till called. Such sleeping powers in one so young should be fully admired. Then, she requested me to open the door should anyone call. Should anybody knock or ring, I presume she meant, for she could hardly expect a gentleman-"poor, but a gentleman still"-to open the door in answer to a call. Now, I'll take a quiet peep-who ever heard of a noisy peep?-at baby; for if I carry out her instructions carefully, Mrs. Grunter may postpone her rent-seeking ascension for a day or two. In that case, she won't be put to the trouble of descending-in possession of my weekly promise to pay in a day or two-for a day or two. Now for a quiet peep at baby.

Ι

66

[Walks cautiously toward door; suddenly loud postman's knock; he starts.] Confound it, that's sure to wake him. [Listens.] No-wonderful child! [Knock repeated.] Now may all the plagues-stop, I quite forgot; there's no one but me to take in the letters. Fancy, a house minus a letter-box. [Exit and reenter with letter; reads address.] Frank Gammon, Esq." Yes, that's me-at least, Frank Gammon is, the E-s-q. is rather superfluous-looks well, though; and being a gentleman-" poor, but a gentleman still"—as I just now observed-[Knock.] Hullo! another knock to answer. If this goes on I shall be "poor, but a gentleman never still." [Exit; pause; reenter.] A lady, evidently from the Emerald isle, with draught excluders for sale. I told her I seldom exclude a draught, and never when it happens to be on a bank. Now for my letter. I wonder from whom it is. Let me see; I wrote to my old Uncle Joe, whose heir I am-or hope to be-for fifty dollars on account. I expect this is a reply, saying "on no account." And yet I don't think it's Uncle Joe's writing. Ah! I also wrote to my friend Jack Du Fatte, the actor, requesting him to forward an order for the Catcall Theatre where he is at present playing the fourth low-comedy part. It may be from him. [Opens letter.] Yes; it is. [Reads:] "Gammon, dear boy." There; how nice to receive a letter from a public character, commencing in so friendly-not to say chummy-a manner. [Reads:] "Gammon, dear boy, can you oblige me with a loan of a few dollars? I am short of make-up." Make-up-oh, I know, that's rouge, and powder and paint. Well, Jack has certainly plenty of cheek to put it on. [Reads:] "I could not send you an order before-"-"before" underlined-“ but though a trifle behind”—

"behind" underlined-"trust it will not prove too late for use." Now, why has he underlined the words, "before" and "behind." [Reads again; pause.] Oh, I see-it's a joke-before and behind-of course a joke. Ah! Jack's a genuine comedian. [Reads:] "Wait for me after the performance, and I will introduce to you our walking gentleman's understudy.

That's good of Jack-and shall my friend, who so generously presents to me his talented professional brethren, want forfor-what do they call it-[refers to letter] want for make-up? No! Jack, my boy, you shall have your few dollars. Dash it, I'll walk to the theatre and Jack shall have my cab fare. What a splendid subject for a historical painting." Enthusiasm"represented by me-"Sacrificing to Needy Art"-represented by Jack-"His Cab Fare." Oh, here's the order for to-morrow, I presume. [Reads:] "Royal Catcall Theatre. Stalls. Admit two." By Jove, it's for this evening. What's this?not admitted after 8:15. It wanted but a quarter to eight when I came in. I'll dress at once and be off. [Hurrying about; stops suddenly] But how about that baby? Perhaps Mrs. Grunter will return before I start. I must leave here by eight. Let me see, what shall I do first-clean my boots. It's rather muddy, so I can't wear my patent leathers. [Produces boots and very old brush.] The muddy state of the streets, however, is not the only thing that prevents me wearing my patent leathers. [Brushing.] I am at present studying the science of economy; therefore, I do not extend my patronage to the shoeblack brigade. I sincerely trust the brigade; if the brigade would trust me, I wouldn't mind patronizing it—but that is neither here nor there. I am afraid my boots will suffer, for I've but this one brush-rather the worse for wear. [Shows brush.] I often wish some genius would invent a hairrestorer for bald boot brushes. I can't borrow Mrs. Grunter's, for I wouldn't have her know I clean my-[Bell.] Hullo, I must answer that, I suppose. [Putting on coat in hurry.] I shall be late for the theatre at this rate. [Bell again; exit hurriedly; heard off.] You want to wake that baby, don't you? When I am endeavoring to go about quietly, you come and ring as if— [Pause; reenter with basket of vegetables.] Here's a prettysome would say picturesque-occupation for a lodger who pays -oh, but I'm not a lodger who pays. [Places basket on floor, takes off coat and brushes it.] Thought I'd better not leave the

vegetables downstairs, in case some might be stolen. [Bell; puts on coat and exit hurriedly; everything done in haste to the end; reenter.] The boy wants the basket. [Empties vegetables on floor; exit with basket; calls:]"Here, boy, catch, and shut the door after you.” [Crash heard; reenters.] Here's a go. I've dropped the basket on to the gas-globe in the hall. Another little item for me to settle. Another little item or so will about settle me. Now, perhaps, I shall have a little peace.

