The Reverend Kerr was pastor, the father of E. M. Kerr, afterwards noted in the minstrel profession as E. M. Kayne.

When Mr. Steele asked Alfred if he were on his way to church, Alfred answered: "Yes." The two walked to the church together and home after the sermon was over. On the way the tanner described in detail the improvements he was making in his plant and invited Alfred to accompany him to the tannery to look over the work under way.

In those days everybody ate dinner at high noon. Alfred was impatient at the seeming delay of Lin in serving the meal. Lin remarked: "Ye're jus like every man thet gits to makin' money, figity."

Alfred arrived at the tannery long before the owner. The suction pumps and other labor saving devices were examined and explained to Alfred who pretended to be deeply interested. After all had been explained, they found themselves in the big finishing room where Alfred had passed so many pleasant days and evenings.

The boy wished that he was back in the tannery free from the cares hanging over him. Finally, he looked his former employer full in the face and, in a voice full of earnestness, asked the big, dignified man for the loan of thirty dollars, promising to work it out night and day until it was paid in full.

He dwelt at length on the shame that would come to him if he could not meet his obligations. "If you will help me out of this I will never forget you and you will never regret it," concluded Alfred.

The straightforward man of business complimented Alfred for his anxiety to pay his debts, at the same time pointing out to him the danger of contracting debts he could not meet; that an honest man never had peace of mind when in debt; that a man was never as brave or useful to himself or family as when free of the haunting fear of losing his standing through debt.

He told Alfred to meet him at 7 o'clock the next morning and he would give him his answer. After a sleepless night Alfred was at the tannery on time. Mr. Steele was there when he arrived and greeted him kindly.

Noting Alfred's worried expression, he said: "There is no use worrying over affairs of this kind; the proper course is to steer clear of them, which I think you will do after this."

Alfred assured him that he would be sure to do so. The tanner handed Alfred a paper, requesting him to read it carefully. Alfred could scarcely believe his eyes as he read:

"In consideration of $30 to me in hand paid, the receipt of which is hereby acknowledged, I hereby agree to bind myself to work for Samuel Steele for a period of two months, performing such duties as he may direct...."

Alfred studied a moment and said: "I do not mind any work you may put on me and I will work all day and part of the night, but if you would only let me have the money I can pay you back much sooner out of what I make at Hurd's. I want to get out of debt and you are the only person in the world I can go to. I don't want my folks to know of this."

"Then you will not sign the paper?" questioned the tanner.

"I don't like to and it don't seem hardly fair after the wages you paid me before. Give me a dollar a day and I'll sign it."

Mr. Steele took the paper from Alfred's hand, tore it up and threw it into the open grate as he said: "My boy, I was only trying you. I wanted to show you how those in debt are in the power of anyone who is unscrupulous. If you had signed the paper I would not have had confidence in you. In fact, I did not intend to permit you to sign it if you had shown a willingness to do so. I will loan you the money and you can pay it back to me as you earn it, without interest. Settle with your creditors and keep out of debt. And furthermore, tell no one that I loaned you this money, and never borrow another dollar unless you see a way to pay it."

The advice given Alfred by the old tanner has saved him heart aches and much money.

All the outstanding bills were met. When the members of the troupe gathered at their room and the final statement laid before them there was deep silence for a moment. It was a commonwealth arrangement insofar as the profits were concerned, a one man concern as to the losses. However, none ever expected a deficiency, each expecting to get quite a little money for his share.

The members of the troupe sympathized with Alfred. Charley Wagner, who was the only salaried member, consoled him thusly: "Yah, und ef you ever go to dot Redstone School-house mit your troupe again you'll git him all back." How many times Alfred has heard like statements since!

Win Scott explained the small receipts and the large crowd. All the school directors and their families were to be admitted free. No tickets were used, the money was taken in at the door. When anyone appeared and said "school director" or "school director's family," Win passed them in. It was afterward learned that some of the directors had as many as thirty in their families the night of the show.

Harry Harrison came forward at this critical period of the minstrel enterprise and took upon himself the management. Although Alfred had his misgivings, he was glad to be relieved of the responsibility and to have the concern continued.

Not a line appeared in the Clipper as to the first show but glowing accounts of what was to follow were printed weekly. Harrison prevailed upon the shoemaker to build a small stage in the room the troupe had rented for rehearsing purposes. Also to move a partition, giving the minstrels quite a large room which was provided with heat and light.

The announcement was sent forth that the Evening Star Minstrels would give entertainments every Saturday night at McKernan's Hall, at Barefoot Square.

Harrison gave no explanation as to why he changed the title of the company. Story was angry. Alfred was pleased, inwardly congratulating himself that future deficiencies would have to be made up by Harrison.

The next Saturday night and the following Saturday night saw the little hall packed. And thus another pang of jealousy will be added to the heart of Bill Brown, that Brownsville enjoyed the distinction of a permanent minstrel hall while Pittsburg never had such an institution, traveling minstrel shows appearing there for only one or two nights in Masonic Hall.

After several nights of big business several members of the troupe made inquiries as to the funds and their disposition. At first Harrison was very courteous and explained that the establishing and opening of the hall was expensive; that later on when well established, Jeffres Hall would be secured and nightly dividends would be paid.

