nd. And there was
Eddy. Eddy. Eddy. He was a corker. Yes, he cashed in many years ago.
Then there was Mrs. W. G. Jones. God bless her! Dead. God rest her soul.
She was the salt of the earth. And what has become of J. B. Studley?
Wasn't he a dandy, though, in Indian war plays? You bet! Jim McCloskey,
I think, used to fix them up for him. And will you ever forget G.
L.--Fox, I mean. There never was his equal in funny characters, and as a
pantomimist no one ever took his place. They tell me the old spout shop
is now turned into a Yiddish theatre. Well! well! well! How times are
changed! I suppose the fellows I knew in days gone by are changed
too--those of them that remain, I mean. The ones that are dead I know
are."

"Yes," replied Handy, "you'd find New York a much changed city since
then. It was, I believe, Dutch originally; then for a time the Irish had
a hack at it; but all the nations of the earth having sent in their
contributions of all sorts and sizes and tongues, it's purty hard now to
make out what it is."

"Wonders will never stop ceasing, will they? Well, Wes"--and Big Ed
turned and directed his attention to the landlord--"what did you come up
here for? You came up after something. What's the little game? Want to
buy land?"

"No. I'll tell you. Our friend here, Mr. Handy, at my suggestion, made
this visit with me to see you on a little speculation of our own. Mr.
Handy a week--not quite a week ago--came out to my town with a
theatrical troupe to show for a week. The company played one night, when
the staress grew tired and quit after the first heat and went home to
mother. This brought the season to a premature close."

"Nothing particularly new in that," answered McGowan; "but continue."

"Well, under the circumstances we--Mr. Handy and myself--got our heads
together and came to the conclusion to run up here and have a talk with
you and see if we couldn't make some arrangements to bring the company
up and give a show."

"I see. That's the racket, eh? Where did you propose to give it?"

"In that new hall of yours, of course."

"My new hall, eh?" replied McGowan, in surprise, and laughing. "Why,
Wes, the gol-darned thing ain't built yet, but the men are at work on
it. If it was ready I'd like nothin' better than inauguratin' the place
with a show, for between ourselves I'm a bit stuck on theatre-acting
myself. I'm sorry. The carpenters started in over a week ago and this is
Tuesday."

"And is there