him for one evening. He was
quite incredulous at first, then modestly scared, perplexed, exultant and
depressed by turns. Here was an opening--the first. And because it was
the first its success or failure meant future engagements or consignments
to the street, perhaps as a white-wing. There must be no faltering now,
no bungling, no mistakes, no amateurish hesitation. It is the empty-
headed who most strenuously demand intelligence in others. One yawn from
such an audience meant his professional damnation--he knew that; every
second must break like froth in a wine glass; an instant's perplexity, a
slackening of the tension, and those flaccid intellects would relax into
native inertia. Incapable of self-amusement, depending utterly upon
superior minds for a respite from ennui, their caprice controlled his
fate; and he knew it.

Sitting there by the sunny window with a pair of magnificent white
Persian cats purring on either knee, he read and reread the letter
summoning him on the morrow to Seabright. He knew who his hostess was--a
large lady lately emerged from a corner in lard, dragging with her some
assorted relatives of atrophied intellects and a husband whose only
mental pleasure depended upon the speed attained by his racing car--the
most exacting audience he could dare to confront.

Like the White Knight he had had plenty of practice, but he feared that
warrior's fate; and as he sat there he picked up a bunch of silver hoops,
tossed them up separately so that they descended linked in a glittering
chain, looped them and unlooped them, and, tiring, thoughtfully tossed
them toward the ceiling again, where they vanished one by one in mid-air.

The cats purred; he picked up one, molded her carefully in his handsome
hands; and presently, under the agreeable massage, her purring increased
while she dwindled and dwindled to the size of a small, fluffy kitten,
then vanished entirely, leaving in his hand a tiny white mouse. This
mouse he tossed into the air, where it became no mouse at all but a white
butterfly that fluttered 'round and 'round, alighting at last on the
window curtain and hung there, opening and closing its snowy wings.

"That's all very well," he reflected, gloomily, as, at a pass of his
hand, the air was filled with canary birds; "that's all very well, but
suppose I should slip up? What I need is to rehearse to somebody before I
face two or three hundred people."

He thought he heard a knocking on his d