The manager had intended to pierce Jimmy’s Achillian heel and he had succeeded. If there was anything that stirred the latent energies that lay dormant in the press agent’s soul and filled him with the fierce and fiery zest of a crusader it was praise of a rival’s achievements. And that fellow down at the Colonial had put one over that morning. There was no gainsaying that. His story about the group of chorus girls who had organized a Back to Nature club and who had elected to live in tents on the roof of one of the biggest hotels in town had landed with a splash and an extensive pictorial lay-out in every paper in town. Jimmy had been nursing a grouch all day because he hadn’t thought of the idea first. He didn’t permit any outward signs of his annoyance to reach Bartlett, however. He assumed his customary jaunty air of sublime self-confidence in making reply. “I’ll say it was pretty good,” he said, “but I’ve got something about ready to spring that’ll send that fellow down for the count in the first round. I’ve got a date with this Emily Ann Muse party tomorrow morning and when she’s listened to what I’ve got to say she’ll jump through the paper hoop at the word of command.” Bartlett laughed good-naturedly. Jimmy’s dazzling metaphorical flights and picturesque similes were a constant source of piquant delight to him. “You’re not quite as modest as the cooing dove,” he remarked, “but you’re a darned sight more diverting. I hope you’re going to get our stately queens into the web you are weaving. I rather fancy they’re on the war-path tonight after all the notoriety their sisters in art got today.” “Don’t worry,” replied Jimmy. “They’re goin’ to be right in the little old center of the stage with baby spot lights playin’ on ’em from all sides. There won’t be anythin’ doin’ for about thirty-six hours or so, though. I can’t open cold with this act. I’ve got to call a rehearsal.” Bartlett chuckled and strolled into the lobby. As Jimmy watched his trim figure disappear past the door-man at the far end he experienced a sinking sensation that was decidedly unpleasant. He suddenly realized that in a moment of expansiveness induced by jealousy of a hated rival he had drawn a check against a sadly depleted bank account. As a matter of plain, ungarnished fact he hadn’t a notion as to how he was going to make good. He had no more idea than Bartlett as to the nature of the story that was to startle the natives in thirty-six hours, but he was the original cheery optimist and somehow he felt that the gods would be good to him. He sauntered leisurely down the street in quest of an inspiration. * * * * *