There was a tap on the door, and Bram, still in his clown’s dress but without the tufted wig, peeped round the corner. “Well, you’re a nice one,” he said to his daughter. “I nearly sent the policeman down to you.” “_Was_ you that white man with a funny face?” Letizia asked incredulously. “There you are, I told you it was your dadda,” Mrs. Pottage put in. “Yes,” said Letizia, and in the tone of the affirmation a desire to admit frankly that she had been wrong was mingled with a slight resentment that Mrs. Pottage should have been right. When Letizia had departed with the landlady, Bram and Nancy joined several other members of the company at a picnic meal. The talk was mostly of the pantomime, of how this song had gone and how that joke had got across, of whether it would not be wiser to cut this scene out altogether and shorten that one. “Of course it’ll play closer to-night,” said one of the company. “And they’ll be a little quicker with the changes. Or it’s to be hoped they will.” “That limelight man is a bit of a jay,” said the Demon King gloomily. “Would he follow me with that spot? Not he. And when I was singing my song, the fool was jigging it all over the stage like a damned rocket. His mate was better with you, Miss O’Finn.” “He was on me all right,” Nancy allowed. “But he ruined the last verse of my first song by letting it fizz till I could have knocked him off his perch with my wand.” “I think our trap-act went great, old boy,” said the Policeman to the Clown. “I’ve never known a trap-act go so smooth the first time. The house was eating it.” Bram nodded. “Yes, it went all right,” he admitted without enthusiasm. “But that star didn’t seem to me to be working properly again. Which reminds me, I must get hold of Worsley and tell him to have a look at it.” “Who wants Worsley?” inquired the stage-manager, coming into the dressing-room at that moment. “It was about that star-trap, old man,” said Bram. “Now, that’s all right, old chap. Don’t you worry. I’ve been down under the stage, and it’s working to rights now. Lovely.” “I thought I wasn’t coming through this afternoon,” Bram grumbled. “Why, you came up like a bird,” Worsley assured him. “What are you talking about?” “Yes, I know I _did_ come up,” Bram replied irritably, for he was feeling thoroughly tired. “But it did stick for a second or two, and you know what it would mean if I got caught.” “Oh, Mr. Worsley,” Nancy exclaimed in a panic, “for God’s sake see it’s all right to-night.” “Now, don’t you worry yourself, Miss O’Finn,” the stage-manager begged. “Good Lord, you don’t suppose _I_ want to have an accident?” “I wish you’d speak to that blasted limelight man about getting his red spot on me,” said the Demon King. “He ruined every entrance I’ve got—and I haven’t got too many.” The stage-manager decided that he should be happier elsewhere, and left the assembled diners.