All the underlings had
rushed out on a balcony that commanded a superb view
of the battle. The connecting doors were open;
Mildred advanced from room to room, seeking someone who
would take her card to Mr. Crossley. When she at
last faced a closed door she knocked.
``Come!'' cried a pleasant voice.
And in she went, to face Crossley himself--Crossley,
the ``weak and soft,'' caught behind his last entrenchment
with no chance to escape. Had Mildred looked
the usual sort who come looking for jobs in musical
comedy, Mr. Crossley would not have risen--not be-
cause he was snobbish, but because, being a sensitive,
high-strung person, he instinctively adopted the manner
that would put the person before him at ease. He
glanced at Mildred, rose, and thrust back forthwith the
slangy, offhand personality that was perhaps the most
natural--or was it merely the most used?--of his
many personalities. It was Crossley the man of the
world, the man of the artistic world, who delighted
Mildred with a courteous bow and offer of a chair, as he
said:
``You wished to see me?''
``If you are Mr.
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