and he's Triplet. Isn't that so?"
The manager nodded, eyeing her curiously.
"Mr. Wyatt, you've heard of their trouble, of course? The accident this morning to their little boy?"
"Ah, yes--yes," said Wyatt. "Of course. Hurt by a fall, poor little fellow. Very serious. Yes, poor things! Did you want to see--"
"You know that one of your big surgeons here--I've forgotten the name!--is to operate on little Phil to-morrow?" asked Mrs. Coppered.
"So Penrose said," assented the manager slowly, watching her as if a little surprised at her insistence.
"Mr. Wyatt," said Mrs. Coppered,--and Duncan noticed that she had turned a little pale,--"Mrs. Penrose wired me news of all this only a few hours ago. She is half frantic at the idea that she must go on to-morrow afternoon and evening; yet the understudy is ill, and she felt it was too short notice to ask you to make a change now. But it occurred to me to come to see you about it. I want to ask you a favor. I want you to let me pl