n the men of the orchestra filed in and began tuning their
instruments, it was the signal for an influx of loiterers from the door.
There were a large number of coloured people in the audience, and
because members of their own race were giving the performance, they
seemed to take a proprietary interest in it all. They discussed its
merits and demerits as they walked down the aisle in much the same tone
that the owners would have used had they been wondering whether the
entertainment was going to please the people or not.

Finally the music struck up one of the numerous negro marches. It was
accompanied by the rhythmic patting of feet from all parts of the house.
Then the curtain went up on a scene of beauty. It purported to be a
grove to which a party of picnickers, the ladies and gentlemen of the
chorus, had come for a holiday, and they were telling the audience all
about it in crescendos. With the exception of one, who looked like a
faded kid glove, the men discarded the grease paint, but the women under
their make-ups ranged from pure white, pale yellow, and sickly greens to
brick reds and slate grays. They were dressed in costumes that were not
primarily intended for picnic going. But they could sing, and they did
sing, with their voices, their bodies, their souls. They threw
themselves into it because they enjoyed and felt what they were doing,
and they gave almost a semblance of dignity to the tawdry music and
inane words.

Kitty was enchanted. The airily dressed women seemed to her like
creatures from fairy-land. It is strange how the glare of the footlights
succeeds in deceiving so many people who are able to see through other
delusions. The cheap dresses on the street had not fooled Kitty for an
instant, but take the same cheese-cloth, put a little water starch into
it, and put it on the stage, and she could see only chiffon.

She turned around and nodded delightedly at her brother, but he did not
see her. He was lost, transfixed. His soul was floating on a sea of
sense. He had eyes and ears and thoughts only for the stage. His nerves
tingled and his hands twitched. Only to know one of those radiant
creatures, to have her speak to him, smile at him! If ever a man was
intoxicated, Joe was. Mrs. Hamilton was divided between shame at the
clothes of some of the women and delight with the music. Her companion
was busy pointing out who this and that actress was, and giving
jelly-like appreciation to the doings on t