Next forenoon, promptly at eleven o'clock, Handy was at Fogg's house. A ring at the door-bell was responded to by that gentleman in person. Half a minute later both were settled down in Fogg's Bohemian quarters, which consisted of a small reception-room and still smaller bed-chamber. The reception-room was not luxuriously furnished, but it was by no means shabbily equipped. A piano stood in one corner, a writing-desk placed close to the window, and a well-used Morris chair were the most conspicuous articles of furniture. Photographs in abundance were scattered all around on the walls, and on a table there were enough old playbooks to make a respectable showing in a second-hand book store. The two men had not been seated more than five minutes when the bell at the hall door was rung, and in an instant Fogg was out of his chair and on his feet.

"What's the matter?" inquired Handy.

"I guess," replied Fogg, "that's the committee. They promised to be here at this hour. Excuse me for a moment," and before Handy could say another word Fogg was half-way down the first flight of stairs. The noise of the opening and closing of the street door was heard, and then succeeded a buzz of female voices accompanied by a patter of feet on the stairs. Before Handy had time to prepare to receive visitors, the door opened and Fogg, his face lighted up with the broadest kind of a smile, made his appearance, and ushered in the committee, which consisted of five blooming matrons who were instrumental in talking up and arranging for the proposed complimentary benefit. The ladies were not young; in fact, it was a long time since they had been. But their hearts were juvenile and they themselves were sympathetic and generously inclined. Handy was duly introduced, and then the female philanthropists and lovers of art commenced the business which brought them there, somewhat after this fashion:

"What a unique little snuggery you have here, Mr. Fogg," began one.

"It is so artistic, don't you know, that it is too awfully sweet for anything," replied another.

"Ah! there's one of the best photos I have ever seen of the divine Sarah. Where did you get it, Mr. Fogg?" added a third. "That one of Maude Adams is fair, and that of Mrs. Fiske there in the character of—I forget the name—does not do her justice."

This medley of inconsequential conversation and chatter continued for fully half an hour without one word being spoken on the all-important subject they had presumably been brought together to arrange. They touched on everything theatrical, according to their lights, but that in which their friend was most interested. At length Fogg, in sheer desperation, broke the ice, and in a somewhat hesitating manner explained the way in which he had induced his friend, Mr. Handy, to be present at the conference and give them the benefit of his vast managerial experience and acknowledged histrionic ability in arranging the programme of the proposed complimentary testimonial. Moreover, Mr. Handy had postponed an important engagement in order that he might have the honor of managing the stage at the rehearsals as well as on the evening of the performance.

The ladies were in ecstasies.

"Oh, how charmingly delightful!" ejaculated the most rubicund of the committee. "And so you have finally determined, Mr. Fogg, on 'The Lady of Lyons' for the attraction."

"Yes, ladies, I have. A determination with which I feel satisfied you all will concede. Revivals of well-known successful plays are rapidly coming into fashion, and it is well to keep up with the progress of the times. I might mention a number of old plays managers have in contemplation but as Shakespeare says—I think it was the sweet Bard of Avon that so expressed himself—'Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof.' That is why I have selected Bulwer's great romantic and poetic masterpiece—'The Lady of Lyons.' Besides, ladies, bear in mind it will afford Miss Daisy Daffodil a magnificent opportunity to appear as Pauline, a character, ladies, which has claimed the histrionic talents of many of the bright luminaries of the stage from the days of the glorious Peg Woffington to those of Leslie Carter."

"How well, how touchingly, Mr. Fogg speaks, and what a fund of valuable and truthful information he has entertained us with," said Mrs. Doolittle, the chairman of the committee. "A better selection than 'The Lady of Lyons' could not have been made, and what a splendid opportunity it will be for dear Daisy to show off that light blue watered silk of hers. It is so suitable to her complexion."

"Yes, dear," responded the lady sitting near her, "but will it light up well? I am given to understand that the electric light is most trying on blue. Now, don't you think that——"

"No, I do not, my dear. Pardon me, but I know what you were about to say. You were about to remark that——"

"Ladies," said Mr. Fogg, rising to the occasion and in a polite manner, "will you kindly excuse me when I venture to suggest that the matter of toilet is a thing you can arrange between yourselves and the fair young star, let us proudly hope, that is to be. But as my friend here, Mr. Handy, is a very busy man and his time valuable, might I suggest that we get down to business?"

"Quite right, Mr. Fogg," one of the ladies answered. "Let us amuse ourselves with business."

"How many will the house hold, Mr. Fogg?" inquired Mrs. Doolittle, in a rather authoritative manner, thoroughly in keeping with her exalted position as chairman.

