On the afternoon of the first rehearsal of _Her Great Adventure_, Brainard came early to the theater and waited in the library. It was a pleasant place, he reflected, as his eyes wandered over the empty room, with its polished marquetry floor richly covered with rugs, and the charming empire furniture, clocks, and ornaments that he had taken the pains to place there. He had tried to make these public rooms as clublike as possible, with ample lounging places, so that the theater might be something of a home for the players, as well as a workshop. Above the library was a glorified green room, where simple meals were to be had for a moderate price. All these details were part of the Idea, as he had seen it. The People’s had a much better company this year, he reflected,—no great talent, but all fairly competent, and they worked together well. His enthusiasm and Farson’s had finally penetrated the ignorant and selfish surface of theatrical nature. Mac had been tactfully relegated to Chicago, and the promising young actor Leaventritt was fast making a place for himself as manager. The company was really getting into shape. Ignored as they were by the critics and the “intelligent” public, or ridiculed for their efforts, the People’s Theater had won the allegiance of its players. They were developing a fine loyalty to the Idea, and a respect for themselves as members of an institution that had not been founded for profit. The week before, when Brainard had felt obliged to tell the company of his financial difficulties, and of the fate probably in store for the theater, there had been genuine, unselfish concern. “Your salaries will be paid until the close of the season,” he told them; “and, in addition, each one will receive the percentage of his pension earned by his length of service. Unfortunately, there are no profits to share; but of course I have assumed all losses. And now I want you to do your utmost for our last play—this piece by Mr. Farson. Give it the very best you have in you. It is a strong play, an American play, the sort of play for us to produce. Let us end well!” Then they had proceeded to the reading of the piece. Afterward, many of the company had come to him to express personally their honest disappointment at the enforced closing of the People’s Theater. They seemed to realize that their loss was more than that of salary. “And we’ll make _Her Great Adventure_ go!” they all said. The spirit of the players had been comforting to the embarrassed patron. “The People’s might have won out in time, with such a company—who knows?” he mused to the secretary. “We may win out yet!” the young playwright answered, with a certain touch of vanity. “I hope so, for your sake, I’m sure; but one play, no matter how successful, could not keep the Idea afloat.”