es, old hands never hesitate about playing "another hundred up"
before starting for the playhouse. A wise manager would be guided a
little by the weather and always allow a few minutes' margin when it is
foggy or rainy, for the audiences are necessarily delayed by such
weather.

By getting to one's seat early, even before the time when the band is
indulging in that part of its performance which is said to have been
peculiarly agreeable to the Shah of Persia who visited London in the
seventies, we enjoy certain humours.

Incidentally, it may be asked whether the ordinary playgoer exactly
appreciates the position of the last rows of the stalls. Probably he
believes that there is a gulf fixed between the stalls and the pit, and
does not know that there is merely a barrier. Now a barrier can be
removed easily--a gulf cannot. When paying his half-guinea the simple
visitor imagines that the difference between the price of his seat and
that of a place in the pit is to a great extent based upon an advantage
of nearness--although it appears that some managers do not think that
propinquity involves a gain.

As a matter of fact, a considerable portion of the floor of the house is
occupied by stalls or pit, according to the nature of the business done
in the theatre. If a piece is not attracting fashionable folk the
barrier is moved towards the footlights, the chairs are changed to
benches, and the place which at the _premiere_ some deadhead proudly
occupied as a stall takes a "back seat," and sinks to the indignity of
becoming pit; and, of course, the converse sometimes happens.

It is amusing to hear the people on the other side discussing the
entrance of the stall first-nighters, many of whom are identified. One
hears comments upon the gowns, and sometimes severe remarks about the
alleged misdeeds of the professional critics, as well as unflattering
observations concerning the personal appearance of some of us. We might
a tale unfold that would freeze a good many young bloods, but for a nice
question of confidence.

The inhabitants of the pit really deserve a study. It may be said that
they are sometimes more interesting than the play itself. There is a
tradition that wisdom lies in the pit as Truth at the bottom of a well.
Many articles have been written pointing out that the judgment of the
pit is sounder than the opinion of other parts of the house, that the
pitites are the real, serious, reflective, critical playgoers w