Charley Wagner, true to the traditions of history handed down from the days of Babylon, namely, that musicians are the first to stir discord, laid down his fiddle and bow and declared: "No more music until we get our money." It then developed that nothing had been paid in the way of salaries or other expenses since Harrison had assumed the management.

At this juncture Harrison became insolvent. The landlord locked up the hall with all the belongings of the troupe nor would he release the goods until the rent was paid in full. Harrison was appealed to. He sneered at the impecunious minstrels and taunted them by saying: "Now go get your stuff out. If you all hadn't been so peart I'd seen you through."

Each minstrel was compelled to pay his proportionate share of the amount due for rent and lights. His private property was then delivered to him by the sporting shoemaker.

When he had collected the rent due him he sent for Harrison, escorted him into the deserted hall and demanded that he (Harrison) have the partition replaced in its original location. When Harrison angrily refused, the shoemaker proceeded to give him a drubbing.

Harrison did not collect anything that week from those to whom he gave favorable mention in the paper as two black eyes compelled him to keep close to the office.



CHAPTER ELEVEN

And I would learn to better show My gratitude for favors had, To see more of the good below And less of what I think is bad. To live not always in the day To come, and count the joys to be, But to remember, as I stray, The past and what is brought to me.

Lured by that feeling which impels the criminal to visit the scene of his crime, Alfred began a pilgrimage to the little red school-house. Walking along the old pike the sound of a horse's hoofs beating a tattoo on the road reached his ears. He recognized in the rider, Joe Thornton.

The white pacing mare which Thornton bestrode had one of those peculiar high-lifting gaits, that, from the sound of the hoofs on the roadbed, caused one to imagine that she was going at a very rapid gait, while in fact she was not doing much more than pounding the road. Uncle Joe said of her: "She'd pace all day in the shade of a tree."

When opposite Alfred, Mr. Thornton slowed up and made numerous inquiries as to the minstrel show, expressing regret that he was not able to attend; he intended going, having received an invitation from one of the school directors. He requested Alfred to advise him of the next performance; he would be there sure.

Then, as if to make up for the few moments lost conversing with Alfred, he gave the mare the word and she pounded the pike more heavily than before. Alfred admired the big, handsome rider and the white mare; he longed to bestride her and kept his eyes on horse and rider as they traveled on before him.

Alfred noticed a black looking object fall to the dusty pike. At the distance it seemed a large sized shoe. Alfred kept his eyes on the object as he neared the spot where it lay. Bending over he discovered a very large, black book. Picking it up he saw bills, money, more money than the boy had ever held in his hands before. He trembled as he turned over bill after bill.

He had dreamed that he would be rich—some day in the far future—day dreams. His riches were always to come. They had come suddenly, unexpectedly. Mother would have a new cooking stove; Lin declared daily that the old stove would not bake on the bottom. Brother Joe would have toys and a sled, Sister Lizzie anything she wanted, Brother Will anything he needed, a melodeon for Lin. Sammy Steele would be paid with the same flourish with which Uncle Jack was paid. Harrison would be deposed, the minstrel troupe would go out, travel to distant parts and make money, more money than Alfred wanted; he would divide it with all his best friends, he would make all happy.

With these thoughts flying through his mind he walked on in the direction the rider had gone. Suddenly realizing that the money was not his he cast a glance ahead, expecting every moment to see the rider returning post haste to claim the treasure.

When he reached the lane leading off the pike to the Thornton house, he hesitated, opened the book again and looked at the money, turning over the neat layers of bills, fives in one section, tens in another, twenties in a third, legal looking papers in a fourth, tied about with a thin, red ribbon.

He thought of concealing the book. No, he would hasten home and conceal the money in the cow stable. He was opposite the gate of the yard in which stood the big Thornton house. Should he enter?

Alfred looked long and anxiously for the man on horseback; instead he noticed a proud looking, elderly lady walking about the flower beds. He nodded respectfully but the lady did not make a sign of recognition.

However, in quite a loud voice he inquired if Mr. Thornton were at home.

"Which Mr. Thornton? There are two Mr. Thorntons, Russell and Joseph."

"Joseph Thornton," answered Alfred, "is the gentleman I am looking for."

Alfred felt his importance. From down the lane toward the barn there came the sound of horse's hoofs clattering on the road. Alfred's ears told him that it was the white pacer.

As the rider caught sight of Alfred he dismounted. Running toward the boy, his long beard flowing on either side of his neck, he began: "Mr. Hatfield, did you see—." Here Alfred held up the book to his view.

As he fairly bounded forward, he grasped the book in one hand and threw an arm around Alfred. He exclaimed: "Where the h—ll did you find it? It's a good thing for me that you came out the pike; if almost anybody else had found it I'd never have gotten it back, that is the money; I never could have traced that. The papers could have been traced. No one who loses money ever gets it back."

As the man turned the book over in his hand he inquired: "Did you open it?" Then a little ashamed of the question continued: "Of course you had to open it, otherwise you wouldn't have known to whom it belonged. Now see here Alfred, I want to do the right thing by you. I will call at your house tonight. I want to meet your mother; your father I am well acquainted with. Your Uncle Will has told me that he is too hard on you and you're a dam nice boy and you ought to be treated right."

