"'Under the Gaslight,'" said Mr. Quincel, mentioning Augustin Daly's famous production, which had worn from a great public success down to an amateur theatrical favourite, with many of the troublesome accessories cut out and the _dramatis personae_ reduced to the smallest possible number. Drouet had seen this play some time in the past. "That's it," he said; "that's a fine play. It will go all right. You ought to make a lot of money out of that." "We think we'll do very well," Mr. Quincel replied. "Don't you forget now," he concluded, Drouet showing signs of restlessness; "some young woman to take the part of Laura." "Sure, I'll attend to it." He moved away, forgetting almost all about it the moment Mr. Quincel had ceased talking. He had not even thought to ask the time or place. Drouet was reminded of his promise a day or two later by the receipt of a letter announcing that the first rehearsal was set for the following Friday evening, and urging him to kindly forward the young lady's address at once, in order that the part might be delivered to her. "Now, who the deuce do I know?" asked the drummer reflectively, scratching his rosy ear. "I don't know any one that knows anything about amateur theatricals." He went over in memory the names of a number of women he knew, and finally fixed on one, largely because of the convenient location of her home on the West Side, and promised himself that as he came out that evening he would see her. When, however, he started west on the car he forgot, and was only reminded of his delinquency by an item in the "Evening News"--a small three-line affair under the head of Secret Society Notes--which stated the Custer Lodge of the Order of Elks would give a theatrical performance in Avery Hall on the 16th, when "Under the Gaslight" would be produced. "George!" exclaimed Drouet, "I forgot that." "What?" inquired Carrie. They were at their little table in the room which might have been used for a kitchen, where Carrie occasionally served a meal. To-night the fancy had caught her, and the little table was spread with a pleasing repast. "Why, my lodge entertainment. They're going to give a play, and they wanted me to get them some young lady to take a part." "What is it they're going to play?" "'Under the Gaslight.'" "When?" "On the 16th." "Well, why don't you?" asked Carrie. "I don't know any one," he replied. Suddenly he looked up. "Say," he said, "how would you like to take the part?" "Me?" said Carrie. "I can't act." "How do you know?" questioned Drouet reflectively. "Because," answered Carrie, "I never did." Nevertheless, she was pleased to think he would ask. Her eyes brightened, for if there was anything that enlisted her sympathies it was the art of the stage. True to his nature, Drouet clung to this idea as an easy way out. "That's nothing. You can act all you have to down there." "No, I can't," said Carrie weakly, very much drawn toward the proposition and yet fearful.