[Takes off slippers, and puts boot on.] How remarkably quiet that baby is. [Bell.] Oh, hang the bell—it is hung, though, and properly, too, or it wouldn't ring like that. What now, I wonder. [Exit in boot and slipper; pause; heard calling.] Puss! puss! puss! [Enter with cat's meat on skewer.] A pretty time this to bring the cat's meat. The cat's-meat gentleman says he's been detained on his round. His round of beef, one might-here, I shall be late. Puss, puss, what a fool of a cat not to know his dinner-time. But perhaps he dines out to-day, Puss, puss, oh! [Throws meat unintentionally into his hat.] Now for a shave. I can't sit in the stalls with a bristly chin. Luckily Mrs. Grunter has left me some hot water. I shall be in it when she finds out about that gas-globe. [Fixes mirror, ties towel round his neck, and lathers face. Bell.] Go on, ring the bell, ring away. [Suddenly.] Ah, and wake baby! [Wipes face, puts on coat with difficulty, and rushes out; pause; reenter.] Of all the impudent—a man, who says he's an agent, wanted to know if we'd insure all our lives-I mean, all insured our lives. I trust he hasn't neglected to insure his for he'll never survive the glance I gave him. I'll try again. [Lathering repeated; stumbles over vegetables; shouts.] Hang it! was ever a fellow so[Crying heard; stops and listens; sighs.] The baby! Now what could have caused it to wake? I hadn't made sufficient noise to wake half a baby. Oh! Isn't it dreadful? I can't shave to that accompaniment. I should cut my throat. I wonder how babies are quieted. Let me think, haven't I heard something about a—a—a burnt feather, or a -or a key down the back-or something? Perhaps he's in pain. He is if his crying affects him as it does me. I'd better see, for if anything happens to that child I should be held responsible. [Wipes face.] The soap I'm wasting is something alarming. [Goes toward door. Cries cease.] He's

quiet again. Having some fun, I should think. It must be on the stroke of eight. [Lathers again; crying heard.] Now, isn't this too bad of him? Oh, what a temper he's in! That's the worst of babies-they've no idea of controlling their tempers. [Goes to door.] I wonder if he'd listen to reason. [Speaks off.] My dear baby-that is, Mrs. Grunter's dear baby-[aside:] not mine, of course not-[speaking off] will you kindly suspend your performance while I shave? [Cries louder; getting desperate.] I appeal to you as a fellow-manI mean a fellow-baby-no-a baby-fellow. [Clock strikes eight.] Eight o'clock! I'll dispense with any further alterations in my attire. [Cries cease.] If I won't do for the stalls, they must put me out of sight in a private box, or in the pit, or in the flies-though I haven't the slightest idea in what part of the house the flies are--or somewhere. [In putting on hat, cat's meat falls; kicks it among vegetables.] Mrs. Grunter will find I've taken good care of the meat and vegetables. Where's my gloves? [Rushing about in confusion.. Crying heard.] Hullo, there's one of Mrs. Grunter's. If there were a pair I'd wear them. Oh, here are my gloves in my pocket. Ah, a little scent. [Takes bottle and scents handkerchief. In smelling it, lather comes off.] By Jove! I'd forgotten the lather! [Wipes face.] Now I am off. [Going; stops.] But how about that baby? I mustn't leave him alone. Ah, good idea! The order admits two-he's in full evening dress, or in a full night-dress, it's the same thing-suppose I take him with me. he'd be sure to yell all through the piece, and they'd put it down, perhaps, as an organized opposition. [Listens.] Ah, what do I hear? [Goes to door.] Hurrah, Mrs. Grunter returned at last. Calling.] Mind the pieces, Mrs. Grunter, I am free. Behold [indicating baby] villainy defeated, and [indicating himself] virtue triumphant. Now I am off, trusting I have succeeded in obliging my landlady.

BUDD WILKINS AT THE SHOW.

S. E. KISER.

But then

INCE I've got used to city ways and don't scare at the cars, It makes me smile to set and think of years ago. My

stars!

How green I was, and how green all them country people be.

Sometimes it seems almost as if this hardly could be me.

Well, I was goin' to tell you 'bout Budd Wilkins: I declare He was the durndest, greenest chap that ever breathed the air. The biggest town on earth, he thought, was our old country seat,

With its one two-story brick hotel and dusty business street.

We'd fairs in fall and now and then a dance er huskin' bee,
Which was the most excitin' things Budd Wilkins ever see,
Until, one winter, Skigginsville was all turned upside down
By a troupe of real play actors a-comin' into town.

The court-house it was turned into a theatre, that night,
And I don't s'pose I'll live to see another sich a sight.
I guess that every person who was able fer to go
Jest natchelly cut loose fer oncet, and went to see the show.

Me and Budd we stood around there all day in the snow,
But gosh! it paid us, fer we got seats right in the second row!
Well, the brass band played a tune er two, and then the play
begun,

And 'twa'n't long 'fore the villain had the hero on the run.

Say, talk about your purty girls with sweet confidin' ways—
I never see the equal yit, in all of my born days,

Of that there brave young heroine, so clingin' and so mild,
And jest as innocent as if she'd been a little child.

I most fergot to say that Budd stood six feet in his socks,
As brave as any lion, too, and stronger than an ox!
But there never was a man, I'll bet, that had a softer heart,
And he was always sure to take the weaker person's part.
Budd, he fell dead in love right off with that there purty girl,
And I suppose the feller's brain was in a fearful whirl,
Fer there he set and gazed at her, and when she sighed he
sighed,

And when she hid her face and sobbed, he actually cried.

He clinched his fists and ground his teeth when the villain laid his plot

And said out loud he'd like to kill the rogue right on the spot,