"Oh, no, Mr. Archer. There's a consideration. You'll find it on the next page. I'm to keep the theatre closed every afternoon in July and August so the lessee can make his alterations to the second story. And the extra price for those months is to pay me for loss of revenue. So it _does_ count on this year's income. Maybe I'm no impresario, but by gosh, I can keep a set of books." Mr. Archer nodded briskly. "That _is_ different. Why, Henry, as far as I can see ... what's this? 300 Chestnut Street? But the Orpheum's on Main." "300 Chestnut is the back entrance," said Henry. He smiled across at Anna, and she stood up and came a perilous step towards him. "Well, old lady," said Henry, and the same wide, foolish smile of utter joy was on his lips. "I guess this fixes it. I--" He was rudely interrupted by the violent opening of the door. His Aunt Mirabelle stood there, dynamic, and behind her, in a great fluster of dismay and apprehension, stood the chairman of the Quarters Committee of the Reform League. "Henry! Henry Devereux! You--you swindler!" Her speech was seriously impeded by her wrath. "You--you--you." She flung a savage gesture towards the little man in the background. "You had an agent show him--show Mr. McClellan--this place through the back door!--_He_ didn't know I--Henry Devereux, you've got _my_ three thousand dollars, and you're going to give it straight back to me! This minute! Do you _hear_?" Anna stared at her, and at Henry, and sat down plump and cried into her handkerchief, from sheer hysterical reaction. "Oh, yes," said Henry. "Through the back door, if you say so. But that's the regular business entrance. I suppose the agent thought it looked better, too." "The agent! That Standish man! You _conspired_. You--" Henry's chin went up. "Excuse me, Aunt Mirabelle, but I didn't know the first thing about it until Bob Standish told me he had a client ready to close, and to pay in advance. I didn't even know your man by sight. I'd have rented it to anybody on earth on the same terms." The little chairman edged forward. "Miss Starkweather--Mrs. Mix--I knew how you feel about motion pictures, of course, but how could _I_ know you wouldn't even want to be in the same building with--" "Oh, dry up!" She whirled on the lawyer. "Is that fair? Do you call that fair? _Do_ you?" Mr. Archer put his hand on Henry's shoulder, and nodded benignly. "To tell the truth, Mrs. Mix, I can't see where this concerns you personally at all. It's a straightforward commercial transaction between Henry and Mr. McClellan." "It isn't, either! Mr. McClellan had authority from the League to get us a hall and sign a lease in his own name. I had the directors give it to him, myself. And it was _my_ money that paid for it! Mine!" Henry grinned at the lawyer. "I didn't know it until last Saturday. Bob told me if I'd make a dirt-low rent I could get it in advance, and up to Saturday I didn't even know who I was dickering with."