“Oh, you mustn’t let him know I told you.”

“That’s so,” said the manager.

“I’d like for you to be there, if you want to come, but I don’t see how you can unless he asks you.”

“I’ll be there,” said Hurstwood affectionately.  “I can fix it so he won’t know you told me.  You leave it to me.”

This interest of the manager was a large thing in itself for the performance, for his standing among the Elks was something worth talking about.  Already he was thinking of a box with some friends, and flowers for Carrie.  He would make it a dress-suit affair and give the little girl a chance.

Within a day or two, Drouet dropped into the Adams Street resort, and he was at once spied by Hurstwood.  It was at five in the afternoon and the place was crowded with merchants, actors, managers, politicians, a goodly company of rotund, rosy figures, silk-hatted, starchy-bosomed, beringed and bescarfpinned to the queen’s taste.  John L. Sullivan, the pugilist, was at one end of the glittering bar, surrounded by a company of loudly dressed sports, who were holding a most animated conversation.  Drouet came across the floor with a festive stride, a new pair of tan shoes squeaking audibly at his progress.

“Well, sir,” said Hurstwood, “I was wondering what had become of you.  I thought you had gone out of town again.”

Drouet laughed.

“If you don’t report more regularly we’ll have to cut you off the list.”

“Couldn’t help it,” said the drummer, “I’ve been busy.”

They strolled over toward the bar amid the noisy, shifting company of notables.  The dressy manager was shaken by the hand three times in as many minutes.

“I hear your lodge is going to give a performance,” observed Hurstwood, in the most offhand manner.

“Yes, who told you?”

“No one,” said Hurstwood.  “They just sent me a couple of tickets, which I can have for two dollars.  Is it going to be any good?”

“I don’t know,” replied the drummer.  “They’ve been trying to get me to get some woman to take a part.”

“I wasn’t intending to go,” said the manager easily.  “I’ll subscribe, of course.  How are things over there?”

“All right.  They’re going to fit things up out of the proceeds.”

“Well,” said the manager, “I hope they make a success of it.  Have another?”

He did not intend to say any more.  Now, if he should appear on the scene with a few friends, he could say that he had been urged to come along.  Drouet had a desire to wipe out the possibility of confusion.

“I think the girl is going to take a part in it,” he said abruptly, after thinking it over.

“You don’t say so!  How did that happen?”

“Well, they were short and wanted me to find them some one.  I told Carrie, and she seems to want to try.”

“Good for her,” said the manager.  “It’ll be a real nice affair.  Do her good, too.  Has she ever had any experience?”