John was dismissed. Outside the door he took a deep breath. He had won the first round. All now depended on Mr. Merritt, who, he learned, was out. John left word to say he would call the following afternoon. His next job was to go into Philip's shop, and buy a map of London. At tea, in a Lyon's shop, he read down a list of amusements. Dramatic critic for the _Daily Post_--he murmured to himself. It sounded splendid. And what a shock for Wellington and de Courtrai! That evening he wrote to Vernley, to Muriel and to Marsh. He also sent a letter to Mrs. Graham and Mr. Steer, saying he was in London, and asking if he might call. CHAPTER III I In the entrance of the Circle Theatre there were already several loiterers awaiting friends with whom they were going to see the new play. Among them John. There was of course, nothing unusual in his appearance; the gallery queue which had filed past the main entrance, after its long vigil, would not know he differed from any other of those fortunate fellows who, well-groomed, drove up in taxis and cars and walked to their reserved seats, carrying the undigested peacock to the stalls. It was all so new to him, this animated scene with its types of humanity. Merritt, a thoroughly good fellow who had immediately shown a kindly disposition to the new man, had introduced him to Bailey, the dramatic critic of the _Echo_, who now accompanied him. Together they stood by the portrait of a famous American actress and scrutinised the arriving audience. There were Jews, of course, little men, with semi-bald heads and black curly fringes; they all wore patent button boots, and very fancy dress waistcoats. The cut of their clothes was ultra-fashionable, and there was a glint of gold and a flash of diamonds at many points of their ostentatious persons. Gold-mounted walking sticks and cigars were noticeable. "These are the inner circle of the dramatic world," said Bailey. "That's Reinstein; he owns six theatres and a chain of restaurants; you eat his dinners and then try to digest them and his plays in his stalls. I've seen great dramatists, men who can make you weep with their beautiful sentiment, run across the street to speak to him." "That's an awful looking beggar," said John, catching a vile leer directed at an under-dressed young woman who waved an ostrich feather fan as she passed, on the arm of an old man. "A clever fellow--nine successes this season. That's Wentz, his scout, a word from him will make or mar an actor or actress." "Who's the man he's talking to?" "Ah--that's Lewis--he's one of us," replied Bailey. "Us?" "The most aggressive, the most feared and advertised of us all. His column every Sunday is said to be the only thing that Reinstein and his crowd worry about."