Ned winced. He thought of the fiery, impulsive owner. How would he endure the loss, the humbled pride, the day of small things! With the weight of the recollection of his own wrong-doing Ned felt as if he were responsible for the moral ordeal as well as the material disaster--although he had no concern with either--which the manager seemed destined to encounter. "Heavy Inthurance. New York Companies," the boy sang out unexpectedly. Ned started as suddenly as if he had been shot. "'Ere, boy," he said, fishing out of his pocket the change of the silver quarter which the "funny man" had bestowed upon him. "Gimme that paper." The little fat boy in the door stared, his mouth open in astonishment and exhibiting the vacant spaces where his teeth ought to be. He had never known a small working boy such as Edward to buy a daily paper. He thought Ned was guying him until he took another look at the outstretched hand with the proffered nickel. Then he gravely handed over the folded journal. The elderly gentleman of clerical aspect looked down at Ned with a smile; he saw in the occurrence only an amusing affectation of mannish tastes and habits. It had a far graver meaning to another person in the car, who was openly staring at Ned, with a new light kindling in his eyes and an expression of triumph in the curl of his lip. Ned was cowering back, making a feint of opening the paper, and yet all a-quiver with the realization that he had betrayed himself. How could a poor boy, such as he was, be supposed to take an interest in Gorham's insurance? He feared his eagerness upon the mention of the subject might intimate to the man--if this were really a detective who had watched and followed him--that he possessed some knowledge of the fire, connected with the question of insurance. It might even imply the truth,--arson! Only he would be numbered with the incendiaries. He had given the detective the clue,--Insurance! Ned presently made an effort to seem to read the paper,--he could not pin his mind to a single syllable. It was scant comfort to him now--since he had given himself away--to know that the First Player and he must have overheard _only a part_ of Gorham's conversation with his friend, and that in refusing to renew his policy in the Rising Phœnix Insurance Company because of a quarrel with the agent he had at once placed the risk elsewhere. Thus the burned theatre was amply insured in other companies, and Gorham's loss would be slight, comparatively speaking, by reason of the disaster.