At this insinuation Alfred fired up. "My father always treats me right, but I've been a pretty bad boy. He has his notions and I've got mine. He never hits a lick amiss. He never hurts me when he does whip me. It's always a big laugh to me. He's the kindest pap in Brownsville."

"Oh, you did not understand me. I did not mean to say that your father whipped you. I heard that he did not give you credit for your—your, that he—he—er hampered you in your—your—er—."

"Oh, I understand pap," interrupted Alfred, "he's all right, we get along all right."

Then Mr. Thornton made inquiries as to where Alfred was going. When the boy informed him, he said: "That's too far to walk; come on out to the stable, I'll loan you a horse. You can ride him home and I will get him tonight."

They walked toward the white mare. Alfred asked what kind of a saddler she was. "Good," answered the man, "would you like to try her?"

"Why, yes, if it's all the same to you."

By this time Alfred was shortening the stirrup straps to the length of his limbs as measured by his arms. Alfred's thinking gear was working faster than the white mare's hoofs ever pounded the earth. As he was about to mount he said: "Mr. Thornton, I'll bring this mare home. I don't want to trouble you to call at our house."



"Why? I want to see your parents and I want to reward you."

Alfred, sitting on the horse's back, leaned far over toward the man and detailed the sad results of his first venture in minstrelsy.

"Whatever you give me will be applied on the payment of my debts. If our folks know that you gave me money they'll want to know what I did with it."

The man grasped the situation, but informed Alfred the money in the book belonged to his mother. He had withdrawn it from the bank to pay a note. He would help Alfred out but must go to town before he could do so.

"From whom did you borrow money," asked Mr. Thornton.

Alfred hesitated and said: "Well, there's where I made another promise not to tell, but I'm going to tell you, I borrowed it from Sammy Steele."

"Well, I'll be damned if you ain't a good one. Why, Sammy Steele is the tightest man in Brownsville. How did you come to go to him?"

Alfred explained all. Mr. Thornton insisted that he ride the white mare home, adding that he would get her that night. Alfred rode off, visiting not only the school-house but many old friends. He arrived home as it was growing dark.

Entering the house he found Mr. Thornton there; he had told the family all. He informed Alfred that he had left an order on Jake Walters, the town tailor, for a suit of clothes, the material to be selected by the bearer.

While the clothes were more than acceptable, Alfred was disappointed. He feared he would not be in a position to pay the Sammy Steele note, although he was bending every energy, even dunning Harrison for the fifty cents loaned him at their first meeting.

The next week's issue of the Brownsville Clipper contained a lengthy article, as follows:

"One of Fayette County's most prominent citizens lost a pocket-book containing a large amount of money and valuable papers. The book was lost on the old pike somewhere between the borough line and Thornton's lane. Fortunately for the loser, one of the CLIPPER'S most trusted employes traveling on the pike, found the valuable book. The finder is one who has been trained under the vigilant eye of the editor of this valuable paper. Through the influence of the editor of this paper the money was returned to the owner in less than one hour after its loss was discovered. The finder was suitably rewarded and will soon be advanced to a more lucrative position on this paper."

Harrison, in addition to his promised reforms in the editorial columns of the paper, introduced innovations in the advertising department. The Pittsburg Gazette was the only daily paper on the Clipper's exchange list—this fact compels the admission that Pittsburg was a little ahead of Brownsville in the newspaper field, boasting two papers at the time, the Gazette and Post. Both papers carried display advertisements of Hostetter's Stomach Bitters and Dr. Jayne's Liver Pills for grown people and vermifuge for children. Those were the only patent medicines that advertised at that time.

Harrison, in his illuminating way, wrote to the concerns soliciting advertising. Dr. Jayne's representative wrote, requesting the weekly circulation of the Clipper and the localities wherein it was circulated.

Harrison answered giving advertising rates, with unlimited reading notices and concluded his letter by advising that "the Brownsville Clipper goes to Greene, Washington, Westmoreland and Bedford Counties; it goes to Pittsburg, Cumberland and Washington, and before I took hold of it the owner had all he could do to keep it from going to h—ll."

Something in Harrison's letters appealed to the medicine men as advertisements were secured from both the concerns. In conformity with the custom of the times, part payment for advertising was to be taken in trade. Big boxes containing bottles of the stomach bitters, smaller boxes containing pills and vermifuge were received. Small quantities of both medicines were, with a great deal of persuasion, exchanged with country stores for farm products. After the first effort none of the bitters were offered for sale or trade insofar as the Clipper's supply was concerned.

Like the farmer who endeavored to sell the tanner the murn hide, Harrison had found a market for the bitters at home. They contained about 60% alcohol, therefore it was a panacea for all ills that Harrison was afflicted with, and he had many. The bitters were a pill for every ill.

That was a hard winter. Sugar crackers, Scotch herring and cheese were Harrison's principal food and a few of the liver pills were used, but the vermifuge stood on the shelves in the press room covered with dust. Mr. Hurd ordered Alfred to get rid of it even if he had to give it away; not to destroy it; if he could not sell it to give it to the subscribers to the paper with the compliments of the editor. Alfred covered his route with renewed vigor, a bundle of papers under his arm and both coat pockets filled with pills.

Alfred was personally acquainted with nearly every family in the town; he was familiar with the habits and health of all the boys.

