quite
make good all the promises of the programme, but executed some clever
tricks of palming and even managed, with some difficulty, to extract one
of Harry's pigeons out of an empty bottle--with the aid of a voluminous
handkerchief which fluttered suspiciously when produced. The sketch
entitled "Christmas Eve on the Plantation" went better than anyone dared
hope, principally, perhaps, for the reason that about everybody forgot
his lines and did what and how he pleased. The first half came to a
triumphant end with the entire company of entertainers filling the
little stage and vigorously proclaiming that they were "going to live,
anyhow, until they died."

During the intermission black-faced youths emerged from the
dressing-room under the balcony and visited friends in the audience and
the orchestra performed its "Medley of College Airs." The programme's
announcement of College Tableaux had whetted the audience's curiosity,
and when the hall darkened, the bell tinkled and the curtain--still on
its good behaviour--rolled noiselessly up, there was a general craning
forward of heads.

The painted back drop had given way to a curtain of white cloth. In
front of it stood a large oblong frame of wood covered with gilt paper.
Behind the latter, like a picture in its frame, stood Bacon on a little
white-draped dais impersonating a Yale oarsman. His costume was a blue
sleeveless jersey with a white Y stitched on it, white trunks,
turned-down socks and rowing shoes. In his right hand he supported an
oar with a blue blade. A gas pipe had been run around the inner side of
the frame and the dozens of little jets threw a brilliant light on the
motionless figure. The applause was instant and hearty. Bacon kept the
pose for a minute while the orchestra played "Boola," and then the
curtain fell again. Presently it went up to reveal Roy in his crimson
sweater, moleskin trousers, crimson stockings and tan shoes. A white H
adorned the front of the sweater and under his arm was a football. Again
the applause, quite as hearty as before, while the strains of "Up the
Street" came from the orchestra.

Chub, who came next, represented a Princeton baseball player, striped
stockings on his sturdy legs, gray shirt over his black jersey, a gray
cap set rakishly over his smiling face and a mask and ball under his
arm. The applause seemed to be more a tribute to Chub, the captain of
the Ferry Hill Nine, than to the picture he made or the college h