The encore was over and Apples was hurrying, wig in hand, to the dressing-room. There he threw off his costume, dressed for the street, packed all his “properties” hastily in an old valise, and went out at the stage-door. The doorkeeper nodded to him. “You're off now, are you?” “Yes; I'm through here.” “Got your pay?” “Some of it.” “You're lucky.” “Guess I am. Good-night.” “Good-night.” Apples, still hurrying, still wanting breath, turned the corner, paused, looked up the street and down, seemed disappointed and irresolute, and finally turned his valise on end and sat on it. From where he sat in the shadow of a dark building he could see the flow of life along North Clark Street, and he watched it nervously. He seemed somewhat oppressed by the rush and whirl of things, as if in mid-course of a tempestuous career he had paused to think. The soot-laden air was portentous to-night; the rattle and rumble of the street, the guffaws from the actors' saloon at his elbow, the roar and hurry of it all, bore heavily on his spirits as he sat waiting there. For Apples was on the brink of something--something new and strange. Before him lay an unexplored country, and who could say if it should prove a land of roses or a black abyss. For better or worse it was to be, a plunge into the future, vastly unlike certain other plunges that he had been forced to take--alone. Circumstances had swept him on; the offer had come, bearing the guarantee that at last his name should appear on all posters in letters not shorter than three and one-half inches; the other one, whose face and voice had helped to make it all possible, was willing, with a fluttering heart, to keep her promise; the small boy with the wizened face, whose thin legs were to help make their joint fortunes, had jumped at the chance; and here he was on the brink. Henceforth the three Le Ducs, three, were to be a feature in the theatrical world. And the black sky, bearing oppressively down like an emblem of great grim Chicago, was portentous indeed. At last a woman, with a small package under her jacket, slipped out from the crowd and came hesitatingly down the side street. Apples rose. “Hello,” he said. “Hello.” “Got everything?” “Yes; where's Jimmie?” “He's waiting at the pier.” And so, without speaking further, these two young persons, who were about to take the plunge hand in hand, set out together toward the east. A block farther on she said, with a show of petulance, “Have we got to take Jimmie along?” [Illustration: 0051] “Yes, we'd have to come back here if we didn't. We've got to join the company Monday night, you know, at South Bend.”