"Shall I ring up the curtain?" he asked quietly.

"Wait," replied Gordon. He turned to Martha. "Your answer?"

Martha did not look at him. "No," she replied simply.

Gordon drew in his breath quickly, and the concentrated anger seemed almost ready to burst its bonds. He stood looking at her intently for a moment, then apparently realizing that he was unable to alter her decision, he threw up his hands with a despairing gesture and started toward the door.

"There will be no performance, Weldon," he said roughly. "Dismiss the audience, pay everybody their salaries, and wind up the whole cursed business. I have sunk twenty thousand dollars for a hobby and a pretty face, but now, thank G.o.d, I'm through. I'm cured. That's all--good-night."

"One moment before you go," cried Martha, stung to the quick. "You may have dazzled other girls before with your golden shower. You may have rung up curtains on success, and claimed your reckoning, but this time, even though you have brought me failure and humiliation, you may mark one failure for yourself. Good-night." And with a proud gesture of independence, she turned her back upon him, and went into her dressing-room, while Gordon, with a muttered exclamation, left the green-room for the front of the theater.

As quickly as possible the despairing Weldon gave the necessary orders.

The moment the players understood there would be no performance, pandemonium broke loose. In an instant the green-room was filled with a crowd of excited players in oddly contrasting costumes, all chattering away for dear life.

"No performance?" cried Flossie Forsythe. "What does it all mean?"

"Ain't I ever going to play a real part?" wailed Pinkie.

"My first time on Broadway, too," said Arthur Mortimer, sadly.

"I never heard of such an outrageous proceeding," shouted Arnold Lawrence, pompously. "No performance, indeed? I was engaged for the season, and I shall sue for a season's salary."

"You were engaged for the run of the play," retorted Weldon, indignantly. "If the play doesn't have a run you are ent.i.tled to nothing, but I give you and every one else two weeks' salary."

"It is an insult to an artist," insisted Lawrence, turning to a group of the dissatisfied and disappointed players.

Suddenly the door through the boxes was thrown open and Clayton entered.

"What does it all mean?" he demanded. "The theater is crowded with a lot of people who want to know the reason for the sudden announcement. Why will there be no performance?" he added, drawing Weldon aside.

"I had to do it, Mr. Clayton," explained Weldon, privately. "You see it is not my production--I had to obey the orders of my financial backer."

"You mean--"

"Gordon. Yes."

"I see. Affairs came to a climax to-night," said Clayton. "I suspected something underhanded, but I didn't believe even Gordon capable of such a trick." He paused an instant. "Look here, Weldon, is this theater leased in your name?"

"Certainly," replied Weldon, promptly.

"Then you could give the performance if you wanted to?"

"But Mr. Gordon will not pay the bills unless I carry out his orders,"

protested Weldon.

Clayton slapped him eagerly on the back. "Then carry out my orders," he cried enthusiastically, "and I will pay the bills."

"You?" Weldon's eyes lit up with renewed interest. He saw before him another prospective backer to take the place of the one who had just deserted him. "You? Of course it _could_ be done, Clayton, the lease is in my name."

"Then that's settled," declared Clayton, quickly. "You know me and you know my checks are good. Quick--send some one out to make an announcement to the audience that there _will_ be a performance."

As the stage manager hurriedly started toward the curtain, Lawrence, who had overheard this dialogue, strutted toward Clayton.

"All very good," he cried pompously. "But what about my salary?"

"How much do you get?" inquired Clayton.

Lawrence came close to him. "Four hundred a week," he whispered.

Clayton turned to Weldon. "How much does this man get, Weldon?" he inquired.

"Seventy a week," Weldon answered quickly.

Lawrence fairly fumed with rage, while the members of the company t.i.ttered.

"The terms of my contract are sacred and confidential," he protested. "I accepted the reduced salary only because it is late in the season. You had no right to expose the secrets of our contract."

Clayton laughed. "I'll give you a hundred if you go on and give a good performance," he volunteered. "Weldon, make out the salary list of this company, and I'll give you a check covering two weeks' salaries for each member of the organization. Figure up how much the theater costs, and whatever Gordon hasn't paid, I will. Now, everybody get ready for the first act, and ring up the curtain."

Martha, alone in her dressing-room, had heard Clayton giving his peremptory commands. Half dazed yet at the sudden apparent collapse of the play, she scarcely realized that defeat was even now being turned into victory. But the command to get ready for the act awoke her from her lethargy.

"Mr. Clayton," she cried, coming to him, "how can you do all this?"

"I'm not as rich as Gordon," he replied, looking at her a bit reproachfully. "Not by a long shot, but I guess you can star for a night anyway, Martha, even with a one-horse angel."

"You are not doing all this for me? Why, it would be better to let the whole thing be a total failure than to take such a risk."

"I am doing it because it pleases me," explained Clayton. "And because I want you to have every chance for success that they tried to rob you of."

"Just wish me luck?" asked Martha, softly, holding out her hand.

"I wish you everything you wish yourself," he replied.

"The curtain is up, Miss Farnum," cried Lizzie, entering for a moment from the stage. "It is nearly time for your entrance."

"Wish me success," pleaded Martha, again.

"Is that all you wish for?" asked Clayton, going with her toward the stage. "If that is all you wish, I hope from the bottom of my heart you will win it to-night."

Martha withdrew her hand, turned, and half smiled, just before stepping upon the stage.

"I wonder if it is?" she said wistfully, and in another moment Clayton heard a roll of applause go over the house as she stepped before the footlights.

CHAPTER XIV

THE MORNING AFTER