e. Jim, should any one ever tell you that Grand Opera is
all right, he is either trying to even up or he is not a true friend. I
was over in New York with the family last winter, and they made me go
with them to _Die Walkure_ at the Metropolitan Opera House. When I got
the tickets I asked the man's advice as to the best location. He said
that all true lovers of music occupied the dress-circle and balconies,
and that he had some good center dress-circle seats at three bones per.
Here's a tip, Jim. If the box man ever hands you that true-lover game,
just reach in through the little hole and soak him in the solar for me.
It's coming to him. I'll give you my word of honor we were a quarter of
a mile from the stage. We went up in an elevator, were shown to our
seats, and who was right behind us but my old pal, Bud Hathaway, from
Chicago. Bud had his two sisters with him, and he gave me one sad look,
which said plainer than words, "So you're up against it, too, eh!" We
introduced all hands around, and about nine o'clock the curtain went up.
After we had waited fully ten minutes, out came a big, fat, greasy
looking Dago with nothing on but a bear robe. He went over to the side
of the stage and sat down on a bum rock. It was plainly to be seen, even
from my true lovers' seat, that his bearlets was sorer than a dog about
something. Presently in came a woman, and none of the true lovers seemed
to know who she was. Some said it was Melba, others Nordica. Bud and I
decided that it was May Irwin. We were mistaken, though, as Irwin has
this woman lashed to the mast at any time or place. As soon as Mike the
Dago espied the dame it was all off. He rushed and drove a straight-arm
jab, which had it reached would have given him the purse. But shifty
Sadie wasn't there. She ducked, side-stepped, and landed a clever
half-arm hook, which seemed to stun the big fellow. They clinched, and
swayed back and forth, growling continually, while the orchestra played
this trembly Eliza-crossing-the-ice music. Jim, I'm not swelling this a
bit. On the level, it happened just as I write it. All of a sudden some
one seemed to win. They broke away, and ran wildly to the front of the
stage with their arms outstretched, yelling to beat three of a kind. The
band cut loose something fierce. The leader tore out about $9.00 worth
of hair, and acted generally as though he had bats in his belfry. I
thought sure the place would be pinched. It reminded me of Thirsty
T