"Yes, you can. Now, why don't you do it? They need some one, and it will be lots of fun for you." "Oh, no, it won't," said Carrie seriously. "You'd like that. I know you would. I've seen you dancing around here and giving imitations and that's why I asked you. You're clever enough, all right." "No, I'm not," said Carrie shyly. "Now, I'll tell you what you do. You go down and see about it. It'll be fun for you. The rest of the company isn't going to be any good. They haven't any experience. What do they know about theatricals?" He frowned as he thought of their ignorance. "Hand me the coffee," he added. "I don't believe I could act, Charlie," Carrie went on pettishly. "You don't think I could, do you?" "Sure. Out o' sight. I bet you make a hit. Now you want to go, I know you do. I knew it when I came home. That's why I asked you." "What is the play, did you say?" "'Under the Gaslight.'" "What part would they want me to take?" "Oh, one of the heroines--I don't know." "What sort of a play is it?" "Well," said Drouet, whose memory for such things was not the best, "it's about a girl who gets kidnapped by a couple of crooks--a man and a woman that live in the slums. She had some money or something and they wanted to get it. I don't know now how it did go exactly." "Don't you know what part I would have to take?" "No, I don't, to tell the truth." He thought a moment. "Yes, I do, too. Laura, that's the thing--you're to be Laura." "And you can't remember what the part is like?" "To save me, Cad, I can't," he answered. "I ought to, too; I've seen the play enough. There's a girl in it that was stolen when she was an infant--was picked off the street or something--and she's the one that's hounded by the two old criminals I was telling you about." He stopped with a mouthful of pie poised on a fork before his face. "She comes very near getting drowned--no, that's not it. I'll tell you what I'll do," he concluded hopelessly, "I'll get you the book. I can't remember now for the life of me." "Well, I don't know," said Carrie, when he had concluded, her interest and desire to shine dramatically struggling with her timidity for the mastery. "I might go if you thought I'd do all right." "Of course, you'll do," said Drouet, who, in his efforts to enthuse Carrie, had interested himself. "Do you think I'd come home here and urge you to do something that I didn't think you would make a success of? You can act all right. It'll be good for you." "When must I go?" said Carrie, reflectively. "The first rehearsal is Friday night. I'll get the part for you to-night." "All right," said Carrie resignedly, "I'll do it, but if I make a failure now it's your fault." "You won't fail," assured Drouet. "Just act as you do around here. Be natural. You're all right. I've often thought you'd make a corking good actress." "Did you really?" asked Carrie. "That's right," said the drummer.