ready.” And the leading man came forward, a flower in his buttonhole, carefully tailored and slightly yellow as a leading man of forty should be at 10:30 A. M. “How wonderful you’re looking, Harrietta,” he said.

Sam Klein took her aside. “You’re going to make the hit of your career in this part, Miss Fuller. Yessir, dear, the hit of your career. You mark my words.”

“Don’t you think,” stammered Harrietta — ”don’t you think it will take someone — someone — younger — to play the part?”

“Younger than what?”

“Than I.”

Sam Klein stared. Then he laughed. “Younger than you! Say, listen, do you want to get the Gerry Society after me?”