gly,
Mr. Stuart. I went over it with him last night. I like them to be word
perfect," he continued to me, "as failures on exhibition night elicit
unfavorable comment."

"And are we to expect failures also?" I inquired.

"Reuben Gadsden is likely to mortify us. He is an earnest boy, but
nervous; and one or two others. But I have limited their length. Reuben
Gadsden's father declined to have his boy cut short, and he will give
us a speech of Burke's; but I hope for the best. It narrows down, it
narrows down. Guy Jeffries and Leola Mattern are the two."

"The parents seem to take keen interest," said I.

Mr. Eastman smiled at Stuart. "We have no reason to suppose they have
changed since last year," said he. "Why, sir," he suddenly exclaimed,
"if I did not feel I was doing something for the young generation
here, I should leave Sharon to-morrow! One is not appreciated, not
appreciated."

He spoke fervently of various local enterprises, his failures, his
hopes, his achievements; and I left his house honoring him, but
amazed--his heart was so wide and his head so narrow; a man who would
purify with simultaneous austerity the morals of Lochinvar and of
Sharon.

"About once a month," said Stuart, "I run against a new side he is blind
on. Take his puzzlement as to whether they prefer verse or prose. Queer
and dumb of him that, you see. Sharon does not know the difference
between verse and prose."

"That's going too far," said I.

"They don't," he repeated, "when it comes to strawberry night. If the
piece is about something they understand, rhymes do not help or hinder.
And of course sex is apt to settle the question."

"Then I should have thought Leola--" I began.

"Not the sex of the speaker. It's the listeners. Now you take women.
Women generally prefer something that will give them a good cry. We men
want to laugh mostly."

"Yes," said I; "I would rather laugh myself, I think."

"You'd know you'd rather if you had to live in Sharon. The laugh is one
of the big differences between women and men, and I would give you my
views about it, only my Sunday-off time is up, and I've got to go to
telegraphing."

"Our ways are together," said I. "I'm going back to the railroad hotel."

"There's Guy," continued Stuart. "He took the prize on 'The Jumping
Frog.' Spoke better than Leola, anyhow. She spoke 'The Wreck of
the Hesperus.' But Guy had the back benches--that's where the men
sit--pretty well useless. Guess if ther