He leaned back in his chair and tried to assume a perfectly tranquil manner. He was determined not to lose his head. “This advertisement,” he said, “seems to solve the problem. The writer of it may not care to take Bonnie May to Tophet; but at least he--or she--seems ready enough to take her off our hands. Off my hands, I should say. What more do you want?” The manager scowled. “I don’t want anybody to take her off your hands, nor my hands.” “Why not? If they’re entitled to her----” “I don’t believe they’re entitled to her. A child like that.... She’s worth a lot to people who know how to handle her. Somebody who needs her in his business is probably trying to get hold of her.” “Oh, that doesn’t sound reasonable to me at all. Somebody has had charge of her. Somebody brought her to the theatre. Her mother, in all probability.” Baron tried to speak quite casually. “Possibly her father’s somewhere about, too.” Thornburg glared resentfully at the younger man. “If her mother was about,” he demanded, “would she have waited all this while to speak?” Baron was silenced for a moment. “Well, then,” he asked at length, “what is your sizing up of the case?” “I think she was deserted, maybe because for the moment she was a burden. I think some tin-horn manager is looking for her now. And here’s another thing I know. I want her myself!” “But you were just saying----” “Well, then, my wife wants her. It’s the same thing. She made up her mind, and now she won’t change it. When I went home that night and reported that we couldn’t have her, she began to cry. She wouldn’t leave her bed the next morning. She’s been sick ever since. She’ll lie for hours at a time without saying anything but--‘I wish we could have had the little girl.’ It’s nonsense, of course; but you have to take things as you find them. The doctor says I must get her interested in something--as if the thing were perfectly simple. If he’d ever run a theatre he’d know what it means to get anybody interested. Well, there....” He calmed himself suddenly and leaned toward Baron. His next words were little more than whispered. “You see,” he said, “I’m fond of her--of the wife. I don’t know if you could understand how I feel. She’s all I’ve got, and there’s a good bit of the child about her, and she hasn’t been quite well for a long time. She needs me to think and plan for her--to understand her, as far as I can. You interested her in this child. She wants her. And I want her to have her.”