Red haws, green apples, may apples, green chestnuts, in fact, everything that grows which boys devour more greedily before than after maturity, were plentiful in the country around Brownsville.

Alfred did a fine business for a time. The paper was published only weekly and Alfred was ordered by Mr. Hurd to dispense the medicine only when the paper was delivered. Alfred was doing so well that he intimated to Harrison that the paper should be semi-weekly, at least. Alfred was receiving a commission on all pills he sold.

Alfred looked over the medicine stock; about the only thing in stock was liver pills. There were large quantities of liver pills lying on the shelves. Alfred figured that the pills would do Johnny's cow no harm and possibly might help her, as the cow was very sick.

Alfred did not wait until the paper was printed as the case was an urgent one. He made a special call, carrying nearly a pint of the liver pills in a paper collar box. (Harrison always wore paper collars and a dicky.)

Alfred assured Johnny that the pills were specially prepared for just such disorders as his cow was afflicted with. There was some question as to the number of pills that constituted a dose for a cow. As the printed directions gave no information on the matter, Alfred thought a teacupful of the pellets would be about right.

It required a great deal of hard labor on the part of both Alfred and the owner to compel the cow to swallow the pills. However, a goodly part of the cupful of pills was administered to her.

At first the cow appeared a great deal worse and her owner feared she would die. Squire Rowley, the best cow doctor in the neighborhood, was sent for. He administered blackberry tea and other astringents and the cow recovered.



When Lin heard that the boys were addressing Alfred as "Doctor," usually prefixing the title with the word "Cow," she said: "They needn't try to plague Alfurd, caus' it wus a durn good joke an' besides it cured the cow and it wus about time Hurd's paper done somethin' good."

Alfred had saved sufficient money to cancel the note of Sammy Steele. With a light step he ran up the stairs leading from the street into the large finishing room. Greeting all cheerily he inquired for the boss. Mr. Steele entered.

Looking curiously at Alfred, with a twinkle in his eye, the old tanner remarked dryly: "Hurd—Mr. Hurd—Mr. Hurd—must be gettin' mightily pushed when he starts his hands to peddling pills."

Mr. Steele's remark made the boy redden and he mumbled something about the pills being received in trade and had to be sold by somebody.

The tanner laughingly continued: "I expected to see Johnny McCan coming in with a murn hide. How many of Hurd's pills constitute a dose for a cow?"

Cooney Brashear added to the jollity by suggesting that Alfred "give Sammy's mewel a dose the next time he kicks you." This reference to the "mewel" was only a reverberation of the town talk as Lin had predicted. In fact, the reference to the "mewel" kicking Alfred became, and is still, a by-word in the old town.

Mr. Steele, to the surprise of Alfred, refused to count the dollars and dimes he poured from the old leather purse on the desk. Instead the man bid the boy "keep the money until the note was due, then bring it here, not a day before nor a day after. If you think you are going to die, leave directions to pay the debt. The man who pays beforehand shows himself a weakling, he is afraid of himself, he is afraid he cannot hold the money. He usually spends his money before he earns it."

It was a great day for Brownsville and the leading journal of the town, the Brownsville Clipper. Two circuses were headed for the town; Rosston, Springer & Henderson's and Thayer & Noyse Great American Circus.

The agent of the first named show was first in, Andy Springer, "Old Rough Head." The agent was aware of the coming opposition although he never mentioned it. His contract for advertising space in the Clipper had a clause to the effect that no other circus advertising or reading matter should appear in the columns of the great family paper prior to the date of the exhibition of the R. S. & H. aggregation.

Harrison made this "slick contract" as he termed it. He charged the circus man double the usual advertising rates, working the agent for unlimited free tickets. The genteel word "complimentary" had not become associated with show tickets as yet.

In making up the free list Harrison was as liberal to the families of the force as the school directors had been on the occasion of Alfred's exhibition. The editor and owner's family received sixteen free tickets; there were five in his family all told. The managing-editor, Harrison, and his family received fifteen free tickets. He distributed all of his tickets within two hours after they were counted out to him. (In those days the agent distributed the tickets, not by an order on the show as now.)

Harrison sought the circus agent at the hotel explaining that since he received the tickets he had consulted his family and they desired to go to the show twice, afternoon and night. The agent, knowing that there was opposition in sight, stood for the hold-up and Harrison celebrated most gloriously the next few days, with free tickets to the circus.

The foreman of the composing room was to have ten tickets. He was a poor man, Harrison advised, and had a lot of children. The circus wouldn't lose anything as they would not pay to go nohow.

The pressman and his family were to receive ten free tickets. The devil, Alfred, was to receive six free tickets. He managed to get two that Harrison carelessly dropped while changing his clothes.

Scarcely had the first agent cleared the town before Charley Stowe, agent for Thayer & Noyse arrived, brisk, bright and beaming. Entering the Clipper office he found Alfred the only person in. Mr. Stowe was very gracious. He won the boy to his side ere he had conversed with him five minutes.

The agent was in a great hurry, he desired to get to Pittsburgh at once—most agents are in a great hurry to get into a big city from a small town. Alfred informed the agent that he did not know where Harrison could be found. "Please sit down and look over our paper," said Alfred, and he left to seek Harrison, who was diligently distributing circus tickets and judging from his condition, getting value received.

