river　had　heated　into　a　fight；　into　a　small　riot。　　All　the　underlings　had　rushed　out　on　a　balcony　that　commanded　a　superb　view　of　the　battle。　　The　connecting　doors　were　open；　Mildred　advanced　from　room　to　room；　seeking　someone　who　would　take　her　card　to　Mr。　Crossley。　　When　she　at　last　faced　a　closed　door　she　knocked。
  ‘‘Come！''　cried　a　pleasant　voice。
  And　in　she　went；　to　face　Crossley　himselfCrossley；　the　‘‘weak　and　soft；''　caught　behind　his　last　entrenchment　with　no　chance　to　escape。　　Had　Mildred　looked　the　usual　sort　who　come　looking　for　jobs　in　musical　comedy；　Mr。　Crossley　would　not　have　risennot　be…　cause　he　was　snobbish；　but　because；　being　a　sensitive；　high…strung　person；　he　instinctively　adopted　the　manner　that　would　put　the　person　before　him　at　ease。　　He　glanced　at　Mildred；　rose；　and　thrust　back　forthwith　the　slangy；　offhand　personality　that　was　perhaps　the　most　naturalor　was　it　merely　the　most　used？of　his　many　personalities。　　It　was　Crossley　the　man　of　the　world；　the　man　of　the　artistic　world；　who　delighted　Mildred　with　a　courteous　bow　and　offer　of　a　chair；　as　he　said：
  ‘‘You　wished　to　see　me？''
  ‘‘If　you　are　Mr。　Crossley；''　said　Mildred。
  ‘‘I　should　be　tempted　to　say　I　was；　if　I　wasn't；''　said　he；　and　his　manner　made　it　a　mere　pleasantry　to　put　her　at　ease。
  ‘‘There　was　no　one　in　the　outside　room；　so　I　walked　on　and　on　until　your　door　stopped　me。''
  ‘‘You'll　never　know　how　lucky　you　were；''　said　he。　‘‘They　tell　me　those　fellows　out　there　have　shocking　manners。''
  ‘‘Have　you　time　to　see　me　now？　　I've　come　to　apply　for　a　position　in　musical　comedy。''
  ‘‘You　have　not　been　on　the　stage；　Miss''
  ‘‘Gower。　　Mildred　Gower。　　I've　decided　to　use　my　own　name。''
  ‘‘I　know　you　have　not　been　on　the　stage。''
  ‘‘Except　as　an　amateurand　not　even　that　for　several　years。　　But　I've　been　working　at　my　voice。''
  Crossley　was　studying　her；　as　she　stood　talking　she　had　refused　the　chair。　　He　was　more　than　favorably　impressed。　　But　the　deciding　element　was　not　Mildred's　excellent　figure　or　her　charm　of　manner　or　her　sweet　and　lovely　face。　　It　was　superstition。　　Just　at　that　time　Crossley　had　been　abruptly　deserted　by　Estelle　Howard；　instead　of　going　on　with　the　rehearsals　of　‘‘The　Full　Moon；''　in　which　she　was　to　be　starred；　she　had　rushed　away　to　Europe　with　a　violinist　with　whom　she　had　fallen　in　love　at　the　first　rehearsal。　Crossley　was　looking　about　for　someone　to　take　her　place。　　He　had　been　entrenched　in　those　offices　for　nearly　five　years；　in　all　that　time　not　a　single　soul　of　the　desperate　crowds　that　dogged　him　had　broken　through　his　guard。　　Crossley　was　as　superstitious　as　was　everyone　else　who　has　to　do　with　the　stage。
  ‘‘What　kind　of　a　voice？''　asked　he。
  ‘‘Lyric　soprano。''
  ‘‘You　have　music　there。　　What？''
  ‘‘　‘Batti　Batti'　and　a　little　song　in　English‘The　Rose　and　the　Bee。'　''
  Crossley　forgot　his　manners；　turned　his　back　squarely　upon　her；　thrust　his　hands　deep　into　his　trousers　pockets；　and　stared　out　through　the　window。　　He　presently　wheeled　round。　　She　would　not　have　thought　his　eyes　could　be　so　keen。　　Said　he：　　‘‘You　were　studying　for　grand　opera？''
