essor, fixed the doorkeeper with one of his
winning smiles, and the doorkeeper succumbed. "You boys can slip in," he
said, "but you've got to go up in the balcony." Up they rushed, and
there Charles stood delighted, his eyes sparkling and his whole face
transfigured.

During the middle of the second act Gustave tugged at his sleeve,
saying: "We'll have to go now. You follow me down."

With this he disappeared and hurried home. When he arrived he found the
home in an uproar because Charles had not come back. Gustave ran to the
theater, but the play was over, the crowd had dispersed, and the
building was deserted. With beating heart and fearful of disaster to his
charge, he rushed back to see Charles, all animation and excitement, in
the midst of the family group, regaling them with the story of his first
play. He had remained to the end.

That thrilling night at "The Black Crook," his daily contact with the
actors who came into the store, his frequent visits to the adjoining
playhouses, fed the fire of his theatrical interest. The theater got
into his very blood.

A great event was impending. Almost within stone's-throw of the little
cigar-store where he sold stogies to Tony Pastor was the Old New York
Theater, which, after the fashion of that time, had undergone the
evolution of many names, beginning with the Athenaeum, and continuing
until it had come under the control of the three famous Worrell
sisters, who tacked their name to it. Shortly after the New Year of 1869
they produced the extravaganza "The Field of the Cloth of Gold," in
which two of them, Sophie and Jane, together with Pauline Markham, one
of the classic beauties of the time, appeared. Charles had witnessed
part of this extravaganza one afternoon. It kindled his memories of "The
Black Crook," for it was full of sparkle and color. Charles and Gustave
had made the acquaintance of Owen, the doorkeeper. One afternoon they
walked over to the theater and stood in the lobby listening to a
rehearsal.

Owen, who knew the boys' intense love of the theater, spoke up, saying:
"We need an extra page to-night. How would you like to go on?"

Both youngsters stood expectant. They loved each other dearly, yet here
was one moment where self-interest must prevail. Charles fixed the
doorkeeper with his hypnotic smile, and he was chosen. Almost without
hearing the injunction to report at seven o'clock, Charles ran back to
the store, well-nigh breathless with expectanc