rofessor impatiently.
"It's not that which bothers me. Look at Bob. I can see him in his
part exactly. Nothing could be better; but I can't see you at all."

"Why? Set your imagination to work."

"I am, my dear boy; I am. It's working till my brain's beginning to
throb; but I can't see you, as I say."

"But why not?"

"No shape; no form. You're too skinny. A young nigger ought to be
plump, and shine like butter."

"Well, I'll oil myself," said Frank, laughing as much at himself as at
the doctor seated _a la Turque_ so solemnly upon the hearthrug.

"But your hair, Frank, my boy. It's brown and streaky. It ought to
curl up more tightly than Bob's beard."

"I'll put it in paper every night, and dye it at the same time as I do
my skin."

"H'm! Well, perhaps we might work it that way. If we can't, we must
shave your head too."

"Barkis is willin'," said the young man readily. "As to the sitting--
look here: won't this do?"

He seized the tongs from the fender, took a live coal from between the
bars, dropped down sitting upon his heels halfway between the pair, but
outside the hearthrug, and completed the Eastern picture in Wimpole
Street by resting upon his left hand and making believe to be holding
the live coal to the bowl of the Hakim's pipe.

"Bravo! Splendid!" cried the professor. "A _tableau vivant_, only
wanting in colour and clothes to be perfect in all its details, and
then--"

And then the group remained speechless in horror and disgust, for they
suddenly became aware of the fact that Sam had silently entered with a
letter upon a silver waiter, and had stopped short close to the door, to
stand staring in astonishment at the living picture spread before his
eyes. These seemed starting, while his brow was lined, the rest of his
face puckered, and his mouth opened, at the same time his muscles
relaxing so that the silver waiter dropped a little and the letter fell
upon the soft carpet with a light pat which in the silence sounded loud.

CHAPTER FOUR.

THE NEW RECRUIT.

For a few moments the picture was at its best, actors and spectator
looking as rigid as if carved in wood or stone.

Then all was over, the doctor dropping the stick and scrambling up;
Frank putting the tongs into the fender, Sam stooping to pick up the
letter from the carpet, and the professor tearing his fez off his head,
to dash it on the floor.

"Hang it!" he cried angrily; "destroyed the illusion! There, i