Then came a day when Mr. Author saw the act taking shape and form, and when he spoke to Mr. Producer about it, Mr. Producer said he thought that after all the act might whip around into something pretty good.

A few days later when Mr. Author arrived at the rehearsal hall, there were three strange men facing the company, who were going through the act for the first time without interruptions from Mr. Producer.  Mr. Author wondered who they were, and watched their faces with interest to see how they liked his act.  After a while he came to consider as great compliments the ghosts of smiles flickering across their jury-like faces.  And when it was all over the performers gathered in one corner, and Mr. Producer came over to him, and the three men whispered among themselves.  Mr. Producer explained that they were booking managers, and then Mr. Author sensed the psychological reason for the unconscious drawing together of the different clans.

His heart beat rather violently when the three men came across the room, and he felt a great wave of gladness sweep over him when the tallest of the three pulled out a little black book and said, “Mr. Producer, I’ll pencil it in one of my houses for next week at this figure,” and he showed Mr. Producer what he had written.

“And I’ll take you for the second break-in, as we agreed when you ’phoned,” said the shortest man.  “And I’ll take the third at that.”

Then it was that Mr. Author felt a great admiration for Mr. Producer, because Mr. Producer dared assert his personality.  Mr. Producer objected to the figure, talking of the “name” of Mr. Star.

“That’s every penny he’s worth,” came the adamant answer.

Then Mr. Producer mentioned transportation costs, and the cost of hauling scenery, as additional arguments.

“Why didn’t you say special set at first?” said the smallest man; “I’ll give you this advance.”  Then all four looked, and they all agreed.

Then Mr. Author was introduced, quite casually.  “Guess your act’ll get by,” conceded one of the jury generously, as they all left.

“So you’re going to open a week earlier?” gasped Mr. Author to Mr. Producer, when they were alone in the interval between the exit of the three and the entrance upon the scene of the performers, who came swiftly across the room to learn their fate.  “And you’ve booked three weeks more!”

“Well,” said Mr. Producer, “you know the boys only pencilled those weeks in—­pencil marks can be rubbed out.”

The next day as they were on their way to the train to go up to the town where the act was to open, Mr. Producer suddenly remembered that he had forgotten to send Miss Secretary up to the Booking Offices for his contract.  He wanted that contract particularly, for he had a feud of long standing with the manager of that particular house.  So up he rushed to get that contract, with Mr. Author tagging at his heels.