say to Mrs. Burgoyne:

"Look at Clara White! And we were wondering why they didn't come in!
Wouldn't she make you TIRED!"

"You might kiss her hand, when you go up to get your prize, Mrs.
Burgoyne," suggested Barry, and a general giggle went the rounds.

"If I get a prize," said Sidney, in alarm, "you've got to go up, I
couldn't!"

"We'll see--" Barry began, his voice drowned by the opening crash of
the band.

There followed what the three papers of Santa Paloma were unanimous the
next day in describing as the most brilliant and enjoyable concert ever
given in Santa Paloma. It was received with immense enthusiasm,
entirely unaffected by the fact that everyone present had heard Miss
Emelie Jeanne Foster sing "Twickenham Ferry" before, with "Dawn" as an
encore, and was familiar also with the selections of thefeet, solemnly wrapped
sections of molasses popcorn in oiled paper, and passed them to the
ladies. Barry's coat made a comfortable seat for Mrs. Burgoyne and
little Mrs. Brown; Barry himself was just behind, and Mrs. Carew and
her big son beside them. All about, in the darkness, were other groups:
mothers and fathers and alert, chattering children. Alice Carter, the
big mill-girl, radiant now, and with a hoarse, inarticulate, adoring
young plumber in tow, went by them, and stooped to whisper something to
Mrs. Burgoyne. "I wish you WOULD come, Alice!" the lady answered
eagerly, as they went on.

Then the rockets began to hiss up toward the stars, each falling shower
of light greeted with a long rapturous "Ah-h-h!" Catherine-wheels
sputtered nearer the ground; red lights made eerie great spots of
illumination here and there, against which dark little