“Well, now, I’ll tell you what we are trying to do,” went on Mr. Quincel.  “We are trying to get a new set of furniture for the lodge.  There isn’t enough money in the treasury at the present time, and we thought we would raise it by a little entertainment.”

“Sure,” interrupted Drouet, “that’s a good idea.”

“Several of the boys around here have got talent.  There’s Harry Burbeck, he does a fine black-face turn.  Mac Lewis is all right at heavy dramatics.  Did you ever hear him recite ’Over the Hills’?”

“Never did.”

“Well, I tell you, he does it fine.”

“And you want me to get some woman to take a part?” questioned Drouet, anxious to terminate the subject and get on to something else.  “What are you going to play?”

“‘Under the Gaslight,’” said Mr. Quincel, mentioning Augustin Daly’s famous production, which had worn from a great public success down to an amateur theatrical favorite, with many of the troublesome accessories cut out and the dramatis personae reduced to the smallest possible number.

Drouet had seen this play some time in the past.

“That’s it,” he said; “that’s a fine play.  It will go all right.  You ought to make a lot of money out of that.”

“We think we’ll do very well,” Mr. Quincel replied.  “Don’t you forget now,” he concluded, Drouet showing signs of restlessness; “some young woman to take the part of Laura.”

“Sure, I’ll attend to it.”

He moved away, forgetting almost all about it the moment Mr. Quincel had ceased talking.  He had not even thought to ask the time or place.

Drouet was reminded of his promise a day or two later by the receipt of a letter announcing that the first rehearsal was set for the following Friday evening, and urging him to kindly forward the young lady’s address at once, in order that the part might be delivered to her.

“Now, who the deuce do I know?” asked the drummer reflectively, scratching his rosy ear.  “I don’t know any one that knows anything about amateur theatricals.”

He went over in memory the names of a number of women he knew, and finally fixed on one, largely because of the convenient location of her home on the West Side, and promised himself that as he came out that evening he would see her.  When, however, he started west on the car he forgot, and was only reminded of his delinquency by an item in the “Evening News”—­a small three-line affair under the head of Secret Society Notes—­which stated the Custer Lodge of the Order of Elks would give a theatrical performance in Avery Hall on the 16th, when “Under the Gaslight” would be produced.

“George!” exclaimed Drouet, “I forgot that.”

“What?” inquired Carrie.

They were at their little table in the room which might have been used for a kitchen, where Carrie occasionally served a meal.  Tonight the fancy had caught her, and the little table was spread with a pleasing repast.