If looks could kill, Demarest would have been slain on the spot by the ferocious glare from the older man’s eyes. Bryton knew that he had suffered a serious check, for the window advertising had always been considered of equal or greater importance than the billboards. He realized, however, that he could accomplish nothing by going off his head, so he made a great effort, and managed to get control of his temper. “After all, I don’t know why I’m going to all this trouble,” he said sarcastically. “You’re a fool if you think anybody will go to the Concert Hall. Why, the place is rotten!” “That’s my business,” Demarest retorted. “I rather think if you drop in to the opening Thursday night you’ll be surprised. But I really must tear myself away. This has been a great pleasure, and I trust I shall see you again.” Without waiting for an answer, he turned on his heel, and started toward the door. The next minute he stopped and looked back. “Can’t I give you a couple of seats for Thursday?” he smiled. “I should be delighted to have your critical opinion of the performance.” “Bah!” snarled Bryton, his face purpling dangerously. The young actor shrugged his shoulders. “Too bad you’re feeling that way this morning,” he said airily. “You really ought to take something—a bromo seltzer might do.” Bryton gazed loweringly after the graceful figure of the young man as he disappeared through the door. “I’ll get you yet, my young cockerel!” he muttered fiercely. “You think you’ve got the best of Ralph Bryton, but you’re mistaken. You won’t crow so loud before I’m through with you.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XX THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM. Happily his work was so arranged that morning that Dick Merriwell was through for the day at eleven o’clock. Truth to tell, he might just as well have absented himself altogether for all the good the lectures did him, for his mind was so full of the brave struggle his new friend was making for success that he gave little thought to anything else. Chancing upon G. Grossman, editor in chief of the _Comet_, he took the opportunity of giving him a full account of Demarest, his play, and the trouble he was having to get a hearing. Grossman was much interested, and promised to write the matter up for the paper, which was exactly what Dick wanted. The moment he escaped from the Chemical Lab, he made his way as quickly as he could to the Concert Hall, which he found a scene of the utmost bustle and confusion. An army of scrubwomen were busy in the auditorium and balcony; painters were at work on the boxes, and in various other parts of the house, while from the flies came the sound of sawing and hammering. Demarest seemed to be everywhere at once, directing, advising, joking with the workmen, and generally hustling things along. His eyes brightened as he saw Dick.