Infected by the excitement of the moment, Mrs. Nelson said he must go at once. Furthermore, she gave Eliphalet the baby to hold, while she brushed his hat and coat and polished the knob of his stick. “I’ll stand a cab,” said Dwyer, “for I won’t let you out of my sight till I’ve heard the best.” With which, he half swallowed two fingers of his right hand and produced a whistle so piercing that a taxi seemed to spring from nowhere. Bread cast upon the waters returns after many days. There was a certain quality in “Right Triumphant” which, even though the stage desired it no longer, was still of an order to find favour in the hearts of cinema audiences. The manuscript copy of the play, sent to Mornice, was read, at her request, by Mr. Raphaeli, who at once realised, with her in the leading part, a film version might be played with every hope of success. Mr. Raphaeli was seldom wrong, and on this occasion he was “righter” than usual. Eliphalet Cardomay had disappeared, and enquiry failed to locate him, but to his credit, on a ten per cent. royalty, a sum of three thousand pounds had accumulated. “She looked after your interests pretty closely,” remarked Mr. Stranger of Henrietta Street. “I think you may rely on that sum doubling itself before the interest on the film expires. By the way, here’s a bundle of letters from her addressed to you.” Eliphalet Cardomay was wonderfully calm during the interview, and did not betray by word or gesture the slightest excitement, but his fingers trembled a trifle as he took the letters. He received the address of a firm of solicitors, who were looking after the money on his behalf, shook hands, and walked from the office. On the pavement outside he conveyed the news to the little comedian who, in his enthusiasm, performed a war-dance which drew toward them a massive policeman, complete with warnings. “But you don’t look half pleased enough,” he gasped, when Eliphalet took his arm and drew him away. “I am—I am—very pleased and very grateful. It’s just a shade of disappointment that the play should not have made its success on the legitimate stage.” But the cloud faded almost before it came in the bright blue horizon of the future. A twinkle showed in his eyes. “Dwyer,” he said, “in all my life I have never yet borrowed from a fellow-artist, but I am wondering now if you would lend me a sovereign.” “Whatever you want, old man; whatever you want.” “Simpson’s is just over there, and I was thinking—an undercut from a saddle of mutton—you and I together-a little celebration, what?” “Fine!” echoed Dwyer. “Take what you want out of this——” producing a fiver from a Friday night envelope. As they turned into Bedford Street there were a few old down-and-outers of the profession, leaning disconsolately against the wall of an agent’s office. Eliphalet jerked his head toward them. “Would you mind if I did?” he questioned. “Better still!” shouted Dwyer enthusiastically. So Eliphalet crossed the street.