At last there came a glimmer. Webster announced that he believed a final decision could be reached at or about 16th February. He required, he said, that much further time in order to be able to figure out the precise costs of the venture and to determine what, if anything, might be left after the payment of all the terrific costs. In other words, he had to determine and calculate the precise nature of the risk.... Figures, figures, and still more figures.... Cables backwards and forwards across the Atlantic, with my New York office checking and rechecking on the capacities of the auditoriums, theatres, opera houses, and halls in which the bookings had been made. The 16th February passed and still no decision was forthcoming. On 19th February, all that could be elicited from Webster was: “I simply can’t say at this juncture.” He added that he appreciated my position and regretted the daily disappointments to which I was being subjected. There came the 22nd of February, in the United States the anniversary of the birth of George Washington. This year in London, the 22nd of February was the eve of the General Election. Most of the afternoon I spent with Webster at his flat, going over papers. We dined together and, as we parted, Webster’s only remark was: “See you at the performance.” Meanwhile the pressure on me from New York increased. “What _is_ going to happen?” became the reiterated burden of the daily messages from my office. Other matters in New York were requiring my attention, and it had become necessary to inform Webster that it would be impossible for me to remain any longer in London and that I was sailing in the _Queen Mary_ on Friday. Election Eve I went to the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, to watch another Sadler’s Wells performance. In the main foyer I ran into Webster. “Can you guarantee us our expenses _and_ a profit?” he asked. “I can.” “It’s a deal.” It was eight-thirty in the evening of the 22nd February that the verbal deal was made. Five hours difference in time made it three-thirty in the afternoon in New York. I hurried back to the Savoy and called Mae Frohman. “What’s going to happen?” “It’s all set,” I replied. Back to Covent Garden I went. In the Crush Bar, Webster and I toasted our deal with a bottle of champagne. During Election Day, Webster, “Madame,” and I worked on repertoire and final details; but, for the most part, we gave our attention to the early returns from the General Election. After the performance that night at the Garden, David Webster and his friend James Cleveland Belle, joined me at the Savoy and remained until four in the morning, with one eye and one ear on the returns. The next day I sailed in the good _Queen Mary_ and had a lovely crossing, with my good friend, Greer Garson, on board to make the trip even more pleasant. Mrs. Hurok, my daughter Ruth, Mae Frohman, and my office staff met me at the Cunard pier; and I told the whole story, in all its intricate detail, to them.