Demarest was almost discouraged as he stood in the centre of the orchestra and looked about him. The place seemed utterly impossible, but presently his trained eye took in the various good points, which included an ample stage, though, at present, it was cluttered with odds and ends and backed with faded, crude, fearfully painted scenery. “Pretty bad, isn’t it?” he remarked. “I can’t imagine a high-grade audience consenting to spend three hours here.” “All the same,” Dick said quickly, “a little work will make a wonderful improvement. How’s the stage? Is it big enough?” “Plenty. My sets will fit all right, but I shudder to think what that drop curtain looks like.” He smiled wryly as he glanced up at the rolled-up curtain. “I’ve never seen it, but I should imagine it was the limit,” Merriwell answered. “Couldn’t it be painted over, or something like that?” “I suppose so.” After another searching look around, Demarest led the way through a door back of the boxes to the stage itself. It certainly was dilapidated, and the dressing rooms were cramped and bad, but the young actor was at his wit’s end; and when he left the place an hour later he had engaged the house for Thursday night of that week, had the signed lease in his pocket and, more than that, had paid the money down. He had learned to leave nothing to chance. He had a feeling that the moment the members of the trust learned of the step he had taken they would do their best to prevent his opening even at the Concert Hall, and he was determined that they should not succeed. That afternoon was a busy one. Before dark, Demarest had engaged an army of cleaners, scrubwomen, and painters, to report the first thing in the morning at the theatre. He had gone to the printer’s and ordered special paper printed in which was stated that, owing to the impossibility of obtaining a date at any other theatre, Austin Demarest, the talented young actor who had done such good work in the productions of the late Richard Manton, and latterly under the management of Buffer and Lane, was forced to bring out his new drama of college life, “Jarvis of Yale,” at the Concert Hall, which had been especially renovated and redecorated for the occasion. These bills were to be spread broadcast on the boards all over the city the next morning, and when Demarest reached the hotel toward five o’clock he had reason to be thoroughly satisfied with the afternoon’s work. Merriwell had accompanied him on his rounds through the city. His interest and enthusiasm were wrought to a high pitch, and his suggestions on various points had been of much service to the actor.