By the evening of the 16th the subtle hand of Hurstwood had made itselfapparent. He had given the word among his friends--and they were manyand influential--that here was something which they ought to attend,and, as a consequence, the sale of tickets by Mr. Quincel, acting forthe lodge, had been large. Small four-line notes had appeared in all ofthe daily newspapers. These he had arranged for by the aid of one of hisnewspaper friends on the "Times," Mr. Harry McGarren, the managingeditor.

"Say, Harry," Hurstwood said to him one evening, as the latter stood atthe bar drinking before wending his belated way homeward, "you can helpthe boys out, I guess."

"What is it?" said McGarren, pleased to be consulted by the opulentmanager.

"The Custer Lodge is getting up a little entertainment for their owngood, and they'd like a little newspaper notice. You know what I mean--asquib or two saying that it's going to take place."

"Certainly," said McGarren, "I can fix that for you, George."

At the same time Hurstwood kept himself wholly in the background. Themembers of Custer Lodge could scarcely understand why their littleaffair was taking so well. Mr. Harry Quincel was looked upon as quite astar for this sort of work.

By the time the 16th had arrived Hurstwood's friends had rallied likeRomans to a senator's call. A well-dressed, good-natured,flatteringly-inclined audience was assured from the moment he thought ofassisting Carrie.

That little student had mastered her part to her own satisfaction, muchas she trembled for her fate when she should once face the gatheredthrong, behind the glare of the footlights. She tried to console herselfwith the thought that a score of other persons, men and women, wereequally tremulous concerning the outcome of their efforts, but she couldnot disassociate the general danger from her own individual liability.She feared that she would forget her lines, that she might be unable tomaster the feeling which she now felt concerning her own movements inthe play. At times she wished that she had never gone into the affair;at others, she trembled lest she should be paralysed with fear and standwhite and gasping, not knowing what to say and spoiling the entireperformance.

In the matter of the company, Mr. Bamberger had disappeared. Thathopeless example had fallen under the lance of the director's criticism.Mrs. Morgan was still present, but envious and determined, if fornothing more than spite, to do as well as Carrie at least. A loafingprofessional had been called in to assume the rôle of Ray, and, while hewas a poor stick of his kind, he was not troubled by any of those qualmswhich attack the spirit of those who have never faced an audience. Heswashed about (cautioned though he was to maintain silence concerninghis past theatrical relationships) in such a self-confident manner thathe was like to convince every one of his identity by mere matter ofcircumstantial evidence.

"It is so easy," he said to Mrs. Morgan, in the usual affected stagevoice. "An audience would be the last thing to trouble me. It's thespirit of the part, you know, that is difficult."

Carrie disliked his appearance, but she was too much the actress not toswallow his qualities with complaisance, seeing that she must suffer hisfictitious love for the evening.

At six she was ready to go. Theatrical paraphernalia had been providedover and above her care. She had practised her make-up in the morning,had rehearsed and arranged her material for the evening by one o'clock,and had gone home to have a final look at her part, waiting for theevening to come.

On this occasion the lodge sent a carriage. Drouet rode with her as faras the door, and then went about the neighbouring stores, looking forsome good cigars. The little actress marched nervously into herdressing-room and began that painfully anticipated matter of make-upwhich was to transform her, a simple maiden, to Laura, The Belle ofSociety.

The flare of the gas-jets, the open trunks, suggestive of travel anddisplay, the scattered contents of the make-up box--rouge, pearl powder,whiting, burnt cork, India ink, pencils for the eyelids, wigs, scissors,looking-glasses, drapery--in short, all the nameless paraphernalia ofdisguise, have a remarkable atmosphere of their own. Since her arrivalin the city many things had influenced her, but always in a far-removedmanner. This new atmosphere was more friendly. It was wholly unlike thegreat brilliant mansions which waved her coldly away, permitting heronly awe and distant wonder. This took her by the hand kindly, as onewho says, "My dear, come in." It opened for her as if for its own. Shehad wondered at the greatness of the names upon the bill-boards, themarvel of the long notices in the papers, the beauty of the dresses uponthe stage, the atmosphere of carriages, flowers, refinement. Here wasno illusion. Here was an open door to see all of that. She had come uponit as one who stumbles upon a secret passage, and, behold, she was inthe chamber of diamonds and delight!

As she dressed with a flutter, in her little stage room, hearing thevoices outside, seeing Mr. Quincel hurrying here and there, noting Mrs.Morgan and Mrs. Hoagland at their nervous work of preparation, seeingall the twenty members of the cast moving about and worrying over whatthe result would be, she could not help thinking what a delight thiswould be if it would endure; how perfect a state, if she could only dowell now, and then some time get a place as a real actress. The thoughthad taken a mighty hold upon her. It hummed in her ears as the melody ofan old song.

