"I don't," he laughed. "But if you'll all come I'll promise you some of the best chicken you ever tasted. And mother's hot biscuits in the chicken gravy----" "Don't you say another word, Russ Dalwood!" interrupted Alice. "We're coming!" "I--I think we will," agreed Mr. DeVere, with a laugh. Thus was his new engagement fittingly celebrated. The memory of that chicken dinner lingered long with the DeVere family. For though there was daylight ahead there were dark and dreary days to be lived through. As usual in theatrical companies, no salaries were paid while "A Matter of Friendship" was being rehearsed. Neither Mr. DeVere, nor any of the company, received any money for those two weeks of hard work. Those actors or actresses who had nothing put by lived as best they could on the charity of others. It was indeed "a matter of friendship" that some of them lived at all. And for a week after the play opened they could expect nothing. Then if the play should be a failure---- But no one liked to think of that. The rehearsals went on, and the play was going to be a great success, according to Mr. DeVere. But then he always said that. What actor has not? How he and his family lived those two weeks none but themselves knew. They had pawned all they dared, until their flat was quite bare of needed comforts. Tradesmen were insistent, and one man in particular threatened to have Mr. DeVere arrested if his bill was not paid. But it was out of the question to meet it. What little money was on hand was needed for food, and there was little enough of that. Mr. DeVere did negotiate some small loans, but not enough to afford permanent relief. Perhaps motherly Mrs. Dalwood suspected, or Russ may have hinted at their neighbors' straits, for many a nourishing dish was sent to Ruth and Alice, on the plea that there was more of it than Mrs. Dalwood and her sons could eat. There were more invitations from the Dalwoods to dinner or supper, but Mr. DeVere was proud, and declined, though in the most delightfully polite way. "I--I don't see how he can refuse, when he knows we are really hungry!" sighed Alice. "You wouldn't want him to be a beggar; would you?" flashed Ruth. "No. But it's awfully hard; isn't it?" "It is. Too bad they don't pay for rehearsals. And there'll be another full week! Oh, Alice, I wish there was something we could do to earn money!" "So do I! But what is there?" "I don't know. Oh, dear!" They sat in the gloaming--silent, waiting for their father to come home. "There's his step!" exclaimed Ruth, jumping up. "Yes--but," said Alice, in puzzled, frightened tones, "it--it doesn't sound like him, somehow. How--how slowly he walks! Oh, I hope nothing has happened!" "Happened? How could there?" asked Ruth, yet with blanched face. The door opened, and Mr. DeVere entered. It needed but a glance at his white face to show that something had happened--something tragic--and not the tragedy of the theater.