"Yep! I thought maybe you was one o' them patent medicine shows that
goes 'round in big wagons and stops here and there, and a feller sings,
or plays, or somethin', then the head man or woman sells medicine
what'll cure everything you ever had in the way of pain or ever expect
to have. I thought I'd see what kind of a show you've got."

"We haven't any," laughed Mr. Brown. "You may look in the auto if you
like, and see how we live in it. We are traveling for pleasure."

"I see you be, now," said the man after a look. "Wa'al, I'm right sorry
I stopped you."

"That's all right," said Mr. Brown pleasantly. "This is a heavy machine,
and I don't like to get it to going too fast downhill. It's too hard to
stop. So it's just as well we slowed up."

"You see I'm the inspector of all them travelin' shows," went on the
man. "Ribbans is my name, Hank Ribbans. Every medicine show or other
show that comes to town has to git a permit from me, else they can't
show. But you're all right, pass on."

An idea came into Mrs. Brown's head.

"Do you have many shows passing through here, with musicians who play to
draw a crowd?" she asked.

"Oh, sartin, surely. 'Bout one once a week as a rule. There was one that
showed here two or three nights ago--no, come to think of it now, it was
last night. There was a young feller--nothin' but a boy--dressed up in
the reddest and bluest suit you ever see. And say, how he could play