ension. How what followed
happened no one will ever know. Palmer blamed Jake. Jake never admitted
or denied that he was the cause. When there should have been an
ascension there was a descension.

The elevator slipped a cog, or something; there was a slow, regular
descent, not too hasty. Down went the whole panorama, descending in time
with the music; down went the City of Vanity with its fair, its thieves
and fakirs painted on canvas, while poor "Faithful" dangled in mid-air.
As the elevator sank out of sight, as the characters, painting and frame
disappeared below the floor, the audience applauded approvingly at
first, then the absurdity of the scene struck them and approving
applause changed to aggravating laughter.

Jake stood manfully by the rope he was holding; Palmer was wild; Alfred
and Bedford Tom were doing all they could to suppress their laughter.
Suddenly the thing stopped, struck the floor in the room below. Jake,
grabbing the windlass, soon had the panorama slowly ascending. As it
came into view the audience applauded lustily. Mrs. Palmer kept the
ascension music going until the stage was back in its proper place when
Palmer, who was always seeking an opportunity to make a speech, walked
out in front of the curtain and explained that the panorama weighed
several tons, the great weight had broken the lift.

At this juncture Jake appeared with two heavy pieces of scantling;
unmindful of Palmer, he began spiking the props under the edge of the
platform. The strokes of the hammer completely drowned Palmer's voice.
When Jake sent the last nail home he arose from his knees with a "Dere,
tam you, I ges you'll holdt now."

Palmer was in a greater rage than at any time since the tour began. His
wife, Gideon and several others endeavored to pacify him. Everybody but
Alfred came in for a share of the abuse; even his poor wife, who was
really deserving of all praise for saving the scene, was more than
censured.

Alfred could not control his laughter; he fled fearing Palmer would turn
on him.

Palmer swore so loudly that Gideon came from the front to quiet him. He
swore at Gideon; he did not care if the whole town heard him curse. He
had worn his life out to produce the Pilgrim's Progress, and now a darn
clod-hopper, a Reuben, a gilly, a jay, had undone the work of a lifetime
and made him (Palmer) ridiculous in the eyes of the world. What would
people say? What would church people say? They would not pay him fo