vers that his mastery of this dance
would, if ever at all achieved, be only after long and discouraging
effort.

"You forget all about your feet," remarked the girl as they paused,
swaying to the rhythm. "Remember the feet--they're important in a dance.
Now!--" But it was hard to remember his feet or, when he did recall
them, to relate their movements even distantly to the music. When this
had died despairingly, the girl surveyed her pupil with friendly but
doubting eyes.

"Say, Pa, don't he remind you of someone? Remember the squirrel that
joined out with us one time in the rep show and left 'East Lynne' flat
right in the middle of the third act while he went down and announced
the next night's play--the one that his name was Eddie Duffy and he
called himself Clyde Maltravers?"

"In a way, in a way," agreed Mr. Montague dismally. "A certain lack of
finish in the manner, perhaps."

"Remember how Charlie Dickman, the manager, nearly murdered him for it
in the wings? Not that Charlie didn't have a right to. Well, this boy
dances like Eddie Duffy would have danced."

"He was undeniably awkward and forgetful," said Mr. Montague. "Well do
I recall a later night. We played Under the Gaslight; Charlie feared to
trust him with a part, so he kept the young man off stage to help with
the train noise when the down express should dash across. But even in
this humble station he proved inefficient. When the train came on he
became confused, seized the cocoanut shells instead of the sand-paper,
and our train that night entered to the sound of a galloping horse. The
effect must have been puzzling to the audience. Indeed, many of them
seemed to consider it ludicrous. Charlie Dickman confided in me later.
'Syl, my boy,' says he, 'this bird Duffy has caused my first gray
hairs.' It was little wonder that he persuaded young Duffy to abandon
the drama. He was not meant for the higher planes of our art. Now our
young friend here"--he pointed to the perspiring Merton Gill--"doesn't
even seem able to master a simple dance step. I might say that he seems
to out-Duffy Duffy--for Duffy could dance after a fashion."

"He'll make the grade yet," replied his daughter grimly, and again
the music sounded. Merton Gill continued unconscious of his feet, or,
remembering them, he became deaf to the music. But the girl brightened
with a sudden thought when next they rested.

"I got it!" she announced. "We'll have about two hundred feet of this
for