------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XIX THE RAGE OF RALPH BRYTON. A good many people in New Haven were surprised next morning when they read the bills announcing the production of an apparently decent play at the old Concert Hall. Some of the older inhabitants harked back to the good old days, when that was the only theatre in town, and were thereby moved to read the bill to the very end, thus becoming interested in the contest between the young actor-manager and the trust, which was exactly what Demarest wanted. John Lawford, the billposter, was more than surprised. He was puzzled, perplexed, and furiously angry. He saw at once that Demarest had stolen a march on him, and he did his best to nullify the advantage gained, by covering the boards as swiftly as possible with the announcements of the Arcadian production. Although he had made a verbal agreement with the young actor to give his paper space, he was able to slide out of it because there had been no written contract, and he dared not disobey the emphatic commands of Ralph Bryton, on whom his bread and butter depended. But all this took time. It was nearly noon before he had obliterated the greater part of the work of the Yale students last night, and a good many people had seen the original bills, and read them through. Their interest was only stimulated when they noticed them, one by one, being covered by the announcements of the trust. It seemed to bear out Demarest’s statement that he was being hounded by the syndicate men, and a good many citizens decided on the spot to attend the performance of “Jarvis of Yale,” and see what it was like. While Lawford was working so hard, Austin Demarest was putting in some equally effective licks. Bright and early he started out with two boys and a quantity of lithographing, his regular paper, and in a very short time had obtained points of vantage in all the important shop windows, for which he paid on the spot, and about eleven he returned to the hotel empty-handed, but with a feeling of intense satisfaction at having circumvented Ralph Bryton effectually. He had scarcely entered the lobby before his eyes fell upon that gentleman himself, and he saw at once that the representative of the trust was not in the best sort of humor. He was striding up and down the floor, pulling his heavy mustache, and scowling fiercely under beetling brows. He was a man of about forty, heavily built, and a little inclined toward corpulency. His features were good, but his expression was domineering, as if he were accustomed to have his own way, and would fly into a passion when thwarted. He had slept late that morning, secure in the consciousness that he had done a good day’s work, and effectually prevented the man he hated from having any sort of a success in New Haven, even if he once secured a foothold.