Outside in the little lobby another scene was being enacted. Without theinterest of Hurstwood, the little hall would probably have beencomfortably filled, for the members of the lodge were moderatelyinterested in its welfare. Hurstwood's word, however, had gone therounds. It was to be a full-dress affair. The four boxes had been taken.Dr. Norman McNeill Hale and his wife were to occupy one. This was quitea card. C. R. Walker, dry-goods merchant and possessor of at least twohundred thousand dollars, had taken another; a well-known coal merchanthad been induced to take the third, and Hurstwood and his friends thefourth. Among the latter was Drouet. The people who were now pouringhere were not celebrities, nor even local notabilities, in a generalsense. They were the lights of a certain circle--the circle of smallfortunes and secret order distinctions. These gentlemen Elks knew thestanding of one another. They had regard for the ability which couldamass a small fortune, own a nice home, keep a barouche or carriage,perhaps, wear fine clothes, and maintain a good mercantile position.Naturally, Hurstwood, who was a little above the order of mind whichaccepted this standard as perfect, who had shrewdness and muchassumption of dignity, who held an imposing and authoritative position,and commanded friendship by intuitive tact in handling people, was quitea figure. He was more generally known than most others in the samecircle, and was looked upon as some one whose reserve covered a mine ofinfluence and solid financial prosperity.

To-night he was in his element. He came with several friends directlyfrom Rector's in a carriage. In the lobby he met Drouet, who was justreturning from a trip for more cigars. All five now joined in ananimated conversation concerning the company present and the generaldrift of lodge affairs.

"Who's here?" said Hurstwood, passing into the theatre proper, where thelights were turned up and a company of gentlemen were laughing andtalking in the open space back of the seats.

"Why, how do you do, Mr. Hurstwood?" came from the first individualrecognised.

"Glad to see you," said the latter, grasping his hand lightly.

"Looks quite an affair, doesn't it?"

"Yes, indeed," said the manager.

"Custer seems to have the backing of its members," observed the friend.

"So it should," said the knowing manager. "I'm glad to see it."

"Well, George," said another rotund citizen, whose avoirdupois madenecessary an almost alarming display of starched shirt bosom, "how goesit with you?"

"Excellent," said the manager.

"What brings you over here? You're not a member of Custer."

"Good-nature," returned the manager. "Like to see the boys, you know."

"Wife here?"

"She couldn't come to-night. She's not well."

"Sorry to hear it--nothing serious, I hope."

"No, just feeling a little ill."

"I remember Mrs. Hurstwood when she was travelling once with you over toSt. Joe--" and here the newcomer launched off in a trivial recollection,which was terminated by the arrival of more friends.

"Why, George, how are you?" said another genial West Side politician andlodge member. "My, but I'm glad to see you again; how are things,anyhow?"

"Very well; I see you got that nomination for alderman."

"Yes, we whipped them out over there without much trouble."

"What do you suppose Hennessy will do now?"

"Oh, he'll go back to his brick business. He has a brick-yard, youknow."

"I didn't know that," said the manager. "Felt pretty sore, I suppose,over his defeat."

"Perhaps," said the other, winking shrewdly.

Some of the more favoured of his friends whom he had invited began toroll up in carriages now. They came shuffling in with a great show offinery and much evident feeling of content and importance.

"Here we are," said Hurstwood, turning to one from a group with whom hewas talking.

"That's right," returned the newcomer, a gentleman of about forty-five.

"And say," he whispered, jovially, pulling Hurstwood over by theshoulder so that he might whisper in his ear, "if this isn't a goodshow, I'll punch your head."

"You ought to pay for seeing your old friends. Bother the show!"

To another who inquired, "Is it something really good?" the managerreplied:

"I don't know. I don't suppose so." Then, lifting his hand graciously,"For the lodge."

"Lots of boys out, eh?"

"Yes, look up Shanahan. He was just asking for you a moment ago."

It was thus that the little theatre resounded to a babble of successfulvoices, the creak of fine clothes, the commonplace of good-nature, andall largely because of this man's bidding. Look at him any time withinthe half hour before the curtain was up, he was a member of an eminentgroup--a rounded company of five or more whose stout figures, largewhite bosoms, and shining pins bespoke the character of their success.The gentlemen who brought their wives called him out to shake hands.Seats clicked, ushers bowed while he looked blandly on. He was evidentlya light among them, reflecting in his personality the ambitions of thosewho greeted him. He was acknowledged, fawned upon, in a way lionised.Through it all one could see the standing of the man. It was greatnessin a way, small as it was.