"The Management has the honor of requesting the presence of the lady and gentleman artists of the Company, as also the members of the orchestra and the choruses, at a tea and social to be held at the home of the Director on the 6th of this month, after the performance. The Director of the Society of Dramatic Artists. (Signed) John, the Anointed, Cabinski. "Well, what do you say, Pepa? . . . Will this do? . . ." the Director asked his wife after he had read aloud the invitation. "Teddy! be quiet, I can't hear what father is reading." "Mamma, Eddy took my roll!" "Papa, Teddy called me a jackass!" "Silence! By God! with those children . . . Quiet them, Pepa." "If you give me a penny, pa, I'll be quiet." "And me too, me too!" Cabinski held the whip on his knee under the table and waited; as soon as the children had advanced near enough, he sprang up and began to belabor them. There arose a squealing and screeching; the door flew open and the junior directors went sliding down the banisters to the accompaniment of howls. Cabinski calmly proceeded to read over again the invitation. "At what time do you wish to invite them?" "After the performance." "You'll have to ask some of the reporters. But that must be done personally." "I haven't time." "Ask someone from the chorus to write the invitations for you." "Bah! And let them make stupid mistakes? Perhaps you will write them for me, Pepa? . . . You have a neat hand." "No, it's not proper that I, the wife of the director, should write to strange men. I told that . . . what is the name of the girl whom you engaged for the chorus? . . ." "Orlowska." "Yes . . . I told her to come here to-day. I like her. Kaczkowska told me that she plays the piano excellently, so the thought struck me that . . ." "Well then, let her write the invitations; if she plays the piano, she must also know how to write." "Not only that, but I think that she could teach Jadzia how to play . . ." "Do you know, that's not at all a bad idea! . . . We might include that in her future salary." "How much are you paying her?" she asked, lighting a cigarette. "I have not yet agreed upon a price . . . but I will pay her as much as I pay the others," he answered with a strange smile. "Which means that . . ." "That I'll pay her a great, a great deal . . . in the future." "Ha! ha! ha!" Both began to laugh, and then became silent. "John, what do you propose for the supper?" "I don't know as yet . . . I'll talk it over at the restaurant. We'll arrange it somehow . . ." Cabinski proceeded to make a clean copy of the invitation, while Pepa sat in a rocking-chair, puffing away at her cigarette. "John! . . . Haven't you noticed anything peculiar about Majkowska's acting, recently?" "No, nothing . . . if she performs a little spasmodically, that's merely her style." "A little! . . . Why, she goes into epileptic fits! The editor told me the papers are calling attention to it."