“Then you don’t go one step, my dear; just you fool him a bunch!  You see you’re like a little boy, Ju:  kisses don’t mean nothing to you, yet.  But you’ll get a crush some day yourself, and then you’ll feel like a fool if you’ve got mixed up with the wrong one--see?”

“Sure,” said Julia, hoarse and embarrassed.  Yet she liked the sensation of being scolded by Connie, too, and tried shyly, as the conversation seemed inclined to veer toward Connie’s own affairs, to bring it back to her own.

The little matter of the corsets being settled, they sauntered through the always diverting streets toward the office of Leopold Artheris, manager of the Grand Opera House, and a very good friend of both girls.

They found him idle, in a bright, untidy office, lined with the pictures of stage favourites, and with three windows open to the sun and air.

“You’re placed, I think, Miss Girard?” said he, giving her a fat little puffy hand.  He was a stout, short man of fifty, with a bald spot showing under a mop of graying curls, and a bushy moustache also streaked with gray.

“If you call it placed,” said Connie, grinning.  “We open Monday in Sacramento.”

“Aha!  But why Sacramento?”

“Oh, we’ve got to open somewhere, I suppose!  Try it out on the dog, you know!” Connie said, with a sort of bored airiness.

“And you, my dear?” said Artheris, turning toward Julia.

“She’s come to see you about that amachure job,” said Connie, reaching over to grab a theatrical magazine from the desk, and running her eye carelessly over its pages.  Artheris’s blandly smiling face underwent an instant change.  He elevated his eyebrows, pursed his lips, and nodded with sudden interest.

“Oh—­to be sure—­to be sure!  The performance of ‘The Amazons’ for the Hospital—­yes, well!  And what do you think of it, Miss Page?” he said.

Julia stretched out her little feet before her, shrugged, and brought an indifferent eye to bear upon the manager.

“What’s there in it?” she asked.

“Well, now, that you’d have to settle with them,” smiled Mr. Artheris.

“Oh, rot!” said Connie cheerfully.  “You manage that for her; what does she know?  Go on!”

“But, my dear young lady, I have nothing to do with it!” the man protested.  “They come to me and wish to hire my theatre, lights, ushers, orchestra, and so, and they ask me if I know of a young actress who will take a part—­to give them all confidence, you see”—­he made encouraging gestures with his fat little hands—­“to--to carry the performance, as it were!”

“What part?” asked Connie shrewdly.

“The part of—­of—­a splendid part, that of the Sergeant,” said Artheris cheerfully.

“Yes, I know that part,” Connie said grimly.

“The idea is to have Miss Julie here understudy all the parts,” said the manager quickly.  “These amateurs are very apt to disappoint, do you see?  They feel that there would be a sense of security in having a professional right there to fill in a gap.”