  ‘‘Yes。''
  ‘‘Why　do　you　drop　it　and　take　up　this？''
  ‘‘No　money；''　replied　she。　　‘‘I've　got　to　make　my　living　at　once。''
  ‘‘Well；　let's　see。　　Come　with　me；　please。''
  They　went　out　by　a　door　into　the　hall；　went　back　to　the　rear　of　the　building；　in　at　an　iron　door；　down　a　flight　of　steep　iron　skeleton　steps　dimly　lighted。　Mildred　had　often　been　behind　the　scenes　in　her　amateur　theatrical　days；　but　even　if　she　had　not；　she　would　have　known　where　she　was。　　Crossley　called；　‘‘Moldini！　Moldini！''
  The　name　was　caught　up　by　other　voices　and　repeated　again　and　again；　more　and　more　remotely。　　A　moment；　and　a　small　dark　man　with　a　superabundance　of　greasy　dark　hair　appeared。　　‘‘Miss　Gower；''　said　Crossley；　‘‘this　is　Signor　Moldini。　　He　will　play　your　accompaniments。''　　Then　to　the　little　Italian；　‘‘Piano　on　the　stage？''
  ‘‘Yes；　sir。''
  To　Mildred　with　a　smile；　‘‘Will　you　try？''
  She　bent　her　head。　　She　had　no　voicenot　for　song；　not　for　speech；　not　even　for　a　monosyllable。
  Crossley　took　Moldini　aside　where　Mildred　could　not　hear。　　‘‘Mollie；''　said　he；　‘‘this　girl　crept　up　on　me；　and　I've　got　to　give　her　a　trial。　　As　you　see；　she's　a　lady；　and　you　know　what　they　are。''
  ‘‘Punk；''　said　Moldini。
  Crossley　nodded。　　‘‘She　seems　a　nice　sort；　so　I　want　to　let　her　down　easy。　　I'll　sit　back　in　the　house；　in　the　dark。　　Run　her　through　that　‘Batti　Batti'　thing　she's　got　with　her。　　If　she's　plainly　on　the　fritz；　I'll　light　a　cigarette。　　If　I　don't　light　up；　try　the　other　song　she　has。　　If　I　still　don't　light　up　make　her　go　through　that　‘Ah；　were　you　here；　love；'　from　the　piece。　　But　if　I　light　up；　it　means　that　I'm　going　to　light　out；　and　that　you're　to　get　rid　of　hertell　her　we'll　let　her　know　if　she'll　leave　her　address。　　You　understand？''
  ‘‘Perfectly。''
  Far　from　being　thrilled　and　inspired；　her　surroundings　made　her　sick　at　heartthe　chill；　the　dampness；　the　bare　walls；　the　dim；　dreary　lights；　the　coarsely…　painted　flats　　At　last　she　was　on　the　threshold　of　her　chosen　profession。　　What　a　profession　for　such　a　person　as　she　had　always　been！　　She　stood　beside　Moldini；　seated　at　the　piano。　　She　gazed　at　the　darkness；　somewhere　in　whose　depths　Crossley　was　hidden。　　After　several　false　starts　she　sang　the　‘‘Batti　Batti''　through；　sang　it　atrociouslynot　like　a　poor　professional；　but　like　a　pretentious　amateur；　a　reversion　to　a　manner　of　singing　she　had　once　had；　but　had　long　since　got　rid　of。　She　paused　at　the　end；　appalled　by　the　silence；　by　the　awfulness　of　her　own　performance。
  From　the　darkness　a　slight　click。　　If　she　had　known！　for；　it　was　Crossley's　match…safe。
  The　sound；　slight　yet　so　clear；　startled　her；　roused　her。　　She　called　out：　　‘‘Mr。　Crossley；　won't　you　please　be　patient　enough　to　let　me　try　that　again？''
  A　brief　hesitation；　then：　　‘‘Certainly。''
  Once　more　she　began。　　But　this　time　there　was　no　hesitation。　　From　first　to　last　she　did　it　as　Jennings　had　coached　her；　did　it　with　all　the　beauty　and　energy　of　her　really　lovely　voice。　　As　she　ended；　Moldini　said　in　a　quiet　but　intense　undertone：　　‘‘Bravo！　　Bravo！　Fresh　as　a　bird　on　a　bright　spring　morning。''　　And　from　the　darkness　came：　　‘‘Ahthat's　better；　Miss　Gower。　　That　was　professional　work。　　Now　for　the　other。''
