y intelligent, and able-bodied
enough to carry a spear. By-the-way, in musical circles my name is Dickson.
Don't forget that."

That Holmes had a pull was shortly proven, for although neither of us was
more than ordinarily gifted vocally, we proved acceptable and in a short
time found ourselves enrolled among the supernumeraries who make of
"Lohengrin" a splendid spectacle to the eye. I found real zest in life
carrying that spear, and entered into the spirit of what I presumed to be a
mere frolic with enthusiasm, merely for the experience of it, to say nothing
of the delight I took in the superb music, which I have always loved.

And then the eventful night came. It was Monday and the house was packed. On
both sides of the curtain everything was brilliant. The cast was one of the
best and the audience all that the New York audience is noted for in wealth,
beauty, and social prestige, and, in the matter of jewels, of lavish
display. Conspicuous in respect to the last was the ever-popular, though
somewhat eccentric Mrs. Robinson-Jones, who in her grand-tier box fairly
scintillated with those marvellous gems which gave her, as a musical critic,
whose notes on the opera were chiefly confined to observations on its social
aspects, put it, "the appearance of being lit up by electricity." Even from
where I stood, as a part and parcel of the mock king's court on the stage, I
could see the rubies and sapphires and diamonds loom large upon the horizon
as the read, white, and blue emblem of our national greatness to the truly
patriotic soul. Little did I dream, as I stood in the rear line of the
court, clad in all the gorgeous regalia of a vocal supernumerary, and
swelling the noisy welcome to the advancing Lohengrin, with my apology for a
voice, how intimately associated with these lustrous headlights I was soon
to be, and as Raffles Holmes and I poured out our souls in song not even his
illustrious father would have guessed that he was there upon any other
business than that of Mr. Conried. As far as I could see, Raffles was wrapt
in the music of the moment, and not once, to my knowledge, did he seem to be
aware that there was such a thing as an audience, much less one individual
member of it, on the other side of the footlights. Like a member of the Old
Choral Guard, he went through the work in hand as nonchalantly as though it
were his regular business in life. It was during the intermission between
the first and second acts th