Finally her almost girlish vitality asserted itself, and bargaining that
we should allow her one evening to have Sylvia Latham to dinner, she
surrendered.

"Then we will begin at once by going to the theatre," said Evan, jumping
up and looking at the clock, which pointed at a few minutes of eight.

"Have you tickets? Isn't this a little sudden?" asked Miss Lavinia with a
little gasp, evidently remembering that her hair was arranged for the
house only.

"No, I have no tickets, but Barbara and I always go in this way, and if
we cannot get in at one place we try another, for usually some good seats
are returned from the outside ticket offices a few minutes before the
play begins. The downtown theatres open the earliest, so we can start
near by and work our way upward, if necessary."

To my surprise in five minutes Miss Lavinia was ready, and we sallied
forth, Evan sandwiched between us. As the old Dorman house is in the
northeastern corner of what was far away Greenwich Village,--at the
time-the Bouerie was a blooming orchard, and is meshed in by a curious
jumble of thoroughfares, that must have originally either followed the
tracks of wandering cattle or worthy citizens who had lost their
bearings, for Waverley Place comes to an untimely end in West Eleventh
Street, and Fourth Street collides with Horatio and is headed off by
Thirteenth Street before it has a chance even to catch a glimpse of the
river,--a few steps brought us into Fourteenth Street, where naming
gas-jets announced that the play of "Jim Bludso" might be seen.

"Dear me!" ejaculated Miss Lavinia, "do people still go to this theatre?