He was in a lift, that fierce little lift at the Army and Navy Stores. He was a liftman—he had been a liftman for years. In another half-second they would arrive at the first floor. He pushed back his chair with a clatter—flung up his head, and the words rang out: “This is the drapery, stationery and ironmongery departmins——” The affrighted burglars staggered back as Eliphalet rose to his feet, and cried, “This is the jewelry, toys, games, and saddlery departmins.” The hindmost burglar pushed his companion forward. “Slash him, Jake!” he hissed. The blow was struck—Eliphalet fell, and with him the curtain. Up went the lights, and Freddie Manning rushed on to the stage. “No calls,” he shouted. “Clear, everyone. Strike, boys!” The big scene flats split up into sections and marched miraculously away. “Come on, Guv’nor.” He stretched out a hand and helped Eliphalet to his feet. “I think,” said Eliphalet in a dazed sort of way, “I am not very well to-night.” “You’re all right,” said Manning. “I’ll give you a hand to your dressing-room.” Half-way down the long stone corridor Eliphalet hung back and resisted. “Dunno whether iss struck you, but I think we’re having an allfully jolly evening, ol’ boy.” “You get changed,” remarked Manning grimly, and handed him over to the dresser. When he returned to the stage he found several members of the company talking together in animated whispers. He at once projected himself into their midst. “If I hear man or woman saying the Guv’nor’s drunk,” he said, “he or she gets the sack—quick. Got that?” And, cocking his hat over his right eye, he marched off. Before the curtain the simple audience were discussing the play. “What’s he mean when he says that bit about the drapery department?” demanded the young lady. Her companion shook her head darkly, and volunteered: “It’s the grief ’as turned ’is brain.” “Ah! that must be it. Gone loopy like.” Eliphalet, in his dressing-room, was in a fine rage. “Get that cork out, d’y’hear!” he admonished. “How the deuce am I to take med-cine with the cork in?” “A didna knaw tha wanted any more,” said the dresser. “’S no excuse. Get it out! My cold’s worse—mush worse. Le’s have it.” And, snatching the bottle, he knocked off its neck and drank what remained of the fluid. “You don’ seem to—t’understand I’m a ver’ important pers’n—great actor—Eliphalet Card’may. You’re a low feller—but a good chap—one of the nicest and mos’ delightful chaps I ever met——” “Second act beginners, please,” yelled the call-boy. Eliphalet passed a hand over his brow. “Dear me!” he said. “I dunno. Yes, yes—I’m coming—I’m all ri’, qui’ all ri’.” And he made his way to the stage.