The play that night was “Macbeth,” and anything more unlike the arrangements at Washington’s theatre it would be impossible to conceive. Mr. Skoot was apologetic, Mrs. Skoot endeavoured to be very affable, and the Company with that readiness to perceive fun, and the real good-nature which never failed them in an emergency, made the best of the many discomforts. They dressed behind screens, they laughed and joked, they had wild hunts for lost belongings, and they chattered incessantly between the acts under cover of the noisiest piano-playing which could be produced by one of the ladies, who, with a waterproof cloak over her costume, did duty as the entire orchestra. A choice selection of Scotch airs was being hammered out at the close of the Fourth Act, when Ralph, who was groping in a heap of miscellaneous garments in hopes of rescuing the wig he had worn as first murderer, and had hastily thrown off during a desperately hurried change into _Malcolm’s_ attire, found himself close to Dudley. “The manager is positively enjoying himself,” said the comedian. “Skoot is after all a wonderful man. I shouldn’t wonder if he was persuading himself that this confounded tour will prove a success. That fellow lives on dreams. His wife is the one for business.” At that moment Mrs. Skoot, in the most elegant of stage nightdresses, and with her taper all ready to be lighted at the right moment, appeared for the sleep-walking scene. Ralph often wondered what effect she had at a distance; the near view of her was appalling. “I am afraid you have a great deal to put up with,” she said, in unusually gracious tones, smiling in a ghastly way beneath her paint. “But we must all learn to take the fortune of war. Our next place will be comfortable enough.” They were joined just then by Myra Kay in the costume of the _Gentlewoman-in-Waiting_. Mrs. Skoot, who, as a rule, was at daggers drawn with her, accosted her now pleasantly enough. “I hear that you and Ivy have planned an excursion for to-morrow?” she said. “Come and breakfast with us at nine o’clock before the start. And you, too, Mr. Denmead.” They accepted the invitation in some surprise, and as the curtain was rung up Mrs. Skoot requested Dudley to light her taper, and presently sailed on to the stage for her great scene, leaving them in astonishment at her unwonted good-humour. The next day Ralph went, as he had promised, to the manager’s rooms in time for breakfast. He was within a few yards of the door when he came upon the heavy man, and his son, a young and very indifferent actor who usually played four or five small parts. “Have you heard the news?” they exclaimed. “The Company’s dried up.” “What?” said Ralph, in dismay.