how thet's ben yere in years kin hol' a
candul tu him; they can't tech him. He kin walk ontu his hans better en
some peepul kin on thar feet." Here Lin cast a withering glance at Jack
Beckley that would have sobered one less saturated.

Jack returned Lin's look with a vague grin, saying: "I'm drunk and glad
of it."

Lin gave him a smart push as she ordered him to keep his distance: "I
smell licker on yer close."

"Excuse me--I didn't--no--I hed--spilled eny--of hit." Jack seated
himself on the grass, unheeding the jibes of the little boys and girls.
He was a good natured tippler. In fact, he seemed pleased that his
condition was furnishing fun for the crowd.

No blare of trumpet or beat of drum announced the coming of the
death-defying gladiators; no eloquent orator was there to describe their
deeds. Unheralded, unannounced, without applause or acclamation Alfred
and Bindley emerged from their dressing room, Baldwin's barn. Crossing
the narrow alley, climbing the fence they stood under the shade of the
trapeze tree, the open-mouthed, craned neck cynosure of all eyes,
excepting Jack Beckley's--he had gone to sleep.

The silence that greeted the duo was broken only by sotto voce remarks
of Lin, taking a mental inventory of Alfred, or rather, his costume. He
was attired in a red waist trimmed with beads, white tights, long,
bright green, silk stockings tied with broad yellow ribbon garters, a
big, double bow knot on the outside of each limb; a bright red nubia or
neck comforter wound about his middle; no pumps, shoes or other covering
on his feet.

[Illustration: The Aerialist's Debut]

The silence that greeted the appearance of Alfred was broken. Jack
Beckley lying on the ground too listless and drunk to raise his eyes
higher than Alfred's green stockings, noticed the great expanse of feet
in them, seemingly larger by the spread of the loose stockings. He
remarked to those near him: "Thar's a heap uf thet one doubled down on
the groun'."

Lin spoke as if to herself: "Well, I'll be tee-to-tully durned. Ef thet
harum scarum devul hain't got my nit drawurs on fur tites, an' they fit
him like sassage guts that's too big fur the fillin'. An', an'," Lin
craned her neck towards Alfred, "an', an', by jiggurs, ef he ain't a
wearin' Mary's (the mother's) green silk stockin's she used tu dance an'
frolik in when she was a gal; an' Aunt Lib's worked, beaded Jenny Lind
waist; an' Lizzie's new red nubby woun' roun' his shad b