“Most amusing, is it not?” volunteered the photographic artist, with an accompanying smile usually employed as a pattern for his more serious sitters. Eliphalet regarded him with one eyebrow raised high above its fellow. “Amusing! Appropriate, if you like, but amusing—no—it is contemptible.” And so saying, he slapped the photographs into the astonished artist’s hand and, throwing back his head, stalked off, past the line of melancholy fishers in the direction of his dressing-room. Upon the stripped stage were assembled the various members of his company; for the most part they had composed themselves in little groups and were talking in animated whispers. Out of the medley of subdued tongues occasional fragments of speech were audible. “But these juveniles are not like they were in our day, Kitterson.” “You could see Mr. Cardomay was in a rage,” said Violet O’Neal. “He’d have sworn if he hadn’t gone out,” returned Miss Fullar. “Can’t think what Cartwright’s making such a fuss over.” “Any fool could jump six feet into a net.” “Wish they’d give me the part.” “You can’t get away from it, old man, Cartwright’s no actor.” With his back against the proscenium and fiddling with an unlighted cigarette, stood an isolated figure, over whom seemed to hover a spirit of tragedy. Ever and anon his eyes sought a wooden structure at the back of the stage. The structure was in the nature of a rostrum, about ten feet in height, beneath which was stretched a substantial net some thirty inches clear of the boards. This young man was Mr. Aloysius Cartwright, the new _jeune premier_ for the forthcoming production. Up and down before him, his bowler hat eclipsing his right eye and the major portion of the right side of his face, walked Mr. Manning, the stage-manager. Presently he halted in his stride and addressed Mr. Cartwright. “Look here, why don’t you have another packet at it while the Guv’nor’s away? Make up your mind to do it, and it’s as good as done.” “No, really, Manning, I’ve—I can’t.” Freddie Manning sniffed noisily. “It comes to this, o’ man. You’ll put the kibosh on the whole show if you don’t. I can’t see what you’re raising the wind over. You told me you were a swimmer, too.” “Oh, I can swim a bit, but that has nothing to do with it. What I——” He stopped, for at that moment Eliphalet Cardomay appeared through the swing-doors. His entrance caused something of a nervous flutter, for everyone had felt the effects of the rehearsal which had ended in his abrupt departure. The wrath of a naturally quiet-humoured man is always somewhat alarming, for no one can be sure of the direction in which it will vent itself. But apparently the thunder-clouds had passed away, for when Eliphalet came to a halt in the glare of the bunch light, his features were almost seraphic in their calm.