, while far at one side
sat Wang Kum with two of his friends, whom he had persuaded to buy
tickets, as a proof of their loyalty to Louise.

Behind the scenes there reigned the usual confusion, preparatory to the
rising of the curtain. Moreover, in some quarters, there existed grave
doubts of the curtain's being prevailed upon to rise at all, since, the
night before, it had persistently stuck fast, at two feet from the
floor. At length all was in readiness for the first part of the program,
and Charlie had just stepped forward to make his bow, before seating
himself at the piano, when the doctor hurriedly approached Louise.

"Can you spare me, for three quarters of an hour?" he asked. "I've just
heard, by the merest chance, that the evening train is off the track,
down in the cut below the station. The engine jumped the track, and
pulled the baggage car after it; they both rolled over, and they say one
man is hurt. Nobody has sent for me; but I'd like to just run down, and
see if I can be of any use."

For a moment, Louise looked aghast at the idea of losing her chief actor
and assistant. Then she said cordially,--

"Go, of course. We'll arrange to do without you, in some way."

The doctor's eyes thanked her; but he wasted no time in mere words, as
he went on hastily,--

"I wouldn't say anything to the audience, for 'twould just break up the
whole affair. If you'll put off my reading till just before your last
duet with Charlie, I'll be here, unless there's serious trouble. If
there is any reason that I can't come, I'll send word at once." And he
was gone.

The program of the first part of the evening was drawing smoothly to its
close. Charlie had delighted his audience with his playing, both alone
and with the Everett boys; Howard and Marjorie had sung a new duet,
which they had learned, in honor of the occasion; and Allie had
convulsed her more critical hearers with a recitation, which she had
rendered with an originality of tone and gesture that would have struck
terror to the followers of Delsarte, even though it had won her the
first encore of the evening. Then, after a moment's enjoyment of the
continued applause which had followed her disappearance from the stage,
she came back once more, and gave them "Aunt Tabitha." She threw herself
into it with an abandonment of fun which, in itself, would have been
enough to show her sympathy with the trend of the poem, while she could
not forbear glaring defiantly do