A young man let himself in through the box-office door and stood in that drafty, inky-black space the theatrical folks call the front of the house and the public call the back of the house. Coming out of the sunlight into this cave of the winds, he was blinded at first. He blinked until he peered out the shape of Verba, slumped down midway of a sheeted stretch of orchestra chairs, and he felt his way down the centre aisle and slipped into a place alongside the silent, broody figure. The newcomer was the author of the play, named Offutt; his age was less than thirty; and his manner was cheerful, as befitting an author who is less than thirty and has placed a play with an established firm. "Well," he said, "how's everything going?" "Rotten, thank you!" said Verba, continuing to stare straight ahead. "We're still shy one grandfather, if that should be of any interest to you." "But you had Grainger engaged--I thought that was all settled last night," said the playwright. "That tired business man? Huh!" said Verba expressively. "By the time he'd got through fussing over the style of contract he wanted, in case he liked the part and we liked him in it, and then quarrelling about the salary he was to get, and then arguing out how high up the list his name was to appear in the billing, your friend Grainger was completely exhausted. "And then, on top of that, he discovered we were going to Chicago after the opening in Rochester, and he balked. Said his following was here in New York. Said he'd supposed we were coming right in here after the opening instead of fussing round on the road. Said he couldn't think of being kept out of New York at the beginning of the season unless he got at least seventy-five more a week. Said he'd go back to vaudeville first. Said he had a swell offer from the two-a-day shops anyhow. "Then I said a few things to Grainger and he walked out on me. His following!--do you get that? Grainger could carry all the following he's got in the top of his hat and still have plenty of room left for his head. So there you are, my son--within ten days of the tryout and nobody on hand to play dear old grandfather for you! And nobody in sight either--in case anybody should happen to ask you." "Oh, we'll find somebody," said Offutt optimistically. The young of the playwrighting species are constitutionally optimistic. "Oh, we will, will we? Well, for example, who?--since you're so confident about it." "That's up to you," countered Offutt, "I should worry!" "Take it from me, young man, you'd better worry," growled Verba morosely. "But, Verba," contended Offutt, "there must be somebody loose who'll fit the part. What with thousands of actors looking for engagements----"