manager replied quickly. "You shall be
'peerless' if you wish. Every fence shall proclaim it; every post
become loquacious with it."

"I was going to the village myself," said the soldier, "and will join
you, if you don't mind?" he added suddenly.

"Mind? Not a bit. Come along, and you shall learn of the duties of
manager, bill-poster, press-agent and license-procurer."

An hour or so later found the two walking down the road at a brisk
pace, soon leaving the tavern behind them and beginning to descend a
hill that commanded a view to eastward.

"How do you advertise your performances?" asked the younger man,
opening the conversation.

"By posters, written announcements in the taverns, or a notice in the
country paper, if we happen along just before it goes to press,"
answered Barnes. "In the old times we had the boy and the bell."

"The boy and the bell?"

"Yes," assented Barnes, a retrospective smile overspreading his
good-natured face; "when I was a lad in Devonshire the manager announced
the performance in the town market-place. I rang a cow-bell to attract
attention and he talked to the people: Ding-a-ling!--'Good people,
to-night will be given "Love in a Wood";' ding-a-long!--'to-morrow night,
"The Beaux' Strategem'";' ding!--'Wednesday, "The Provoked Wife";'
ling!--'Thursday, "The Way of the World."' So I made my debut in a
noisy part and have since played no role more effectively than that of the
small boy with the big bell. Incidentally, I had to clean the lamps
and fetch small beer to the leading lady, which duties were perfunctorily
performed. My art, however, I threw into the bell," concluded the
manager with a laugh.

"Do you find many theaters hereabouts?" asked the other, thoughtfully.

Barnes shook his head. "No; although there are plenty of them upon the
Atlantic and Southern circuits. Still we can usually rent a hall,
erect a stage and construct tiers of seats. Even a barn at a pinch
makes an acceptable temple of art. But our principal difficulty is
procuring licenses to perform."

"You have to get permission to play?"

"That we do!" sighed the manager. "From obdurate trustees in villages
and stubborn supervisors or justices of the peace in the hamlets."

"But their reason for this opposition?" asked his companion.

They were now entering the little hamlet, exchanging the grassy path
for a sidewalk of planks laid lengthwise, and the peace of nature for
such signs of civilization as a tr