ed
to express to me her feelings; how she had consulted her husband on the
matter, and how he had said certainly to write if she wished, and send
some little offering, which seemed appropriate, and "therefore she sent
_this_"; and with visions of a copy of Keats or Shelley or a
lace-trimmed pin-cushion, I opened the box and found the biggest mince
pie I ever saw.

Certainly the lady's idea of an appropriate gift was open to criticism,
but not so her pie. That was rich perfection. Its fruity, spicy interior
was evenly warmed with an evident old French brandy,--no savagely
burning cooking brandy, mind,--and when the flaky marvel had stood upon
the heater for a time, even before its cutting up with a paper-knife,
the odour of goose grease was lost in the "Araby the Blest" scent of
mince meat.

_CHAPTER X

J.E. OWENS'S "WANDERING BOYS." "A HOLE IN THE WALL" INCIDENT_

The late John E. Owens, while acting in Cincinnati, had a severe cold.
He was feverish, and fearing for his throat, which was apt to give him
trouble, he had his physician, an old friend, come to see him back of
the scenes. The doctor brought with him an acquaintance, and Mr. Owens
asked them to wait till the next act was over to see how his throat was
going to behave.

It's always a dangerous thing to turn outsiders loose behind the
scenes; for if they don't fall into traps, or step into paint pots, they
are sure to pop on to the stage.

Mr. Owens supposed the gentlemen would stop quietly in his room, but not
they. Out they wandered on discovery intent. A well-painted scene caught
the doctor's eye. He led his friend up to it, to take a better look;
then as only part of it was visible from where they stood, they followed
it along.

Mr. Owens and I were on the stage. Suddenly his eyes distended. "What in
the devil?" he whispered. I looked behind me, and at the same moment the
audience burst into shouts of laughter; for right into the centre of the
stage had walked, with backs toward the audience, two tall gentlemen,
each with a shining bald head, each tightly buttoned in a long black
overcoat, and each gesticulating with a heavy cane.

I whispered to Mr. Owens, "The two Dromios"; but he snapped out, "Two
blind old bats."

When they heard the roar behind them, they turned their heads, and then
a funnier, wilder exit I never saw than was made by these two dignified
old gentlemen; while Owens added to the laughter by taking me by the
hand, and