out, until that stage was one litter of
old clothes. Blowing out his candle he got into bed, and, shivering with
cold, tried frantically to pull the clothes over his poor shoulders--but
all in vain. At last a tremendous jerk brought the quilt and sheet about
his shoulders, only to leave his ancient black feet facing the audience,
all uncovered. And so went on the struggle between feet and shoulders
until, worn out, the old man finally "spooned" himself with knees in
chest, and so was covered and fell asleep, only to be aroused by
officers, and turned into driveling idiocy by a demand "for the girl."

It was at the point when, sitting up in bed, trying, with agonizing
modesty, to keep covered up, his eyes whitely and widely rolling, he
pleadingly asked: "N-n-now I, leave it to you--do I look like a seducer?"
that my knees abandoned me to my fate, and sat me down with a vicious
thud that nearly shook the life out of me. And John Owens sat in bed and
saw my fall and rejoiced with a great joy, and said: "Blast my cats--look
at the girl! there, now, that's something like laughing. I'd take off my
hair and run around bald-headed for her!"

I was called upon to play blind _Bertha_ to Mr. Owens's _Caleb Plummer_
in the "Cricket on the Hearth," and I was in a great state of mind, as I
had only seen one or two blind persons, and had never seen a blind part
acted. I was driven at last by anxiety to ask Mr. Owens if he could make
any suggestions as to business, or as to the walk or manner of the blind
girl. But he was no E. L. Davenport, he had no desire to teach others to
act, and he snappishly answered: "No--no! I can't suggest anything for
you to do--but I can suggest something for you not to do! For God's sake
don't go about playing the piano all evening--that's what the rest of 'em
do!"

"The piano?" I repeated, stupidly.

"Yes," he said, "the piano! D----d if they don't make me sick! Here they
go--all the '_Berthas_'!"

He closed his eyes, screwed up his face dismally, and advancing, his
hands before him, began moving them from left to right and back, as
though they were on a keyboard. It was very ridiculous.

"And that's what they call blindness--playing the piano and tramping
about as securely as anybody!"

Ah, ah! Mr. Owens, you did make a suggestion after all, though you did
not mean to do it, but I found one all the same in that last contemptuous
sentence, "_tramping about as securely as anybody_." It quickened my