The door of the dressing room was at this present moment thrown open, and Dodge stepped inside. He stood before the occupants with folded arms, glaring from one to another. “What’s the trouble, Dodge?” Metcalfe asked, sinking back in his chair, plainly annoyed at the interruption. “Matter? Matter?” Dodge burst out indignantly. “I should think you gentlemen would be ashamed of yourselves!” “Ashamed?” echoed Klein. “What have we—-” “I’d like to be stage manager of this company for about five minutes,” the character man interrupted. “That’s what I would! Such outrageous actions as I witnessed this afternoon would not be tolerated for an instant. You gentlemen have absolutely no respect for your profession—none at all. To clown on a scene deliberately is beneath the dignity of a conscientious artist.” “He’s off,” muttered Metcalfe; then louder: “I suppose when you were with Booth and Barrett——” “When I was with Booth, young man,” thundered Dodge, his deep voice rolling impressively, “we looked upon our art as a most serious matter. In those palmy days, sir, an actor held himself above such shameful proceedings as clowning. Mr. Booth would no more have allowed it than——” “When I was playing the leads with ‘Too Proud to Beg,’” mocked the juvenile man, burlesquing the other, “in the palmy days of the melodrama, we were——” “Say no more,” interrupted Dodge, lifting a hand. “It is not a thing to jest over. An artistic performance should never be marred by impromptu speeches.” Metcalfe puckered his lips and started to whistle. Dodge glared at him for a second, then almost turned pale under his make-up. Metcalfe laughed. “Still superstitious, Dodge? Well, don’t take it too hard. Let’s see; to whistle in a dressing room is a sign that the man nearest the door will be whistled out of the company. Isn’t that it?” But the character man stalked out, slamming the door behind him. “I guess he took the hint,” Klein said. “To my mind, he is the one bore in the company.” The call boy’s voice came echoing through the hall: “Third act! Third act!” Klein, who was on near the opening of the act, rose to his feet. “That’s me! I almost missed my entrance last night. If I get in late this afternoon, Bond will fine me. I’ll talk with you later, Metcalfe.” He hurried out of the room and down the hall to the stage. CHAPTER XXI. ENTER THE GIRL. The following night, Saturday, while the stage crew were setting the second act, Klein strolled into the property room for a “side prop.” “Where’s my decanter?” he asked of the property man, Kingston. The latter motioned toward a shelf. “Up there. I’ve had a new batch of tea put in it.” Klein took the decanter and started with it toward the door. At the same time he noticed Kingston placing a new photograph in the silver frame used in the coming act.