The other shook his head, bending down so as to read the name with his own eyes.  There was nothing in the least familiar about the sound of it, and he became faintly conscious of an undefined feeling of disappointment.  Still, if she was upon the stage, the name quite probably was an assumed one; the very utterance of it left that impression.  He walked over toward the cigar stand and picked out a weed, thinking gravely while he held a flaming match to the tip.  Somehow he was not altogether greatly pleased with this information; he should have preferred to discover her to be some one else.  He glanced at the clerk through the slight haze of blue smoke, his increasing curiosity finding reluctant utterance.

“What troupe is it?” he questioned with seeming carelessness.

“‘Heart of the World,’” answered Tom with some considerable increase of enthusiasm.  “A dandy play, and a blamed good company, they tell me.  Got some fine press notices anyhow, an’ a carload o’ scenery.  Played in Denver a whole month; and it costs a dollar and a half to buy a decent seat even in this measly town, so you can bet it ain’t no slouch of a show.  House two-thirds sold out in advance, but I know where I can get you some good seats for just a little extra.  Lane is the star.  You ’ve heard of Lane, have n’t you?  Funniest fellow you ever saw; makes you laugh just to look at him.  And this—­this Miss Norvell, why she’s the leadin’ lady, and the travellin’ men tell me she’s simply immense.  There’s one of their show bills hanging over there back of the stove.”

Winston sauntered across to the indicated red and yellow abomination, and dumbly stood staring at it through the blue rings of his cigar.  It represented a most thrilling stage picture, while underneath, and in type scarcely a shade less pronounced than that devoted to the eminent comedian T. Macready Lane, appeared the announcement of the great emotional actress, Miss Beth Norvell, together with several quite flattering Western press notices.  The young man read these slowly, wondering why they should particularly interest him, and on a sudden his rather grave face brightened into a smile, a whimsical thought flashing into his mind.

“By Jove, why not?” he muttered, as if arguing the matter out with himself.  “The report has gone East, and there is nothing more to be accomplished in Flat Rock for at least a month.  This snow will have to melt away before they can hope to put any miners to work, and in the meanwhile I might just as well be laying up experiences on the road as wasting my substance in riotous living at Denver.  It ought to prove a great lark, and I ’ve always had ambition to have a try at something of the kind.  Well, here ’s my chance; and besides, I can’t help believing that that girl might prove interesting; her face is, anyhow.”

He walked back to where Tom still hung idly over the cigar case.

“Who is running this show outfit?”