Bill Willing sat reading in the coldest corner of the writing-room, in the Bat Hotel. Somehow, when he had not denuded himself of his last nickel, and could afford to pay for a corner anywhere, it was always the coldest corner, because he blithely sacrificed his chances of the warmer ones to others. But he was not conscious that his corner was cold tonight. There was that in his heart which would have made the edge of an iceberg seem a comfortable resting-place; and he was so deeply absorbed in his paper (which was one devoted to the interests of the stage) that Loveland had to speak to him twice before he heard and looked up.

At any other time he would have started, stared, and wanted to know whether Loveland's battered appearance was due to a fight or a fire; but now in self-absorption unusual for him, he noticed nothing strange. "Just look at this, my boy," he exclaimed, his eye sparkling with excitement, as he pointed to a paragraph which he had marked with red ink from a bottle on the table. The paragraph was an advertisement, in the midst of a column of other advertisements, apparently all of the same nature, and that column was one of five or six on a page entirely devoted to such advertisements. Still, the few lines were evidently of the most vital importance to Bill, and Loveland supposed he had hit on the offer of some wonderful situation, such as he had been looking for all his life.

"Wanted," was the attractive word which headed the paragraph: and that was what Val had expected; but as he read on, he grew puzzled. "Wanted—For Repertoire Work, Juvenile Leading Man. Must be tall; good looker, not over thirty; gentlemanly manners and appearance, slim figure, fashionable wardrobe on and off stage. No boozers or loafers need apply. Write at once enclosing photo, and stating experience, age, weight, and lowest salary, to Jack Jacobus, Managing Star Tour for Lillie de Lisle, the Little Human Flower; Modunk, Ohio."

Loveland read the advertisement over, half aloud, his friend following every word with the keenest interest and delight.

"Great Scott, ain't it the grandest ever?" Bill demanded, with a beaming smile.

"I don't understand," said Val. "Are you going to try for the engagement?"

"I?" echoed Bill. "Lord, no."

"Well, then what are you so excited about?" Loveland wanted to know.

"Why, that she should be a star—a real live star. My little gal, Lillie de Lisle. It's her—it's her! There can't be two Lillie de Lisles. Praise be, I've heard of her again. And she's way up top. She's a star."

"Oh, the girl you used to be in love with at the theatre?" asked Loveland.

"Used to be? Was, am, and will be till I end my days. Gee! Every week, whenever there was a spare dime, I've always bought this paper, to see if I could run acrost her name, and know where she was or what she's doing. Once, I seen a letter advertised for her, but that was all, till now. And here she is, a star, on a tour of her own, doin' business as a Little Human Flower. Great, ain't it?"

"Modunk, Ohio," Loveland read again. "Is that much of a place?"

"Never heard of it," admitted Bill. "But geography ain't been my speciality."

"It doesn't sound like a big town," said Val.

"No, that's so. But it's a lucky town, because the Little Human Flower's bloomin' there."

"Why don't you write, and say you'd like to have this engagement?"

"Me? Oh, Jiminy, am I a good looker, am I under thirty with a fashionable wardrobe on and off? Huh! Mine's mostly off." Bill laughed, and then sighed. "The good Lord didn't make me for no juvenile lead."

"But if she still likes you, she'd stretch a point in your favour," Loveland suggested.

"Jacobus wouldn't. He was the property man I told you about, that got me the sack on account of Lillie."

"By Jove," exclaimed Val, forgetting his own troubles enough to be genuinely interested in the dramatic development of Bill's love episode. "I say, you don't suppose he's married her since?"

"Can't have; at least, not unless his wife's gone off the hooks," said Bill. "I heard of him not a year ago from one of the boys who used to supe with me. Said Jacobus had married an actress named Thora Moon, a big dark woman, in the heavy line."

"The heavy line?" asked Loveland.

"Yes. Does heavies, don't you know? But you never can tell with pros. It's married one year and a bachelor the next."

"Widower, you mean," said Val.

"No, I don't, unless it's grass, and grass don't count. I should feel mighty bad if I thought Lillie'd married Jack Jacobus. He ain't the right sort. Jinks, I wish they was advertising for a scene painter, instead of juvenile lead. Wouldn't I just whizz out to Modunk like a shot. Say, Gordon, you wouldn't like the job, would you? Great idea! Why, you're made for it. And you could give the Little Human Flower old Bill's never failin' love."

"I couldn't get them to take me, I'm afraid," said Loveland. "I'm not an actor."

"An actor!" repeated Bill, with inexpressible scorn. "As if they wanted an actor in a show like that, or would know one if they saw him! You're a good looker, you're young, with a tall, slim figure, and all the other qualifications named."

"Except the experience—and the wardrobe."

"Pooh!" said Bill. "Ain't you ever played as an amateur?"

"Yes, once or twice. They roped me in," said Loveland, recalling a brilliant scene in the country-house of a Duchess, and another for the success of which some of the young officers of his battalion had been responsible.

"Well, then, there you are with your experience. And as for the wardrobe—my goodness, lad, what do you want more than those swell tweeds of yours, and the dress suit you've got on? If it comes to costoom parts, why, the management will just have to fit you out with some of their own glad rags—or make the ghost walk your way in advance."

"You don't seem to think much of your star's company, if you believe a raw amateur, with hardly a stitch to his back, would be good enough for them," Loveland said.

"I don't claim it's a Noo York Company," explained Bill. "I guess they're doin' the barn-storming act. Perhaps I've been kind of carried away, thinkin' of Lillie, and what it would be to get the news of her from a chum. I don't suppose there's much in this for you. Maybe you'll do better at Alexander's, now you're a kind of star yourself——"

"A fallen star," laughed Loveland. "Look at me, and see the marks I got sliding down the sky."

Then, for the first time, Bill noticed that his friend's hair was singed and his face reddened on one side, his white shirt covered with black spots, and his left hand partly in, partly out of, a clumsily made bandage.

"Moses! But you have been through the wars!" exclaimed Bill. And he listened with growing excitement to Loveland's version of the fire.

"Alexander ought to give you a partnership," he commented at last, though Val had made no boast of his own part in the affair.

"He's chucked me," said Loveland.

"Je—rusalem! Why, in the name of all that's decent?"

"It was in the name of everything indecent—'villain, cheat, liar, coward'—that he did it. According to him I was all those, and ought to be in prison; though what he meant by his weird accusations, I can't imagine, unless he just hit on whatever came first. I suppose it must have been that. He thought I'd been making love to his daughter."

"Gee! And had you?"

"No. It was a misunderstanding. But I couldn't explain. And the long and short of it is that I crawled in the dust for a few wretched dollars, which it seems I've got to lose, after all. I don't know how I'm to touch any more—unless I do as you say, and get this place with your friend, the Human Flower."

"You'll go?" asked Bill, brightening.

"Rather. If they'll have me. But I haven't even a photograph——"

"Come out with me," said Bill, seizing him by his sound arm. "I know a place where they do you a tin-type by flashlight for ten cents, and finish while you wait. I'll stand the racket. You can turn your good side to the machine; by the time the answer comes, your hair'll have grown out and you'll be looking A 1. Hurrah! Three cheers for Lillie de Lisle, the Little Human Flower, and her new Juvenile Lead!"