red, "How is the advance sale?"

"Ninety-seven and a half dollars," replied the secretary of the
treasury.

"Good enough! We're away ahead of expenses now."

At eight o'clock there was some excitement noticeable down near the
water convenient to one of the avenues. A few minutes later and the
band, led by Handy, came forth. As the musicians marched the crowd
increased. Up the principal street the strollers paraded, preceded and
accompanied by a crowd of urchins and curiosity seekers. People came to
the doors to look and hear, and many windows had their occupants. The
streets were crowded, and by the time the band reached the tent it was
fairly well filled. It might be as well to say that the majority of
those who went to witness "Humpty Dumpty" did so for the pure fun of the
thing, and determined to have the lark out. There was no orchestra, for
the orchestra was the band, and the band had to do the acting.

The curtain went up somewhere about the hour announced. Had poor dead
and gone G. L. Fox, the original _Humpty_, and the greatest pantomimist
of the American stage, been living and among the audience, he could not
have failed to enjoy the performance. It is impossible to describe it in
detail.

After a brief period the most friendly relations were established
between the people before and beyond the footlights. Remarks full of fun
and humor were freely exchanged. Handy played _Humpty_, and introduced
by way of variety a breakdown that, in the manipulation of his legs,
would have made Francis Wilson grow green with envy. Smith was the
_Pantaloon_, and obligingly entertained the audience, by special
request, with the song of "Mr. Dooley," in the chorus of which the
audience joined with vigor. The song is not new, but Smith's particular
version, as well as his vocal rendition, was. The dwarf, who posed
somewhat as a magician and sleight-of-hand man, undertook for some
reason or other to attempt the great Indian box trick. Two gentlemen
from the audience were invited to come on the stage to tie the performer
with a rope. This was a most unfortunate move. Two well-known yachtsmen,
and good sailors to boot, saw the chance for additional fun, and
accepted the invitation with alacrity. They set to work and knotted the
little man so tightly that he yelled to them, for heaven's sake, to let
up. The audience could restrain itself no longer with laughter. It was
plainly to be recognized that the show was fast drawing to a