Page:Daskam--The imp and the angel.djvu/97

The Imp's Matinée pocket-book, treasured because the parting gift of James O'Connor, and walked lightly into the small, dingy theatre. In the ticket-office stood a tall, white-faced man, very shabbily dressed, with dark, glowing eyes that stared at the Imp uncomfortably; he felt like an intruder. But secure in the consciousness of virtue, he laid down the quarter with a slap on the little counter.

"I would like a ticket to this theatre this afternoon," he said, politely but firmly.

"Oh!" said the man, "that's more than many would!" and he laughed unpleasantly. "You aren't patronizing the circus to-day, then?" The Imp blushed.

"No, I'm not," he said faintly, "I'm patterizing this theatre instead. I—I thought I'd better." The man turned away rather crossly and lit a cigar.

"Go on in, then," he said, "and take your pick of seats. The crowd's not so big but that you'll get a good one."

The Imp walked through a dirty green baize door into a small theatre, quite empty. Across the stage scuttled a man with a dustpan in one hand and a wig in the other. From behind the curtain came voices pitched high, as of people 75