Alfred was almost overcome with the thought of two circuses coming to town. He imparted the information to everyone whom he met who was interested enough to listen. Another circus coming, bigger and better than the first one, was Alfred's guarantee. He was prompted to this through the fact that the newly arrived agent had been courteous to him. Probably the twenty-five cents and two free tickets had something to do with Alfred's leaning towards the second show.

Harrison was finally located at Bill Wyatt's, a place he had not frequented in a long time as the slate bore figures that had been written on it about the date Harrison struck the town. Harrison had partially squared the score with circus tickets. Harrison was just able to walk with Alfred's assistance. As they wobbled down wide Market Street Alfred imagined the man in a mood to be approached. He reminded Harrison of the half dollar long over due, and obligingly offered to take it out in circus tickets.

Harrison scorned the proposition. Straightening himself up he endeavored to push Alfred aside as he proudly exclaimed: "I don't want you to take anything out in circus tickets. I'll pay cash after the circus."

It required all of Alfred's powers to make Harrison understand that there was another circus agent in town, another circus coming. Harrison persisted in the belief that it was the same agent with whom he had done business.

Stowe meanwhile, as all intelligent agents do, had gone to headquarters. As Alfred, with his tow, entered the office, the owner of the paper turned on the managing editor, foreman of the composing room, etc., and let loose a tirade of abuse such as Alfred had never heard the like of before:



"You damned little shriveled up, whiskey soaked, tobacco smoked, copperhead. What in hell do you mean by making a contract like this for my paper? I'll cram it down your jaundiced jaws, you whelp of hell, you!" And the rage of Hurd, who was a very large, fat man, caused his face to turn purple. "Pack up your things and git, or I'll slap you into the bowels of the jail. I know enough about you and your record on that traitor sheet, (he referred to the opposition paper, the Genius of Liberty), to have you and all connected with it sent to Johnson's Island. Git out of yere!" yelled Hurd.

Harrison pulled away from Alfred and in the effort fell partially over a settee as he sputtered out: "I'm a gemptman, what-smatter with Hanner." He intended to use the cant phrase, "That's what's the matter with Hannah."

Hurd shook a purplish looking bit of paper in Harrison's face: "What do you mean, you shrimp, by entering into a contract to the effect that no other circus can use my paper?"

Harrison attempted to look indignant but he was a bad actor, he could only look drunk. On this occasion he could not dissemble. His effort to do so only made him appear more drunken.

"I'm—a—man—of—h-honor—I'll stan'—by—anythin' I do." Here Harrison fell down, full length on the settee, muttering and shaking his fist at Hurd.

"Get him out of this house!" was Hurd's order to Alfred.

Alfred pulled and pushed Harrison to the bottom of the stairs leading up to his room. Harrison fell on all fours and began a slow ascent of the stairs, Alfred pushing him as he had seen deck hands shove refractory cattle when loading them on a boat.

He returned to the room. Hurd was very crusty. He hinted that Alfred should not have permitted the first circus agent to induce Harrison to sign the shut-out contract.

Stowe, the circus agent, further endeared himself to Alfred when he informed Mr. Hurd that Alfred should not be blamed.

Alfred, in the brief interview between the second agent and himself, had informed him as to the contract made by the first agent, the price charged for advertising, the free tickets extorted and other information that was valuable.

The agent was very diplomatic. He began by calming Hurd: "Now, Mr. Hurd, I know the value of your paper to us, I know you to be a man of honor, and I would not offend you by even insinuating that you could find a way to carry our advertising and reading matter as I know you would not violate the contract made with the other concern, although it is evident that contract was obtained by fraud. There is only one way around this;" here the circus agent placed his hand on the shoulder of the big editor, "we will have to get out an extra edition, their advertising and reading matter to go in the regular edition, mine in the extra."

The editor beamed on the agent, the beam expressing more strongly than any words: "You're a daisy—but, but," stammered Hurd, "we haven't got matter enough for our regular edition. I've been working all morning; Harrison's been drunk all week an'—"

"Never mind," interrupted the agent, "don't you worry, let me do the work and the worrying also. Where can we get a little something to clear the cobwebs out of our tonsils?" And they left the office arm in arm, but not until the circus agent had asked Alfred if he knew where all the office force could be found. Alfred answered "No, sir." And he was truthful; as he was not certain whether he was on the stairs, on the landing, at the top of the stairs or had rolled back to the bottom.

When the agent ordered Alfred to get the office force together and inform them that they would have to work all night but would be paid double time, Alfred ran upstairs, as was his custom, four steps at each bound. Harrison was not on the stairs nor at the top landing. Running into the press room, Alfred found Harrison sitting in the coal box, sleeping soundly.

After vain efforts to arouse him, Alfred hastened to the residence of Bill Smith who had once worked on the paper. Cal Wyatt had also served some time setting type, and Baggy Allison was notified to repair to the office instanter.

All were on hand when the circus man returned. Cal Wyatt, advised Alfred to fill Harrison's mouth with salt, that it was a never failing remedy. It did bring Harrison partly around, just enough to make him a pest, in the way of all with both person and talk. He slobbered over copy and case, hiccoughed, cursed Alfred for trying to doctor him; informing Alfred that he wanted no "dam cow doctor to fool with him."

