“But what, then,” Brainard resumed, after the interval, “shall we do with one large, commodious theater building; also one great Idea with a hole punched in it, through which the gas has escaped?” “I’ve been thinking of that problem, too. We might turn it into a coöperative company, and let the players own it and run it to suit themselves.” “Even into the ground?” “Just that! But there are some good heads in the company, and it will give them all a chance. Besides, we can afford it, dear!” “Yes, we can much better afford to give it away than to keep it running,” Brainard admitted. “As your husband, I can’t countenance all the follies I put on you as mere guardian!” So the last night of the season, a warm June night, the People’s players got together at the close of the performance in the pleasant library of the theater, and Brainard and Melody made them two little speeches. First, Brainard explained to the players the plan of a coöperative stock company, in which all members were to own shares, with a board of directors, of which Leaventritt was to be chairman and Farson secretary. Then Melody said: “You heard the boss on the new plan. You’re in great luck, let me tell you! And you will be awful chumps if you fight among yourselves, or otherwise don’t make a go of it.” Melody looked severely at Cissie Pyce, who was seated obscurely in the rear of the room. “Of course, you’ll all think yourselves Coquelins and Sarahs. Well, you’re not. Mind what the manager says. You’ve got the prettiest, nicest theater in the city, a fair company, and a good start with Mr. Farson’s new play. I shan’t be with you next season. As you’ve doubtless heard, I’ve taken a new manager—for life—and we’re going abroad on our first tour. So buck up! Don’t fight! Good luck!” And thus was formed the independent Company of Actors, with one Edgar Brainard as honorary president, and Mrs. Edgar Brainard, _née_ Melody White, as honorary vice president. All the company came to the wedding, and later trooped to the dock to see the couple depart for Europe. A floral offering from the company—an elegant version of the great scene in Farson’s play, done in roses and carnations—filled their stateroom to the exclusion of much else. It was labeled, “Their Great Adventure.” “That’s right,” Melody said when they went to inspect their quarters. “It’s life, not art!” “We’ve made a fair start, don’t you think?” Brainard added. Melody replied by raising her lips for the expected kiss.