true," Handy argued, "we have not the necessary stage equipment for a metropolitan production. The only thing we have, for that matter, is the name. That is enough for us, and we are going to do the best we can with it. Ordinary actors, together with all the necessary equipment of props and scenery, might be able to attempt a presentation of the famous pantomime, but it takes your strolling players, bred and brought up in the old stock school, to turn the trick without them."

It was a lazy day on board the little vessel. There was no wind. The sun poured down his rays so fiercely that it was almost unbearable. It was a dead calm. All the sailing vessels within sight were motionless. Not a sound disturbed the monotony of the scene, save the distant beat of the paddles or propellers of an approaching or receding steamboat. Newport, the gay world of the summer metropolis of fashion, loomed up in the distance, looking as beautiful as an alliance of art with nature could make a favored location. This was the Mecca toward which those on board directed their eyes and thoughts.

Evening came, and with it a refreshing breeze. Once more the Gem was under headway, and shortly after sundown the little vessel was safely in port, her anchor dropped, and the sails snugly furled. As soon as everything was made shipshape on board, Handy and a member of the company rowed ashore to see how the land lay from a stroller's point of view as well as to select a site for the tent.

CHAPTER VI

"What strange things we see and what queer things we do."

—'Tis English, You Know.

It was the height of the season. The colony was alive with the wealthy and fashionable ones of the republic. Thousands of bright lights shone through the clearness of the purple night, and music filled the summer air with melodious sound. Life, apparently devoid of care, and pleasures with youth, beauty and excitement, were blended in harmonious ensemble. Handy took in the entire situation. He read, and read correctly, too, the constituency to which he was about to appeal. An ordinary theatrical company going there and hiring a hall, he concluded, would be nothing out of the usual run, and the chances are the performance would fall flat, stale and unprofitable. The possibility for the success of the tent, on account of its novelty, appealed strongly to his optimistic imagination. He was determined to carry the place by storm. A vacant lot close to one of the fashionable drives was secured for the scene of the thespian operations.

"Here pitch we our tent," said Handy, "and don't you make any bloomin' error about it. 'Tis the boss place. Elegant surroundings; magnificent locality, easy to reach, and lots of room for carriages to come and go!"

It may, perhaps, be as well to mention that the date selected for the entertainment was Saturday, just two nights ahead. For that same night a grand operatic concert was announced, under the patronage of an aspiring clique, in another part of the town. Good artists, though somewhat ancient, were billed to take part in it. The craze for the antique then, as now, had no such potency as may be positively relied upon. Well-seasoned age has its disadvantages. Fashion is ever capricious in the selection of objects for its recognition. So far as Handy was concerned, the operatic enterprise did not in the least disturb his mind.

It was rather late when he got aboard. All hands, however, were on the look-out for him, anxiously awaiting his return. He briefly summed up the result of his work on shore; explained what he purposed to do, and concluded by impressing upon the members of his company the necessity of making all preparations with a view to rapid movements both before and after the performance.

After all the others had turned in for the night Handy remained on deck cogitating over his plans and perplexing his brain over approaching futurities. At length he too stretched himself out for sleep. He was up with the sun. Like a celebrated statesman of bygone days, he was going to make the greatest effort of his life.

By noon next day he received from the local printer the proof sheet of a bill of the play. It was a curiosity in its way, and a copy of it may interest the reader. It read as follows:

THE INDEPENDENT THEATRE!

The Greatest Show of its Kind on Earth!

FUN UNDER A TENT.

On this Saturday Evening

Will be presented for the first and only occasion,
Under the Distinguished Patronage of Everybody,
the Great Spectacular and Classic Pantomime
HUMPTY DUMPTY,

By a company of well trained star artists.

The Only Show of its Quality in Existence.

Those who see the performance will never forget it.

Secure Your Seats Early.

By special request of a number of distinguished visitors the
performance will not begin until 8:30.

Carriages may be ordered for any hour.

Box sheet ready at noon Saturday, corner of Vanderbilt
and Astor Avenues.

When Handy read the programme to his company they were so astonished they scarcely knew what to say. At first they appeared to regard it as a joke. Handy's manner betokened earnestness. His companions thought it best to withhold their curiosity and await further developments. Their manager they knew to be a man of action—a species of Oscar Hammerstein in embryo, with a blending of Wilkins Micawber and Mulberry Sellers mixed in.

The company employed the afternoon in folding circulars and programmes. Handy himself was deep in the study of the élite directory, and under his direction a large number of envelopes were carefully addressed. The work went on systematically. Night at last arrived, and all hands enjoyed a respite from clerical labor. At nine o'clock the company went ashore, carrying with them their tent, costumes and properties—such as they were. It was a busy night on land, and their strenuous exertions, under the cover of darkness, accomplished wonders under Handy's guidance. It was next door to daylight when they got back to the ship to take a rest before the arduous work of the eventful day began.

Before noon the canvas showhouse on the corner was the principal subject of conversation throughout the town. During the night the strollers had set up their tent, and there was scarcely a house in town in which they had not placed handbills and circulars announcing the coming performance. No matter where an inhabitant wandered one of the "Humpty Dumpty" programmes was sure to be found. The people at first glance regarded the announcement with some degree of doubt, but the appearance of the tent, with the flags flying, dispelled that fear. The tent seemed to have got there by magic. Like the palace of Aladdin, it had sprung into existence during the night. Its appearance excited curiosity and provoked gossip, and the announcement of "Humpty Dumpty" was a puzzle. With the most unparalleled nerve messenger boys were dispatched to the fashionable cottages with circulars soliciting patronage and inviting attendance, and a considerable number of the cottagers, attracted by the novelty of the undertaking, concluded it would be a good joke to go to see the extraordinary show.

"We'll paralyze 'em," said Handy to his fellow-players, as they were grouped together on the stage preparing red lights, which he proposed to use as a species of illumination. "Wait until I let the band loose in the streets, and if it don't fetch 'em, well, I'll quit the business."

"Handy, methinks we made a bloomin' blunder," remarked the Little 'Un. "We ought to have billed the town for a