Stowe, the circus agent, laughed until his sides ached. He was informed by the others that Alfred was a great minstrel and he volunteered to find him a place with some first class minstrel organization the coming winter. Stowe played the banjo and carried the instrument with him. All the local minstrel band were introduced to him. He played and sang with them and within twenty-four hours he owned the town, including the printing office.

The type-setters did not have to wait for copy; Stowe had quantities. The printers were not compelled to decipher the peculiarities of anyone's handwriting; Stowe's copy was printed and punctuated.

Such copy had never been worked from in the office before. Of course all the agent's copy treated of Thayer & Noyse Great Circus.

Harrison got to himself finally. He could make himself very agreeable when he so desired.

Hurd insisted that there should be other matter written up. In this Stowe acquiesced. He scribbled off political, local and other matter at a rapid rate, nor did he stop there. He gave the contract to Isaac Vance of the Marshall House to feed all people and stock with the circus. There were no stable tents in those days nor did anyone stop on the lot. Canvassmen, hostlers and actors—all in the hotels. Vance got a big contract; Stowe secured a half column advertisement for the paper, as he did from several others.

The extra appeared, at first glance, as fat as the regular edition. When Baggy Allison tired, Stowe worked the press. He rolled, folded and fed until the extra edition was off the press and ready for distribution.

Among his printed matter was a quarter sheet, with the portraits of Thayer and Noyse, and a small amount of reading matter printed on one side only. He dug up a can of red ink from some unexplored recess where it had lain since the presidential campaign of 1860. He had three or four funny mule cuts. He wrote a funny line or two, made a rude cut resembling Hurd, informing the public that Hurd would ride the trick mule circus day. This bill was printed without the knowledge of Hurd. It was folded in the extra and thus distributed.

This fact makes valid Alfred's claim of another honor for Brownsville, namely: that the Brownsville Clipper was the first paper in this country to issue a colored supplement. Of course the word "supplement" was not in a newspaper's vocabulary at that time.

Another merit this supplement possessed, it was really humorous, and the humor was apparent, even to the people of that day, and that is more than the colored supplements of today can lay claim to.

Charley Stowe was not only the prime mover in all that pertained to the issuance of the extra but he hired a horse and buggy and a boy to assist Alfred in its distribution.

Brownsville was advertised as it had never been before. Charley Stowe following a precedent established by the first agent that ever traveled ahead of a show, promised many persons to return to Brownsville the day of the show. And, unlike the first agent and almost all agents in all times since, he kept his promise and came back.

It was a great day for Brownsville, it was a great day for Thayer and Noyse, it was a great day for Alfred. Charley Stowe had another faculty, shy in most agents, memory. He remembered the editor and the office force, particularly the latter. He gave Alfred his first sight of the inner sanctorum of the show world, namely, the dressing rooms. He introduced him to big, good-natured Dr. Thayer, to natty little Charley Noyse, to the elder Stickney and his talented son Bob, to J. M. Kelly, the long distance single somersault leaper, to little Jimmy Reynolds, the clown, to Mrs. Thayer and her charming daughter. It was the unfolding of the scenes of another world to the lad. His recollection of that day is as of a night of enchantment.

The circus had a very sick horse, a beautifully marked mare, sorrel and snow white with glass eyes, as they are termed. The beautiful creature was housed in the stable of the Marshall House. The animal was evidently one of value to the circus folk as many of them visited the stable; all seemed anxious as to the mare's recovery. After the afternoon performance, Dr. Thayer, his wife and daughter were in the stable administering to the sick horse. The circus man was completing arrangements to have the tavern keeper care for the mare and send her on to the show, if she were able to travel by the time the company reached Uniontown.

Isaac Vance assured the circus people that everything possible would be done for the mare, and turning to Alfred, laying both hands on the boy's shoulders, facing him toward Mr. Thayer, said: "And here's the lad who will take your mare to Uniontown. He can ride any horse or mule you have. You should have this boy with your show, he is an actor right. Our people swear by him, he can beat anything you have in the nigger minstrel line."

Then Alfred, with a freshness born of ignorance, said: "Yes, Mr. Thayer, you have a fine circus but your minstrels ain't much, not as good as those with Van Amberg's Menagerie, and everybody says so."

Mr. Thayer and his wife both seemed greatly amused at the frankness of the boy. The showman quizzed Alfred as to what he could do in the concert. Alfred, as all other "rube" amateurs have done and always will do, wanted to engage to give the entire concert. Thayer had more patience then than Alfred has now as he listened to the boastful assumptions of the boy.

Finally he said: "If you will get a letter from your father granting me permission to employ you, I will give you the opportunity of your life, but do not come to me without the permission of your parents, as our show does not employ minors. It's against the law."

It was further arranged that Alfred should take the Lilly mare to Uniontown the day the show exhibited there. Mrs. Thayer led Alfred to one side and, pressing two dollars into his hand, charged him to visit the sick horse several times daily, and no matter if those in charge asserted that they had given her sufficient water, Alfred was to offer the animal drink. She so charged the stable man, stuttering Hughey Boggs.

After the night show Alfred called at the stable. The mare seemed very sick. He offered her water which she refused; he felt of her ears, they were cold; he stroked her satin-like coat; she opened her eyes and appeared almost human to Alfred as he petted her.

