year coon songs, owned a voice
that would have had a Grand-st. banana huckster down and out; the
monologue man was funny only when he didn't mean to be; and the
black-face banjoist was the limit. Then there was a juggler, and
Montana Kate, who wore buckskin leggins and did a fake rifle-shootin'
act.

I tried to head Leonidas off from sendin' out his tent men, rigged up
in red flannel coats, to sell bottled Sagawa; but he said Pinckney had
told him to be sure and do it. They were birds, them "gentlemanly
ushers."

"I'll bet I know where you picked up a lot of 'em," says I.

"Where?" says Leonidas.

"Off the benches in City Hall park," I says.

"All but one," says he, "and he had just graduated from Snake Hill.
But you didn't take this for one of Frohman's road companies, did you?"

They unloaded the Sagawa, though. The audience wasn't missin'
anything, and most everyone bought a bottle for a souvenir.

"It's the great Indian liver regulator and complexion beautifier," says
Leonidas in his business talk. "It removes corns, takes the soreness
out of stiff muscles, and restores the natural colour to grey hair.
Also, ladies and gents, it can be used as a furniture polish, while a
few drops in the bath is better than a week at Hot Springs."

He was right to home, Leonidas was, and it was a joy to see him. He'd
got himself into a wrinkled dress suit, stuck an opera hat on the back
of his head, and he jollied along that swell mob just as easy as if
they'd been factory hands. And they all seemed glad they'd come.
After it was over Pinckney says that it was too bad to keep such a good
thing all to themselves, and he wants me to see if Leonidas wouldn't
stay and give grand matinee performance next day.

"Tell him I'll guarantee him a full house," says Pinckney.

Course, Leonidas didn't need any coaxin'. "But I wish you'd find out
if there isn't a butcher's shop handy," says he. "You see, we were up
against it for a week or so, over in Jersey, and the rations ran kind
of low. In fact, all we've had to live on for the last four days has
been bean soup and pilot bread, and the artists are beginning to
complain. Now that I've got a little real money, I'd like to buy a few
pounds of steak. I reckon the aggregation would sleep better after a
hot supper."

I lays the case before Pinckney and Sadie, and they goes straight for
Mrs. Brassett. And say! before eleven-thirty they had that whole
outfit lined up in the