he "wild horse," and, alas! we were only too obedient, crowding down at
right, clinging together in attitudes of extremest fright, we shrieked
and screeched until old Bob cocked up his ears and looked so astonished
at our conduct that the audience simply rocked back and forth with
laughter, and all the time _Mazeppa_ was saying things that did not seem
to be like prayers. Finally he gave orders for the men to surround Bob,
which they did, and then the ring was used--the ring that was to make him
dance about pretty lively. It pricked him on the shoulder, and the "wild
horse" stood and switched his tail. It pricked him again--he switched his
tail again. The men had by that time grown careless, and when the ring
was finally used at his mane, he suddenly kicked one of them clear off
the stage, and then resumed his unruffled calm. The public thought it was
having fun all this time, but pretty soon it knew it. Nothing under
heaven could disturb the gentle serenity of that dog-like old horse. But
when _Mazeppa_ was brought forward to be bound upon his back, instead of
pulling away, rearing, and fighting against the burden, his one and only
quick movement was his violent effort to break away from his tormentors
to welcome _Mazeppa_ joyously.

"Oh!" groaned Miles, "kill him, somebody, before he kills me!"

While he was being bound on the wild horse's back, our instructions were
to scream, therefore we screamed as before, and being on the verge of
insanity, _Mazeppa_ lifted his head from the horse's back, and said: "Oh,
shut up--do!" The audience heard, and--well, it laughed some more, and
then it discovered, when the men sprang away and left the horse free to
dash madly up the mountain, that _Mazeppa_ had kept one foot unbound to
kick his horse with--and truly it did seem that the audience was going
into convulsions. Such laughter, pierced every now and then by the shrill
scream of hysteria. Then old Bob ambled up the first run all right, but,
alas! for poor _Mazeppa_, as he reached the first turn-table, a woman
passed on the way to her room, and hungry Bob instantly stopped to
negotiate a loan in sugar. Oh, it was dreadful, the wait, and when
finally he reappeared, trotting--yes, trotting up the next run, Mr.
Miles's foot could be plainly seen, kicking with the regularity of a
piston-rod, while his remarks were--well, they were irregular in the
extreme.

Of course the play was hopelessly ruined; the audience laughed at the
sl