Arriving at home he went to his mother's room and gave her a detailed account of the day's doings, not forgetting the sick horse or the arrangements made by Mr. Vance for him to deliver the mare to the show folk in Uniontown.

Alfred had been careful not to reveal any of that part of the conversation touching on the offer of the big showman to employ him providing he could obtain the father's written consent. Somehow the mother's fears were aroused, she felt that there was more behind the delivery of the mare than was revealed and she strongly objected to the arrangement.

The mother communicated her fears to Lin and that worthy was quite ingenious in quizzing the boy. She questioned Alfred as to his intentions. "I tole yer mother ye wouldn't run off with thet ole show while yer pap wus away from hum. Mary sed 'They mout coax ye off.' Did they coax ye? Did they offer to gin ye a job?" And she looked at Alfred very hard and earnestly.

Alfred had been revolving in his mind a plan that included having Daniel Livingstone forge a letter signing Alfred's father's name to it, granting the boy permission to join the show. Alfred felt very guilty and hung his head when Lin's questions grew pointed.

Alfred was giving the sick show horse all the attention promised and even more. The second day following the mare died. Notwithstanding, all seemed to sympathize with Alfred, who had become greatly attached to the beautiful horse, it was apparent that all were greatly relieved that Alfred had been released from the agreement to deliver the mare to the circus folk.

Alfred wrote Mrs. Thayer a long letter, giving the particulars concerning the death of her pet, to which he received a prompt reply, ending with a standing invitation to visit them at any time, either while they were traveling or at their home.

The boy was very proud of this letter and read it to all his friends. Lin, in commenting on the death of the mare quoted Scripture, after her own interpretation: "The Lord gins us an' the Lord takes hosses es well es peepul. Uv cos ye kin buy hosses ef ye got money but ye can't buy peepul. Ef ye'd run off with a show an' dide, w—, ye—"

Here Lin stuck. She could not find words to complete the sentence; but after a moment's pause, she continued: "The'd not miss ye es much es the' will thet hoss. Bet we'd miss ye every—time—we sot—up to—a—meal."

In the vernacular of the show profession of today, Rosston, Springer & Henderson took up the stand and did not appear in Brownsville. They were advertised to play in Pittsburg.

Mr. Hurd sent Alfred to Pittsburg to collect the newspaper advertising bill. Harrison was having his troubles with those to whom he had sold tickets. The holders of tickets held Harrison personally responsible for the non-appearance of the circus. Since the day Frank McKernan had pummelled Harrison, various and divers persons had been threatening him with similar treatment. Harrison staved off hostilities by promising to have the tickets redeemed when Alfred collected the paper's indebtedness from the circus.

The circus had no band wagon. The musicians were mounted on horses. This was all there was of the parade. Alfred has since learned that this feature was introduced into the circus as an expediency. G. G. Grady, an impecunious circus proprietor, found his colossal aggregation without a band wagon and no funds to purchase one. He hit upon the idea of mounting his band on horses. The innovation was heralded as a feature and to this day circuses advertise the mounted band as a novelty of the "highway, holiday parade."

John Robinson's circus boasted a steam calliope, which dispensed "biled music." Grady, not strong enough financially to annex a calliope, altered an old animal cage that resembled the exterior of a calliope. He installed a very large and loud hand organ inside the imitation calliope wagon, with a stovepipe poking out of the top, plenty of damp straw inside, a man to feed and burn it. In a stove inside, the volumes of smoke issuing from the stovepipe, a strong man turning the hand organ, the greatly improved steam calliope was calculated to astonish the public. If the music were not so vociferous as that his rival's instrument sent forth, it must be admitted that Grady's was more tuneful and therefore less objectionable.

Grady's steam piano came to an untimely end almost before its career began. The man inside the calliope, the fireman, was too industrious. He filled the stove with damp straw, poured kerosene oil over it and applied a match. The parade was in the midst of the public square, in Canton, Ohio. Thousands had congregated to witness it. The whole interior of the calliope was ablaze, smoke issuing from every crack and crevice. The show people grasping the situation, broke open the back door. The damp straw, the old stove, the two men and the hand organ were dragged from the smoking wagon. Grady's attempt to rival John Robinson was the joke of the circus world.

Alfred had quite a little difficulty in collecting the printing bill, which was grudgingly paid him.

The circus people tore up Harrison's order for payment for the tickets given. The treasurer said something about the paper being a "wolf."

When Alfred returned Harrison endeavored to spread the impression by insinuations that he had collected for the tickets and not made returns to him as yet. He was cornered, it was his only way to square himself with those who were pressing him for a settlement. Although Alfred knew full well that Harrison did not intend to injure him, the reports became so annoying and the insinuations so galling that Alfred took Harrison to account.

Harrison flew into a rage and threw a small shovel at Alfred. Things got lively for Harrison in a moment. No telling where it would have ended had not the entire Hurd family rushed into the room and separated the combatants. Harrison was much the worse for the encounter. To drown his grief he started the rounds but Jim Bench, the town watchman, locked him up. When he sobered up he shook the dust of Brownsville from his feet forever more.

Years afterward Alfred met Harrison in a far western city, leading the same life.

