you have to
turn people away, or let them in on standing room. Then you can snap
your fingers at fate, and drink foolish water out of four-dollar bottles
of fizz that has the cork trained so it will pop out clear to the top of
the tent, and make a noise that makes you think you own the earth, but
when you strike the southern country where the white men have not sold
their cotton and the negroes have not been paid for picking it, the
audience looks like a political caucus in an off year, when there is
nobody with money enough to stimulate the voters. When the audiences are
small, and half the people in attendance get in on bill-sticker's
passes, and you can't pay the help regularly, but have to stand them off
with promises, you are liable to have a strike any minute. The people
you owe for hotel bills, and horse feed, and supplies, follow you from
one town to another, threatening to attach the ticket wagon and levy on
the animals. It takes diplomacy and unadulterated gall to run a show.

We are playing now to get back into the northern states, but we have to
leave an animal of some kind in the hands of a sheriff every day, which
has been all right so far, 'cause we have steered the sheriffs on to
elephants that have corns so they are no good except to eat, one zebra
that was made up by a painter, who painted stripes on a white mule, and
one lion that was so old he will never sell at forced sale for enough to
pay for the beef tea the sheriff will have to feed him.

When creditors in a town get too mad and threaten to attach things, we
invite them to go along with us for a few days, and get their money when
we strike a paying stand, and we agree to furnish them a Pullman car and
all they can eat. That is rather tempting to country people, so we had a
full car load of creditors with us for a week, and we gave them plenty
to drink, so they had the time of their lives, but they didn't get their
money. After going with us all through Georgia, they held an indignation
meeting in the car, and between high balls and cheese sandwiches they
got sleepy, and we side tracked their car in the woods at a station in
Mississippi, where there was a post office, saw mill and a cotton gin. I
guess they are there yet unless Mr. Pullman's lost car experts have
found the car and driven them out with fire extinguishers.

Pa came pretty near being left in that car with the creditors in
Mississippi. He was helping to entertain the guests, and jo