comedian and character old woman. Joe Beckley and his wife. That left
the old man,--I mean Mr. Rushcroft, the star--Lyndon Rushcroft, you
know,--myself and Bacon, Tommy Gray, Miss Rushcroft, Miss Hughes and a
woman named Bradley, seven of us. Miss Hughes happened to know a chap
who was travelling around the country for his health, always meeting
up with us,--accidentally, of course,--and he staked her to a ticket
to New York. The woman named Bradley said her mother was dying in
Buffalo, so the rest of us scraped together all the money we had,--
nine dollars and sixty cents,--and did the right thing by her. Actors
are always doing darn-fool things like that, Mr. Barnes. And what do
you suppose she did? She took that money and bought two tickets to
Albany, one for herself and another for the manager of the company,--
the lowest, meanest, orneriest white man that ever,--But I am crabbing
the old man's part. You ought to hear what HE has to say about Mr.
Manager. He can use words I never even heard of before. So, that
leaves just the four of us here, working off the two days' board bill
of Bradley and the manager, Rushcroft's ungodly spree, and at the same
time keeping our own slate clean. Miss Thackeray will no doubt make up
your bed in the morning. She is temporarily a chambermaid. Cracking
fine girl, too, if I do say--"

"Miss Thackeray? I don't recall your mentioning--"

"Mercedes Thackeray on the programme, but in real life, as they say,
Emma Smith. She is Rushcroft's daughter."

"Somewhat involved, isn't it?"

"Not in the least. Rushcroft's real name is Otterbein Smith. Horrible,
isn't it? He sprung from some place in Indiana, where the authors come