frowsy of dress, and a world removed from the thought of a morning bath.
It might be picturesque in a way--but it wasn't a way Madison liked.
Somehow, he'd have to jerk the old chap out of his rut and get him
rigged up a little more becomingly, before the trusting public, simple
as they were, were invited down to see the exhibit. Madison's dramatic
instinct, which was developed to a keen sense of what the public craved
for, rebelled against any _faux pas_ in the scenic effects. He fell to
designing a costume that would more appropriately expound the rôle.

"Got to give 'em something for their money," murmured John Garfield
Madison. "Some sort of long, flowing robe now, washed every day, sort of
Grecian effect with a rope girdle, bare feet and sandals--um-m--dunno
about the sandals--don't want to slop over, and besides"--Madison
grinned a little to himself--"he might kick!"

Still reflecting, but arrived at no conclusion other than first to size
up the Patriarch and see how best to handle him, Madison reached the end
of the wagon track--and halted.

It was a little lighter here, now that he had left the woods, and what
appeared to be a sweep of snow-covered lawn was before him. Around this,
forming a perfect square, was a row of full-grown, magnificent maples--a
regal hedge, as it were, bordering the four sides--planted sixty years
ago! Madison's imagination fired exhilarantly at the inspiring thought
of these in leaf--in another few weeks. He shook hands with himself
cordially.

"Behold the amphitheater!" he said. "This is where we stage the greatest
act of the century!"