s could be
collected.

At one of these exhibitions, given at Alton, only twenty miles from St.
Louis, and just above the point where the clear waters of the
Mississippi disappear in the turbid flood of the greater Missouri, an
incident occurred that, while only regarded as amusing at the time, was
productive of most important results to our friends. At Billy
Brackett's suggestion, Don Blossom, dressed to represent the lecturer,
had been trained to slip slyly on the stage after the panorama was well
under way. Provided with a bit of stick, he would walk behind the
lecturer, and gravely point at the picture in exact imitation of the
other's movements. For a minute or so Billy Brackett would continue
his remarks as though nothing unusual were happening. At length, when
he had allowed sufficient time to elapse for an audience to fully
appreciate the situation, he would turn as though to learn the cause of
their uproarious mirth, discover the monkey, and chase him from the
stage with every sign of anger.

In rehearsal, this act had been done to perfection; but the first time
Don Blossom heard the storm of cheers, yells, and laughter, with which
his appearance was greeted by a genuine river audience, he became so
terrified, that without waiting to be driven from the stage he fled
from it. Darting behind the scenes and on through the living-room, he
finally took refuge in the darkest corner of the engine-room, where
Reward was drowsily working his treadmill. The monkey was so
frightened that a moment later, when Sabella went to find him, he
sprang away from her, and with a prodigious leap landed squarely on
Reward's head, where, chattering and screaming, he clung desperately to
the long ears.

[Illustration: "With a prodigious leap he landed squarely on Reward's
head."]

The next instant a frantic mule was performing the almost impossible
feat of running away on a treadmill. At the same time, to Billy
Brackett's dismay and to the astonishment of his audience, the several
pictures of the panorama were flitting by in a bewildering stream of
color, the effect of which was kaleidoscopic and amazing.

This was Don Blossom's first and last appearance on the stage in
public, for he was so thoroughly frightened that, after being rescued
from his unhappy position, nothing could induce him to enter either the
exhibition hall or the engine-room again. An hour later he managed to
evade the watchfulness of his young mistress