rty from running down."

But the appearance of the new gilt inflamed their showmen's hearts. An
irresistible hankering to get a nearer sniff of the sawdust, to mix
with the old crowd, induced Buck to send a card to a sporting paper,
advertising for correspondence from bareback riders, tumblers,
specialty people and privilege speculators, who wanted to join a
"one-ring, chase-the-fairs road show--no first-raters." He emphasized
the fact that all personal interviews would be arranged later in New
York City.

"We don't want anyone tracking down here," he confided to Avery. "That
would call the bluff. But we can get some letters that maybe will perk
us up a little."

The letters came in bundles--letters long, short, earnest and
witty--whiffs from the good old world of the dressing tent. And they
were read and discussed on the emporium's platform, and some were
answered in non-committal style so as to draw out further
correspondence, and all in all it was voted by both "Plugs" that a
small amount of money invested in advertising certainly did produce
its full worth of entertainment.

But in the midst of these innocent attempts to alleviate _ennui_
something else came along beside letters. It was a woman--a slim,
wiry, alert woman. She clambered down from the stage one day, advanced
trippingly to the platform and courtesied low before the two plug
hats, her long, draggly plume bobbing against her rouged cheek. The
two plug hats arose and were doffed. Then the three faced each other.

"You don't hold your ages as well as I do, boys," she commented, after
her sharp scrutiny.

"It's the old army game, gents!" screamed the parrot, excited by this
new arrival, gay with her colors and her ribbons.

"It's Her!" gasped Plug Avery.

"It's Signory Rosy-elly!" choked Plug Avery.

She came up and sat down between them on one of the platform chairs.

"It was the longest time before I could place those names," she
chattered. "'Buck & Avery, Consolidated Aggregation,' says I to
myself. 'Buck & Avery,' I says. And, thinks I, them two old codgers
must have gone to Kingdom Come, for I'm--let's see--I'm twenty, or
something like that, years younger than either of you, as I remember."
She poked each one jovially with her parasol.

"'Buck & Avery,' says I," she went on, cheerfully oblivious of their
grimness. "'It's their boys,' I says, and so I came right along, for I
need the job, and I couldn't explain the romantic part in a lett