he doors of the theatre--so's not to
disturb the play-actors."

"You understand," said Mr. Bixby to Wetherell. Whereupon he gave another
shake to Mr. Hartington, who had relapsed into a sort of funereal
meditation.

"Well," resumed that personage, "there was some more come, hollerin'
about the Truro Bill. Not many. Guess they'll all have to git their
wimmen-folks to press their clothes to-morrow. Then Duncan wanted to git
out again, but 'twan't exactly convenient. Callated he was
suffocatin'--seemed to need air. Little mite limp when he broke loose,
Duncan was."

The Honorable Peleg stopped again, as if he were overcome by the
recollection of Mr. Duncan's plight.

"Er--er--Peleg!"

Mr. Hartington started.

"What'd they do?--what'd they do?"

"Do?"

"How'd they git notice to 'em?"

"Oh," said Mr. Hartington, "cussed if that wuhn't funny. Let's see, where
was I? After awhile they went over t'other side of the street, talkin'
sly, waitin' for the act to end. But goldarned if it ever did end."

For once Mr. Bixby didn't seem to understand.

"D-didn't end?"

"No," explained Mr. Hartington; "seems they hitched a kind of nigger
minstrel show right on to it--banjos and thingumajigs in front of the
curtain while they was changin' scenes, and they hitched the second act
right on to that. Nobody come out of the theatre at all. Funny notion,
wahn't it?"

Mr. Bixby's face took on a look of extreme cunning. He smiled broadly and
poked Mr. Wetherell in an extremely sensitive portion of his ribs. On
such occasions the nasal quality of Bijah's voice seemed to grow.

"You see?" he said.

"Know that little man, Gibbs, don't ye?" inquired Mr. Hartington.

"Airley Gibbs, hain't it? Runs a livery business daown to Rutgers, on
Lovejoy's railroad," replied Mr. Bixby, promptly. "I know him. Knew old
man Gibbs well's I do you. Mean cuss."

"This Airley's smart--wahn't quite smart enough, though. His bright idea
come a little mite late. Hunted up old Christy, got the key to his law
office right here in the Duncan Block, went up through the skylight,
clumb down to the roof of Randall's store next door, shinned up the
lightnin' rod on t'other side, and stuck his head plump into the Opery
House window."

"I want to know!" ejaculated Mr. Bixby.

"Somethin' terrible pathetic was goin' on on the stage," resumed Mr.
Hartington, "the folks didn't see him at first,--they was all cryin' and
everythin' was still, but Airley wahn't