  Thus　encouraged　and　with　her　voice　well　warmed；　she　could　not　but　make　a　success　of　the　song　that　was　nearer　to　what　would　be　expected　of　her　in　musical　comedy。　Crossley　called　out：　　‘‘Now；　the　sight　singing；　Moldini。　I　don't　expect　you　to　do　this　well；　Miss　Gower。　　I　simply　wish　to　get　an　idea　of　how　you'd　do　a　piece　we　have　in　rehearsal。''
  ‘‘You'll　have　no　trouble　with　this；''　said　Moldini；　as　he　opened　the　comedy　song　upon　the　rack　with　a　contemptuous　whirl。　　‘‘It's　the　easy　showy　stuff　that　suits　the　tired　business　man　and　his　laced…in　wife。　　Go　at　it　and　yell。''
  Mildred　glanced　through　it。　　There　was　a　subtle　something　in　the　atmosphere　now　that　put　her　at　her　ease。　　She　read　the　words　aloud；　laughing　at　their　silly　sentimentality；　she　and　Moldini　and　Crossley　making　jokes　about　it。　　Soon　she　said：　　‘‘I'm　ready。''
  She　sang　it　well。　　She　asked　them　to　let　her　try　it　again。　　And　the　second　time；　with　the　words　in　her　mind　and　the　simple　melody；　she　was　able　to　put　expression　into　it　and　to　indicate；　with　restraint；　the　action。　　Crossley　came　down　the　aisle。
  ‘‘What　do　you　think；　Mollie？''　he　said　to　Moldini。
  ‘‘We　might　test　her　at　a　few　rehearsals。''
  Crossley　meekly　accepted　the　salutary　check　on　his　enthusiasm。　　‘‘Do　you　wish　to　try；　Miss　Gower？''
  Mildred　was　silent。　　She　knew　now　the　sort　of　piece　in　which　she　was　to　appear。　　She　had　seen　a　few　of　them；　those　cheap　and　vulgar　farces　with　their　thin　music；　their　more　than　dubious…looking　people。　　What　a　come…down！　　What　a　degradation！　　It　was　as　bad　in　its　way　as　being　the　wife　of　General　Siddall。　　And　she　was　to　do　this；　in　preference　to　marrying　Stanley　Baird。
  ‘‘You　will　be　paid；　of　course；　during　rehearsal；　that　is；　as　long　as　we　are　taking　your　time。　　Fifty　dollars　a　week　is　about　as　much　as　we　can　afford。''　　Crossley　was　watching　her　shrewdly；　was　advancing　these　remarks　in　response　to　the　hesitation　he　saw　so　plainly。　‘‘Of　course　it　isn't　grand　opera；''　he　went　on。　　‘‘In　fact；　it's　pretty　lowalmost　as　low　as　the　public　taste。　You　see；　we　aren't　subsidized　by　millionaires　who　want　people　to　think　they're　artistic；　so　we　have　to　hustle　to　separate　the　public　from　its　money。　　But　if　you　make　a　hit；　you　can　earn　enough　to　put　you　into　grand　opera　in　fine　style。''
  ‘‘I　never　heard　of　anyone's　graduating　from　here　into　grand　opera；''　said　Mildred。
  ‘‘Because　our　stars　make　so　much　money　and　make　it　so　easily。　　It'll　be　your　own　fault　if　you　don't。''
  ‘‘Can't　I　come　to　just　one　rehearsalto　see　whether　I　cancan　do　it？''　pleaded　Mildred。
  Crossley；　made　the　more　eager　and　the　more　superstitious　by　this　unprecedented　reluctance；　shook　his　head。
  ‘‘No。　　You　must　agree　to　stay　as　long　as　we　want　you；''　said　he。　　‘‘We　can't　allow　ourselves　to　be　trifled　with。''
  ‘‘Very　well；''　said　Mildred　resignedly。　　‘‘I　will　rehearse　as　long　as　you　want　me。''
  ‘‘And　will　stay　for　the　run　of　th