displaying little interest in the rustic
merry-making or the open glances cast upon him by bonny lasses, burned
in the sunlit fields, buxom serving maids, as clean as the pans in the
kitchen, and hearty matrons, not averse to frisk and frolic in
wholesome rural fashion.

But now, in the face of the manager's buoyancy at the success of a
mere expedient--a hopefulness ill-warranted by his short purse and the
long future before him!--the young man's manner changed from one of
indifference to friendliness, if not sympathy, for the over-sanguine
custodian of players. Would the helmet, like the wonderful pitcher,
replenish itself as fast as it was emptied? Or was it but a
make-shift? The manager's next remark seemed a reply to these queries,
denoting that Barnes himself, although temporarily elated, was not
oblivious to the precarious character of "free performances," with
voluntary offerings.

"What we need," continued the manager, "is a temperance drama. With
what intemperate eagerness would the people flock to see it! But where
is it to be found? Plays don't grow on bushes, even in this
agricultural district. And I have yet to discover any dramatists
hereabouts, unless"--jocularly--"you are a Tom Taylor or a Tom
Robertson in disguise. Are you sure you have never courted the divine
muse? Men of position have frequently been guilty of that folly,
sir."

"But once," answered the other in the same tone. "At college; a
political satire."

"Was it successful?"

"Quite so--I was expelled for writing it!"

"Well," retorted Barnes, irrelevantly, "you have at least mildly
coquetted with the muse. Besides, I dare say, you have been behind the
scenes a good deal. The green room is a fashionable rendezvous. Where
are you going? And what--if I may ask--is your business?"

"I am on my way to New Orleans," said the traveler, after a moment's
hesitation. "My business, fortune-getting. In sugar, tobacco, or
indigo-culture!"

"New Orleans!" exclaimed the manager, poising the ladle in mid air.
"That, too, is our destination. We have an engagement to play there.
Why not join our band? Write or adapt a play for us. Make a temperance
drama of your play!"

"You are a whimsical fellow," said the stranger, smiling. "Why don't
you write the play yourself?"

"I? An unread, illiterate dotard! Why, I never had so much as a day's
schooling. As a lad I slept with the rats, held horses, swept
crossings and lived like a mudlark! Me write a p