made a simple little device that fits on the machine. I needn't go into all details—to tell you the truth I haven't got 'em all worked out yet; but I think it will be a good thing, and bring me in some money.

"I've spoken to Mr. Frank Pertell, manager of the Comet Film Company, about it. I have done some work for him, you know. He says it will be a good thing, and, while it may not make me a millionaire, it will help a lot. So I'm working hard on it."

"But who was this man—what did he have to do with it?" asked Alice.

"He didn't have anything to do with it—but he wanted to. His name is Simpson Wolley—Simp, he's called for short, though he is not as simple as his name sounds. He heard about my invention—how, I don't know—and he's trying to get it away from me."

"Get it away from you?" echoed Alice.

"Yes. He came to me and wanted me to sell him the rights, just as it was, for a certain sum. I refused. Then to-day I came home unexpectedly. I found him in the room where I work, looking over my drawings and models. Mother had let him in to wait for me. She put him in the parlor, but he sneaked into my room. That's why I sent him flying."

"I don't blame you!" exclaimed Alice, with flashing eyes.

"Only I'm sorry he disturbed you," went on Russ. "I didn't mean to be quite so hasty; but he got on my nerves, I expect."

"Oh, that's all right," said Ruth, graciously.

"Mother said you might be frightened," went on the young man, "so she sent me here to tell you what it was."

"Don't mention it," laughed Alice. "We were a bit frightened at first, and we put the chain on the door. But are you sure you're all right—that he won't come back again?"

"Oh, you need not worry," Russ assured her. "He won't come here again; though I don't fancy I'm through with him. Simp Wolley hasn't much principle, and I know a lot of fellows who have done business with him to their sorrow. But he'll have to work hard to fool me. So my apology is accepted; is it?"

"Of course," laughed Ruth, blushing more than before.

Another step was heard in the hall.

"There's dad!" cried Alice. "Oh, where have you been?" she exclaimed, as she ran to her father's arms.

"I couldn't come sooner," the latter explained in his deep, mellow voice—a voice that had endeared him to many audiences. "We had to arrange about the rehearsals. Haven't you a kiss for dad, Ruth," he went on, putting his arms about the taller girl. "How are you, Russ?" and he nodded cordially. "Isn't it fine to have two such daughters as these?" He held them to him—one on either side.

"Father!" objected Ruth, blushing.

"Ha! Ashamed of her old daddy hugging and kissing her; is she?" Mr. DeVere laughed. "Well, I am surprised; aren't you, Russ? Some day——"

"Dad!" expostulated Ruth, blushing more vividly, and clapping a small hand over her father's mouth. "You mustn't say such things!"

"What things?" with a simulated look of innocent wonder.

"What you were going to say!"

"Well, as long as I didn't, no harm is done. What about lunch? I must go back this afternoon."

"I'll see you again," called Russ, retiring, for he knew father and daughters would want to exchange confidences.

"It's good news, Russ!" called Alice, as he departed across the hall. "Daddy has an engagement at last!"

"Glad to hear it, Mr. DeVere. I knew you'd land one sooner or later."

"Well, it came near being later, Russ, my boy."

"Now, Daddy dear, tell us all about it," begged Alice, when they were by themselves. "Isn't it just splendid! I wanted to get up a banquet, only there's nothing much on which to bank——"

"Alice, dear—such slang!" reproved Ruth.

"Never mind, better days are coming," said the actor. "At last I have a part just suited to me—one of the best for which I have ever been cast. It's with the 'A Matter of Friendship' company, and we open in about three weeks at the New Columbia. I feel sure I'll make a hit, and the play is a very good one—I may say a fine one."

"And you open in three weeks, you say, Dad?" asked Ruth, thoughtfully.

"Yes; or, rather, in two weeks from to-night. There are two weeks' rehearsals. But what—oh, I see. You mean there won't be any money coming in for three weeks—or until after the play has run a week. Well, never mind. I dare say we will manage somehow. I can likely get an advance on my salary. I'll see. And now for lunch. I'm as hungry as a stranded road company. What have you?"

"Not so very much," confessed Ruth. "I was hoping——"

There came a knock at the door.

"Come!" invited Mr. DeVere, and Russ appeared.

"Excuse this interruption," the young moving picture operator began, "but mother sent over to ask if you wouldn't take dinner with us. We have a big one. We expected my uncle and aunt, and they've disappointed us. Do come!"

Alice and Ruth looked at each other. Then they glanced up at their father, who regarded them thoughtfully.

"Well, I don't know," began the actor, slowly. "I—er——"

"Mother will be disappointed if you don't come," urged Russ. "She has chicken and biscuit for dinner, and she rather prides herself on it. The dinner will be spoiled if it isn't eaten hot—especially the biscuit, so she'll take it as a favor if you'll come over, and take the places of my uncle and aunt. Do come!" and he looked earnestly at Ruth.

"Well, what do you say, girls? Shall we accept of our neighbor's hospitality?" asked Mr. DeVere.

"Please do!" exclaimed Alice, in a tense whisper. "You know we haven't got a decent thing to eat in the ice box, and that delicatessen stuff——"

"Alice!" chided Ruth.

"Well, it's the truth!" insisted the merry girl, her brown eyes dancing with mischief. "Russ knows we aren't millionaires, and with papa out of an engagement so long—oh, chicken! Come on. I haven't tasted any in so long——"

"Alice—dear!" objected Ruth, sharply. "You mustn't mind her, Russ," she went on, rather embarrassed.

"I don't," he laughed. "But if you'll all come I'll promise you some of the best chicken you ever tasted. And mother's hot biscuits in the chicken gravy——"

"Don't you say another word, Russ Dalwood!" interrupted Alice. "We're coming!"

"I—I think we will," agreed Mr. DeVere, with a laugh.

Thus was his new engagement fittingly celebrated.

The memory of that chicken dinner lingered long with the DeVere family. For though there was daylight ahead there were dark and dreary days to be lived through.

As usual in theatrical companies, no salaries were paid while "A Matter of Friendship" was being rehearsed. Neither Mr. DeVere, nor any of the company, received any money for those two weeks of hard work. Those actors or actresses who had nothing put by lived as best they could on the charity of others. It was indeed "a matter of friendship" that some of them lived at all. And for a week after the play opened they could expect nothing. Then if the play should be a failure——

But no one liked to think of that.

The rehearsals went on, and the play was going to be a great success, according to Mr. DeVere. But then he always said that. What actor has not?

How he and his family lived those two weeks none but themselves knew. They had pawned all they dared, until their flat was quite bare of needed comforts. Tradesmen were insistent, and one man in particular threatened to have Mr. DeVere arrested if his bill was not paid. But it was out of the question to meet it. What little money was on hand was needed for food, and there was little enough of that.

Mr. DeVere did negotiate some small loans, but not enough to afford permanent relief. Perhaps motherly Mrs. Dalwood suspected, or Russ may have hinted at their neighbors' straits, for many a nourishing dish was sent to Ruth and Alice, on the plea that