“Now, make your exit properly, please.” Bart Hodge gave Roscoe Havener an angry, resentful look. “Did you call me back for that?” he asked. “I certainly did,” answered the stage manager, grimly. “Why, sir?” “Because you took the wrong exit. I have told you repeatedly to use the right upper at the close of that scene, and you persist in leaving the stage by the right tormentor.” “It is the most convenient,” came sullenly from Bart. “That makes no difference.” “It makes considerable difference to me.” Havener was angry, but he held himself in restraint. He did not curse, after the manner of most stage managers, but he showed that he meant what he said when he spoke again. “You will do as I tell you at rehearsals, Mr. Hodge.” “Oh, will I?” said Bart, in a manner that was decidedly insolent. “Oh, I don’t know!” “I know. Further than that, I will have no further back talk from you.” “I don’t see how you will prevent it.” “You are fined ten dollars.” “Is that so?” “It is. Now you will make your exit in the proper manner.” Instead of that, Hodge walked off the stage by the tormentor. Havener did not call him back again, but his face turned pale with anger. Frank was in a dressing room, and did not hear what took place on the stage between Havener and Hodge. Deep in his heart Bart felt that he was wrong, but he smothered the feeling, refused to pause to reason, and hurried to the dressing room, where he knew he would find Merriwell. Frank was laying out his costumes and preparing for the evening performance. Hodge entered without knocking, and Merry knew in a moment, on looking up, that something was wrong. “Look here, Merriwell!” he flared. “What’s the matter, old man?” “I’ve stood enough of this! It’s the limit!” “What are you talking about, Bart? What’s the limit?” “Havener is the limit.” “I don’t think I understand you, my dear fellow.” “Don’t ‘dear fellow’ me! I am in no mood to take it now.” Plainly enough something serious had happened, for Bart was not in the habit of talking that way. Frank straightened up and looked at him steadily without speaking. Bart’s eyes dropped before that gaze, but the sullen look did not leave his face, and he stared at the floor as if glaring at a deadly enemy. “What is this, anyway?” Merry asked, after some moments. “What has gone wrong between you and Havener?” “I am tired of being bulldozed by him.” “Havener is not in the habit of bulldozing anybody, Hodge, as you very well know.” “I know he is in the habit of trying it on me. He doesn’t like me, and he doesn’t miss an opportunity to try to call me down. I’m dead sick of it!” “You are altogether too sensitive, old man. Havener is the stage manager, and a good one he is, too. He has aided me immensely in getting the play into shape.”