. Anderson to appear." "I claim no credit for it at all," said Mr. Wattles. "It was all the work of that bright young fellow." "Oh, by the way," interrupted Mr. Perley, taking an envelope from his pocket, "here is something that came for you a few minutes ago; I had nearly forgotten about it." Mr. Wattles tore open the note and ran his eyes over its contents. As he did so the expression of his face underwent such a remarkable change that his companion said, uneasily: "There's nothing the matter, is there?"