r Loo,' Mr. Stoss will raise his hands to heaven and
beg the audience to pray." The American spoke without moving a muscle of
his face. He had the last word. The next instant the slim young fellow
was outside the door.

Arthur Stoss had the pleasure of knowing he was a fool for his pains.
But, like Frederick, he paid no attention to the thrust, or to the
laughter it provoked.

"People are very much mistaken," he said, turning to Professor Toussaint,
who was sitting beside him and to whom he had been introduced a few
minutes before, "if they suppose that morality among vaudeville
performers is laxer than among any other set of persons. It's an
absolutely false assumption. A performer above the average, who must
always be at the very height of his powers, has to practise moderation to
the point of abstinence if he wants to remain on top. Does anybody
suppose that a loose life is compatible with those startlingly bold feats
that an acrobat does every day and tries to improve upon every day? Damn
it! It's something to make your ordinary mortal marvel at. Why, to do any
one of the many things we do, we have to practise asceticism and
chastity, and patiently peg away day after day at hard, dangerous work.
Your plain business man, who never omits his glass of beer, has no idea
what it is like." He continued to sing the praises of vaudeville actors.

"May I ask what your specialty is, Mr. Stoss?" asked Hans Fuellenberg.

"A very easy specialty, once you know how. But if it should ever come to
a duel between you and me, young man, you'd have to choose what eye or
ear or tooth you'd be ready to part with."

"He's as good a shot as Carver," someone said. "He can take the middle
right out of an ace three or four times in succession."

"Just like any other display of skill. But don't for a moment suppose,
gentlemen, that even if a man has arms and doesn't have to hold the gun
with his feet and pull the trigger with his toes, that he learns how to
do it without sweating and self-denial and endless patience."

"Somebody said you play the violin like Sarasate," said Hans Fuellenberg.

"Not exactly. Nor need I, considering the way I was born. But I am fond
of music and my audiences go wild over my playing."

Captain von Kessel entered. He was received with a general "Ah!" Through
the door burst a great wave of sunlight.

"The barometer is rising, gentlemen."

The fog had lifted, and now the men in the smoking-room realised th