She broke off, staring confusedly into space just the height of his debauched old figure crouching on the dry-goods box.  Then with swift realization of her surroundings, her vision cleared.  It was the fat man in the checked suit she saw leaning helplessly against the closed door.  His jaw sagged, his eyes were frightfully popped, his face wore the same strained, queer look she had come to see so often on the lodger’s, and he made weak little flapping gestures with his hands.

Cake looked then at Arthur Noyes.  His face was white as the letter in his hand, his dark eyes were dilated with a look of dreadful suffering, the numb, unconscious reaction of one who has received a mortal blow.

“Come here, Crum,” he cried as if there was no one else in the room.  And Crum fairly tottered forward.

“What do you make of this?” asked Noyes, while Cake stood and listened.

“I—­I—­” stammered Crum exhaustedly.  “My God,” he groaned, “it’s too much for me.  And training!”

“Oh, trained,” Cake heard Noyes say.  “Such training as only he could give.  Years of it, that’s plain.  And then to send her to me.  A Shakespearean actress for me!  To insult me like that—­”

“It’s too much for me, Boss,” said Crum again.  “Still—­Oh—­oh, my!” His back was turned, but Cake saw his whole body shake.

“Telephone Meier,” exclaimed Noyes suddenly.

“Meier?” Crum became immediately composed, and Cake saw that he was tremendously surprised.  “You don’t mean that you’re going to—­After this?  Why, she’s in the know.  Look at her.  It’s perfect!”

And they both turned and looked at Cake standing unconscious and serene on the other side of the room.  You who have seen her know just how perfect the pose was.

“It is perfect,” Noyes said.  “I’d be a pretty poor sport if I did not acknowledge that.”  Then his voice dropped and Cake only caught snatches here and there. “... such genius ... once in a century ... get even with him in a way he least expects ... wipe off the slate entirely ... no comeback to my play ... let him see that for himself.  Call Meier.”  Then he turned to Cake.

“Sit down, please,” he said courteously.  “I have sent for a man who may give you an engagement.”

She returned his gaze so quietly that he was puzzled.  About her was neither nervous anticipation nor flighty vivacity.  The actions of her audience of two left her in-curious and calm.  You see, she was used to the lodger.  Also she had worked to be famous so long that all the flowery borders of self were worn down to the keen edge of doing.  Of Plain Cake she thought not at all.  But then, she never had.  Only of the light at the end of the passage that now loomed so bright to her watching eyes.

It seemed only a minute before Noyes spoke again:  “This is Mr. Meier.”  He regarded her shrewdly all the time.

Cake bowed to Mr. Meier, a fat, gaudy gentleman with thick, hairy hands.  And Mr. Meier looked at Noyes and shook his head.  She realized they had already been talking together.