sixteen shows a day for the past eight weeks, they now had
a pretty good act. As they were getting about as near nothing a week as
anybody could get and not owe money to the manager, he wanted to keep
them along. He was fearful the memories of those jumps he had been
giving them would queer the deal, but he determined to see what a little
pleasant talk would do; so he went to them and said,

"Now, boys, you have got that act into pretty good shape; and if you
like I can give you some more time. And," he hastened to add, "you won't
get any more of those big jumps either. I was awful sorry about those
big fares you have had to pay."

"Oh, that's all right," replied one of the boys; "we belong to the
Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers and always ride on the engine free
anyway."

MARTIN LEHMAN GOES TO NEW YORK

Martin Lehman is the manager of the Orpheum Theater in Kansas City.
Martin Beck is the general manager of the Orpheum Circuit. Mr. Beck had
wired Lehman to come to New York at once. What Mr. Beck said went. So
Lehman went.

If there is any one thing on earth that Martin Lehman loves better than
another it is _not_ traveling. He is probably the only man on earth who
can get seasick anywhere and everywhere. A sprinkling cart will give him
symptoms. His son Lawrence says that he always has to stand by and hold
his father's hand when he takes a bath. He always walks to and from the
theater because the street car might pass through a mud puddle and he
would get seasick. The next worst thing in the world is a railroad
train. He dies twice a mile regularly. _But_--Martin Beck said, "Come at
once."

So, with his suit-case full of Green River, Hermitage and other
well-known mineral waters, a couple of lemons (who had been playing for
Louis Shouse at Convention Hall the previous week), and his Orpheum
pass, poor Lehman boarded the night train for Chicago, hoping for the
best but expecting the worst--and getting it.

He got on board early so he could get into his berth before the train
started. Lower seven, right in the middle of the car. He placed his
bottles of life preservers in the little hammock beside him, punched a
little hole in the end of one of the lemons, closed his eyes and said
his evening prayer.

The train started. So did his troubles. The train gained headway. Ditto
the trouble. But, like his forefathers in far-away Prussia, he fought
for freedom. He brought all the strength of his powerful m