ar of voices struck upon my ear, but whether my own were of them
I could not say; if I were singing at all it was unconsciously,
mechanically. Later, I found myself standing in the wings beside the
thin lady; the stage was in the occupation of the principals. On my next
entrance my senses were more with me; I was able to look about me. Here
and there a strongly-marked face among the audience stood out, but the
majority were as indistinguishable as so many blades of grass. Looked at
from the stage, the house seemed no more real than from the front do the
painted faces upon a black cloth.

The curtain fell amid the usual applause, sounding to us behind it like
the rattle of tiny stones against a window-pane. Three times it rose
and fell, like the opening and shutting of a door; and then followed a
scamper for the dressing-rooms, the long corridors being filled with the
rustling of skirts and the scurrying of feet.

It was in the second act that the fishy-eyed young gentleman came into
his own. The chorus had lingered till it was quite apparent that the
tenor and the leading lady were in love with each other; then, with the
exquisite delicacy so characteristic of a chorus, foreseeing that its
further presence might be embarrassing, it turned to go, half to the
east, the other half to the west. The fishy-eyed young man, starting
from the centre, was the last to leave the stage. In another moment he
would have disappeared from view. There came a voice from the gallery,
clear, distinct, pathetic with entreaty:

"Don't go. Get behind a tree."

The request was instantly seconded by a roar of applause from every part
of the house, followed by laughter. From that point onward the house was
chiefly concerned with the fortunes of the fishy-eyed young gentleman.
At his next entrance, disguised as a conspirator, he was welcomed
with enthusiasm, his passing away regretted loudly. At the fall of the
curtain, the tenor, furious, rushed up to him, and, shaking a fist in
his face, demanded what he meant by it.

"I wasn't doing anything," explained the fishy-eyed young man.

"You went off sideways!" roared the tenor.

"Well, you told me not to look at you," explained meekly the fishy-eyed
young gentleman. "I must go off somehow. I regard you as a very
difficult man to please."

At the final fall of the curtain the house appeared divided as regarded
the merits of the opera; but for "Goggles" there was a unanimous and
enthusiastic c