"About eleven hundred," said Fogg.

"Only eleven hundred!" exclaimed the stout lady.

"Altogether too small."

"Certainly it is," continued the weighty one. "The Metropolitan Opera House should have been secured."

"Ladies," interposed Handy, "excuse me for buttin' in, but business is business, and that's the humor of it. Let me tell you, in all frankness, that if you can fill the house, take my word for it, as a man of some experience, you will have reason to congratulate yourselves on a great accomplishment. Bear in mind, ladies, that benefits are benefits, and that the theatre-going public take little or no stock in them. Unless you can rely on your friends coming up to the scratch—pardon me, I mean box office—and before the night of the show, mind you—you stand a good chance of getting it, as the poet touchingly tells us—I don't know what poet—where the chicken got the axe. Them's my sentiments!"

Handy's review of the situation and his matter-of-fact way of placing it before the committee caused some agitation. At length Mrs. Doolittle arose.

"Let me assure you, Mr. Handy, we have hosts of friends, and when they see our names on the programme they will be sure to come. Don't you agree with me, ladies?"

"It would be real mean if they didn't," volunteered the heavyweight lady of the committee. "But I know they will."

"Of course, ladies, you know best," replied Handy, "but my advice is sell all the pasteboards you can before the show, and don't depend any on the public the night of the show, when you intend to pull 'The Lady' off."

Handy's practical admonitions and advice evidently were not appreciated in the spirit in which they were tendered. The ladies' stay after the episode was not prolonged. Mrs. Chairman Doolittle remembered she had an engagement in the shape of a pink tea, and must speed homeward to make a change of dress. The remainder of the committee considered that as their cue for departure, not, however, without reassuring both Messrs. Fogg and Handy that everything would be all right.

Handy and Fogg were once more alone.

"Well," said Fogg, "what do you think of it? A great scheme, eh?"

"What's a great scheme? I pause for a reply!"

"Why, the testimonial benefit, of course!"

"Say, Fogg. Are you right in your head? Is your nut screwed on properly? Is this a joke? The ladies are all serene and mean well—but darn it, man! you don't mean to tell me that you believe there's five hundred in this snap?"

"Why, certainly I do, and more."

"Cents."

"No. Please be serious. Dollars."

"Well, let us get down to cases and figure it out. What'll be your expenses?"

"Oh, 'way down. There's $75 for the house, dirt cheap—the ladies have a pull with the landlord; $65 for the orchestra; stage hands, $15; advertising and printing, $60; flowers, $20; costumes, $11.75; sundries, $10. How much is all that?"

"Let me figure it up. Have you a pencil? Never mind, I have one. Well, that, my friend, foots up $256.75."

"Why, that ain't much."

"No. 'Tain't much for a Vanderbilt, but then, the Vans' ancestors put in some lively hustling in days of yore, and the Vans of the present day are now taking solid comfort and shooting folly as it flies out of the result of the old Commodore's hustling on land and water. An' now let me ask you, have you got the dough to go on with this great scheme of yours?"

"Well, no, I haven't got the dough, as you call it, but I have the tickets, and the committee propose to sell them to their numerous friends. I tell you 'tis a dead-sure thing."

"I notice in your expenses you allow nothing for your company."

"The company have all volunteered. Most of them are amateurs."

"And where does your humble servant come in?"

"Why, I propose to make it all right with you out of my share."

"Ye gods on high Olympus, look down on us in compassion and smile!" spoke Handy in the most tragic voice of which he was capable of employing. "Has it come to pass that a verdant experimentalist like you, Fogg, could intimate to a veteran of my standing that I should take my chances of remuneration from the proceeds of such a quixotic scheme? Go to, Fogg! I love thee, but never more be officer of mine." Then laying aside his serio-comic manner and assuming one that more easily appertained to him, he continued: "Fogg, old pal, I told you that you could count on me to help you out, and you can. I will manage the stage, but skip me on the acting. If the stuff comes in, I know you'll do the square thing. If the receipts are shy, well and good. You'll get left as well as I. Get the old girls to sell all the tickets they can—beforehand. Mind now, beforehand. Depend on nothing from the public for a benefit, and as for the night sale, it won't amount to a paper of pins. I've been there before, old man, and I know of what I speak. Let me tell you—some friends of mine once upon a time got up a benefit for a widow. They gave a good show, had lots of fun, but——"

"But what?" inquired Fogg anxiously.

"Oh, nothing! Only they landed the poor woman fifty dollars or so in debt. That's all."

"Holy Moses!" was all the response that Fogg could make; but he evidently was doing a great deal of thinking. In this state of mind Handy left him.