At last, the chief comedian, singing in the centre of the stage, noticed a giggle where it was not expected. Then another and another. When the place came for loud applause it was only moderate. What could be the trouble? He realised that something was up. All at once, after an exit, he caught sight of Carrie. She was frowning alone on the stage and the audience was giggling and laughing. “By George, I won’t stand that!” thought the thespian. “I’m not going to have my work cut up by some one else. Either she quits that when I do my turn or I quit.” “Why, that’s all right,” said the manager, when the kick came. “That’s what she’s supposed to do. You needn’t pay any attention to that.” “But she ruins my work.” “No, she don’t,” returned the former, soothingly. “It’s only a little fun on the side.” “It is, eh?” exclaimed the big comedian. “She killed my hand all right. I’m not going to stand that.” “Well, wait until after the show. Wait until to-morrow. We’ll see what we can do.” The next act, however, settled what was to be done. Carrie was the chief feature of the play. The audience, the more it studied her, the more it indicated its delight. Every other feature paled beside the quaint, teasing, delightful atmosphere which Carrie contributed while on the stage. Manager and company realised she had made a hit. The critics of the daily papers completed her triumph. There were long notices in praise of the quality of the burlesque, touched with recurrent references to Carrie. The contagious mirth of the thing was repeatedly emphasised. “Miss Madenda presents one of the most delightful bits of character work ever seen on the Casino stage,” observed the stage critic of the “Sun.” “It is a bit of quiet, unassuming drollery which warms like good wine. Evidently the part was not intended to take precedence, as Miss Madenda is not often on the stage, but the audience, with the characteristic perversity of such bodies, selected for itself. The little Quakeress was marked for a favourite the moment she appeared, and thereafter easily held attention and applause. The vagaries of fortune are indeed curious.” The critic of the “Evening World,” seeking as usual to establish a catch phrase which should “go” with the town, wound up by advising: “If you wish to be merry, see Carrie frown.” The result was miraculous so far as Carrie’s fortune was concerned. Even during the morning she received a congratulatory message from the manager. “You seem to have taken the town by storm,” he wrote. “This is delightful. I am as glad for your sake as for my own.” The author also sent word. That evening when she entered the theatre the manager had a most pleasant greeting for her. “Mr. Stevens,” he said, referring to the author, “is preparing a little song, which he would like you to sing next week.” “Oh, I can’t sing,” returned Carrie.