“Come, Manning,” he said. “We will go on, ladies and gentlemen, please. Mr. Cartwright, I apologise for my hasty departure a while ago, but you—well, I was upset. It is a matter of personal pride with me that I have always—and in using the word I speak advisedly—have always been able to get the best out of any actor or actress I have employed. For a moment I feared that you—that I was to sacrifice that reputation; and I am sure, Mr. Cartwright, you would not willingly cause me so much distress.” “Well, I——” began Aloysius Cartwright—but the senior man held up his hand in a gesture compelling silence. “Perhaps you have not fully realised the essence of the scene and what I have here may help you to do so.” So saying, he unrolled a large sheet of paper he had been carrying and displayed a very lurid poster of a young man in evening dress leaping from a lock-gate into a canal. It was a striking composition in which black shadows and a much-reflected moon played important parts. “Now, Mr. Cartwright, with this as your guide I am certain I shall not appeal to you in vain.” And Eliphalet Cardomay, having made the _amende honorable_ for his previous ill-humour, smiled a kindly smile of encouragement. But Aloysius Cartwright failed to seize the opportunity of reinstating himself in his manager’s good graces. “It—it is all very well, sir, but I wish to say that I am neither an acrobat nor a cinema actor—my tastes are for—for legitimate work.” The lines about Eliphalet’s mouth drew down and hardened. “I think,” he said, “you are confusing the issue. The question appears to me to turn more upon personal valour than upon anything else.” Then, speaking with sudden enthusiasm, “Why, my dear, dear boy—consider a moment. Put yourself in the hero’s position. Imagine your own sweetheart bound hand and foot and struggling in the waters of the canal. Would you hesitate for a second? No. Would you falter before the task of saving her from the clutches of the stream? No, no. Then be the man whom you’re portraying. Play upon the impulsiveness of your nature, the gallantry of your youth, the pluck—the enthusiasm—the _élan_: lift up—grip us—thrill us, and——” with an abrupt change from the inspired to the finite, “do remember that we’re producing the day after to-morrow.” “I’ll try,” said Mr. Cartwright. “Clear the stage,” shouted Manning, clapping his hands to support the order. “Up left, Miss Maybank, please. Come on, Fieldfare—for goodness’ sake, o’ man. Now where’s that rope? Props! PROPS!!” An old man wearing a green baize apron thrust his head through the opening to the scene dock. “Get that rope—quick—and try and remember some of us live by eating, and don’t want to be here all day. There you are! Catch hold, Denton! Where’ll they start, Guv’nor?” “Miss O’Neal’s entrance. I’ll go into the stalls.” “Your entrance, my dear. Ready, sir? Right.”