rs to keep them off the dusty floor while he puts on his
wrestling tights. As he bends over with arched back, and raises one leg
to insert it into the long pink stocking, one must admire the perfect
muscular grace of his thighs and shoulders. Here is the equally muscular
dwarf, being massaged by a friend before he dons his pink frills and
dashing plumed hat and becomes Mlle. Spangletti, "the marvel
equestrienne, darling of the Parisian boulevards." Here is the
inevitable Charley Chaplin, and here the dean of all the clowns, an old
gentleman of seventy-four, in his frolicsome costume, as lively as
ever. Here is a trunk inscribed _Australian Woodchoppers_, and sitting
on it one of the woodchoppers himself, a quiet, humorous, cultivated
gentleman with a great fund of philosophy. A rumour goes the rounds--as
it does behind the scenes in every kind of show. "Do you know who we
have with us to-day? I see one of the boxes is all decorated up." "It's
Mrs. Vincent Astor." "Who's she?" interjects the Australian woodchopper,
satirically. "It's General Wood." "Did you hear, Wood and Pershing are
here to-day?" Charley Chaplin asserts that he has "a good gag" that he's
going to try out to-day and see how it goes. One of the other clowns in
the course of dressing comes up to Pat Valdo, and Pat introduces his two
pupils. "Newspaper men, hey?" says the latter. "What did you tell me
for? I usually double-cross the newspaper men when they come up to do
some clowning," he explains to us. We are left wondering in what this
double-crossing consists. Suddenly they all troop off down the dark
narrow stairs for the triumphal entry. The splendour of this parade may
not be marred by any clown costumes, so the two novices are left
upstairs, peering through holes in the dressing-room wall. The big arena
is all an expanse of eager faces. The band strikes up a stirring ditty.
A wave of excitement sweeps through the dingy quarters of the Garden.
The show is on, and how delirious it all is!

Downstairs, the space behind the arena is a fascinating jostle of odd
sights. The elephants come swaying up the runway from the basement and
stand in line waiting their turn. Here is a cage of trained bears. In
the background stands the dogcatcher's cart, attached to the famous
kicking mule. From the ladies' dressing quarters come the aerial human
butterflies in their wings and gauzy draperies. On the wall is a list of
names, _Mail Uncalled For_. One of the names is