s, resolved to make up a match
between his daughter and the industrious mechanic, and, accordingly,
brings Mister Charleys home with him.

Mister Charleys, who has fortified himself with a strong stimulant, is
waiting at the wing for his cue, in company with the 'call-boy' (an old
man in this instance), who holds a copy of cues in one hand and a
lighted candle in the other. The call-boy whispers 'Fuera!' as a signal
for me to disappear from the wing, gives me an encouraging push, and the
gloom behind the scenes is suddenly exchanged for a blaze of gas, and a
theatre full of enthusiastic spectators.

Following Don Gabriel, who leads the way, I am greeted with a round of
hearty applause in acknowledgement of my effective make-up, and when I
give utterance to the opening words, in which reference is made to the
heat of the weather, and to the difficulties Mister Charleys has
encountered in his quest after refreshment, the house is convulsed.

Some time, however, elapses before I can thoroughly appreciate my
situation, and realise the fact that all this applause and laughter is
due to my appearance on the stage. I easily overcome the temporary
agitation induced by the glare of the lamps and the gaze of the hundreds
of upturned faces before me; but I cannot withstand the behaviour of the
gentleman in the domed trap. His perpetual prompting, combined with his
perceptible enjoyment of the new piece, is, to say the least of it,
confusing, and fills me with misgivings of a premature 'hitch.'

The play proceeds. I am formally introduced to the ladies, whose hands I
squeeze awkwardly and savagely, while Don Gabriel--whom I address as Don
Guebriel--sings the praises of Mister Charleys.

Enter my rival Ramon, disguised as a Catalan shopkeeper, in false
whiskers, and a tall white hat with a black band. Shopkeepers in Cuba
are usually natives of Barcelona, and the object of Ramon's disguise, is
to persuade Don Gabriel that he is one of that money-making community.
He talks Spanish with the approved Catalonian accent; introduces himself
as 'Dun Panchu Defulou, Cutulan y cumerciante,' and offers to traffic
with his host. The imposture is, however, short-lived. In a hard squeeze
of the hand which I give the sham Catalan at parting, he inadvertently
roars out in a good Creole accent:--

'Ay! ay! ay! caramba, suelte usted.' (Oh! for goodness' sake, let go!)

The old gentleman suspects his maiden sister of aiding and abetting the
dan