s
were not welcome among threshers, nor in any other Western community. Of
women there were two--the wife of the foreman of the ranch, and one who
helped her.

No person on the ranch was absent, for before the performance the
Mildinis had given a sort of sample of their talent; of what all were to
expect. A tight-rope had been stretched across the Yellowstone River,
and on this, clad in pink tights, balance-pole in hand, Signor Antolini
had walked, high over the more or less raging flood.

Do you ever tire of shows? I hope you don't. I don't, and offhand I
can't think of many people who do. So I'll assume that, with Injun and
Whitey, you'd like to see a bit of this poor little troupe's efforts,
which were pathetic in a way, though no one thought of that.

Whitey had been wondering what particular talents Mr. Mildini was master
of, and he found that they were many. He could and did dance, sing, and
tell comic stories in a number of dialects, all convulsing. But tricks
were the crowning wonder of Mildini's performance, though he called them
"feats of magic."

I'd hesitate to tell you the things he could take out of a silk hat;
live rabbits, endless strips of colored paper, jars of imitation
goldfish, and many other useless articles. It is true that the silk hat
was his, no one in the audience having been able to produce one, when
requested to do so but it was passed freely among the crowd to be
examined; to convince doubters that there was no "deception." Endless
eggs could Mildini take from his mouth, ears, hair, or from the mouth,
ears, or hair of any "gent" in the audience.

And every one, from store-keeper to hold-up man, wondered and laughed
and was pleasantly deceived. And after one of the most difficult tricks,
when a puncher said, "I wonder what he's goin' t' do next?" the people
near Whitey were puzzled when he burst into laughter.

Then there was Mrs. Mildini, who, it seemed, was "Mademoiselle Therese,"
who not only could draw enchanting melodies from a violin, but could
make it speak in the language of various barnyard creatures, such as
geese, chickens, pigs--oh, almost anything. And the music she could
extract from one string--"one string, mind you, ladees and gentlemun!"
It was marvelous.

It is true that she introduced an element of sadness in the evening when
she played "Home, Sweet Home," and "Way Down upon the Swanee River,"
reducing even the bartenders and hold-up men almost to tears. But
possi