ut
from the cast-room, and an evil gesture at the Venus of Milo as he passed
her on the stairway.

When Paul reached the ushers' dressing-room half-a-dozen boys were there
already, and he began excitedly to tumble into his uniform. It was one of
the few that at all approached fitting, and Paul thought it very
becoming--though he knew the tight, straight coat accentuated his narrow
chest, about which he was exceedingly sensitive. He was always excited
while he dressed, twanging all over to the tuning of the strings and the
preliminary flourishes of the horns in the music-room; but tonight he
seemed quite beside himself, and he teased and plagued the boys until,
telling him that he was crazy, they put him down on the floor and sat on
him.

Somewhat calmed by his suppression, Paul dashed out to the front of the
house to seat the early comers. He was a model usher. Gracious and
smiling he ran up and down the aisles. Nothing was too much trouble for
him; he carried messages and brought programs as though it were his
greatest pleasure in life, and all the people in his section thought him
a charming boy, feeling that he remembered and admired them. As the house
filled, he grew more and more vivacious and animated, and the colour came
to his cheeks and lips. It was very much as though this were a great
reception and Paul were the host. Just as the musicians came out to take
their places, his English teacher arrived with checks for the seats which
a prominent manufacturer had taken for the season. She betrayed some
embarrassment when she handed Paul the tickets, and a _hauteur_ which
subsequently made her feel very foolish. Paul was startled for a moment,
and had the feeling of wanting to put her out; what business had she here
among all these fine people and gay colours? He looked her over and
decided that she was not appropriately dressed and must be a fool to sit
downstairs in such togs. The tickets had probably been sent her out of
kindness, he reflected, as he put down a seat for her, and she had about
as much right to sit there as he had.

When the symphony began Paul sank into one of the rear seats with a long
sigh of relief, and lost himself as he had done before the Rico. It was
not that symphonies, as such, meant anything in particular to Paul, but
the first sigh of the instruments seemed to free some hilarious spirit
within him; something that struggled there like the Genius in the bottle
found by the Arab fisherm