"Oh, then you've seen it yourself, sir," said Oliver, in a relieved tone. The old actor's eyes twinkled. He, too, had read the young man's mind--not a difficult task when one looked down into Oliver's eyes. "Oh, many, many times," he answered with a smile. "I have known it for years. In the old days, when they would smash the poor lady's head, they used to have a pan of gravel which they would crunch with a stick to imitate the breaking of the bones. It was quite realistic from the front, but that was given up long ago. How did YOU like the business to-night, Mr. Simmons?" and he turned to the musician. "Oh, admirable, sir. We all thought it had never been better played or better put on," and he glanced again toward his companions, who stood apart, listening breathlessly to every word that fell from the actor's lips. "Ah, I am glad of it. Brougham will be so pleased--and yet it shocked you, Mr. Horn--and you really think the poor lady minded it? Dear me! How pleased she will be when I tell her the impression it all made upon you. She's worked so hard over the part and has been so nervous about it. I left her only a moment ago--she and her husband wanted me to take supper with them at Riley's--the new restaurant on University Place, you know, famous for its devilled crabs. But I always like to come here for my clams. Allow me a moment--" and he bent over the steaming tub, and skewering the contents of a pair of shells with his iron fork held it out toward Oliver. "Let me beg of you, Mr. Horn, to taste this clam. I am quite sure it is a particularly savory one. After this my dear young friend, I hope you'll have a better opinion of me." And his eye twinkled. "I am really better than I look--indeed I am--and so, my dear boy, is this clam. Come, come, it is getting cold." "What do you mean by 'a better opinion' of you, Mr. Gilbert?" stammered Oliver. He had been completely captivated by the charm of the actor's manner. "Why shouldn't I think well of you?--I don't understand." "Why--because I strangled the poor lady to-night. You know, of course--that it was I who played the villain." "You!" exclaimed Oliver. "No, I did not, sir. Why, Mr. Gilbert, I can't realize--oh, I hope you'll forgive me for what I've said. I've only been in New York a short time, and--" The old gentleman cut short Oliver's explanation with a wave of his fork, and looking down into the boy's face, said in a serious tone: "My son, you're quite right. Quite right--and I like you all the better for it. All such plays are dreadful I feel just as you do about them, but what can we actors do? The public will have it that way."