The mother entreated Alfred to forever give up the idea of becoming a newspaper man. She had cherished the hope that the boy would yet turn to the study of medicine. Old Doctor Playford, Bob's father, informed Alfred's uncle that if the boy were so inclined he would take him into his office and see what there was in him.

The Doctor had three good horses, his son Bob had a large pack of hounds. Alfred's duties did not keep him in the office very steadily. He was on horseback a greater part of the time, by day delivering medicine, by night fox or coon hunting.

It was a part of Alfred's work to compound medicines in the small laboratory in the doctor's residence. A copy of materia-medica and a Latin dictionary were the only guides to the beginner of a medical career in those days. There were no prescriptions sent to the drug store, every doctor filled his own prescriptions. Alfred became very quick at compounding prescriptions.

A dose of medicine was prepared for Mr. Hare. This particular dose of medicine did not have the effect the doctor desired, or rather, it had more effect than the doctor or Hare desired.

The old doctor was a very resolute man, fiery and game, nearly everyone feared him. Bob, his son, was one of the few who dared brave the old doctor's wrath. The young doctor espoused Alfred's cause when his father charged Alfred with carelessness. Bob swore that old Hare was a notorious liar and that it was not the medicine that made him so sick.

The old doctor was very practical, therefore a successful practitioner. Alfred protested that he had prepared the medicine for Hare as per the formula furnished him. Some time after the above argument Alfred was summoned to the doctor's room. Holding in one hand a glass of water, the doctor handed Alfred a lump of darkish color, ordering the boy to swallow it. Alfred mechanically swallowed the lump, the doctor handing him the water to take the taste out of his mouth.

As Alfred drank, the doctor, with a humorous glance, ordered him to hang around until he could determine the effects of the medicine. "It's the same dose you fixed for Hare. I'll see whether Hare lied or not."

Alfred had a keen sense of the ridiculous. He had swallowed the pill ere he realized what he was doing and knew full well he would be dreadfully ill, yet he laughed immoderately.

"Ef Hare suffered more than Alfurd, he sure wus sick," was Lin's comment. "No, Alfurd wus not sacked by the ole doctur, he jus naturally did not like doctorin'."

Mr. Todd replied: "I dunno nuthin' 'bout it, only what I've heard. They do say thet since Alfred nearly pizened Mr. Hare, most of Doctor Playford's patients has gone to Doctor Jackson. Folks is jus naturally afeared to doctor with Playford since they found out Alfred mixes the medicine. John McCune's two children, ole Lige Custer an' Dave Phillips wus all took sick jus like ole Hare an' nobody but Alfred ever mixed the medicine they took. You know it takes a man thet's hed practus to mix medicines an' Alfred ain't hed no chance to learn."

Lin contended that Alfred hed plenty of practice. "He mixed paint in his Pap's shop an' he mixed ink in the printin' offis an' Lord, he could certinly mix a few squills an' a little castor ile an' sich, that's all Playford ever gives. Alfurd cud a kep on doctorin' ef he'd wanted to, but the ole doctor sed when he took him thet he would see what wus in him, an' I s'pose he did."



CHAPTER TWELVE

A man may be defeated Half a score of times or more, His prospects may be darkened And his heart be bruised and sore; But let him smile triumphantly— And call Misfortune's bluff. For no man's ever conquered Till he says: "I've got enough?"

Hans Christian Andersen, the famous Danish poet, says: "The life of every man is a fairy tale written by God's finger." Carlyle says: "No life of a man faithfully recorded but is a heroic poem."

With all the advice and experience one can acquire or have thrust upon him it is passing strange how easy it is to go wrong in this world. It forces one almost to the belief of him who wrote: "The aim is the man's, the end is none of his own." Someone has said that the only guide a man requires in this world is to side-step wrong doing. But like many prize fighters, some of us are deficient in foot work.

If life is a mission and any other definition of it is false and misleading, fate has certainly picked out some men as the hammer and others as the anvil, some men for door-mats and others for those who walk thereon.

Alfred claimed to have an aim in life but his entire family and a township of relatives differed with him. Alfred's most ardent apologist was compelled to admit that even though he was exerting himself greatly to hold his course he was drifting.

The minstrels were back in the old quarters, Frank McKernan's shoe-shop, rehearsing nightly.

At this time there came a proposition from a man of the town who had recently failed in business. It is a peculiarity of human nature or the fore ordination of fate that when a man fails in a commercial business he engages in show business or life insurance. If he be not mentally equipped to carry to success the business in which he failed, he generally engages in a business that requires ability of a higher order than that in which he was unsuccessful.

And so it was of the man who entered into an agreement to finance the minstrels. He possessed a little money and a mother who was well supplied with it. He spent money liberally in equipping the minstrels for their first road venture. All preparations were quietly consummated by order of Mr. Eli, as that gentleman had numerous creditors whose feelings would have been terribly lacerated had they known that he was soon to take himself away from them. Alfred soon had every arrangement completed. He was very happy he was to realize the ambitions of his life's dream. He had been relieved of all financial responsibility. There would be wood cuts, printed bills, an agent and all that goes to make for a real show.

The three-sheet bill depicting Alfred as a plantation negro dancing "The Essence of Ole Virginia," was his especial pride. Many times daily he unrolled this bill and secretly admired it. Alfred learned to dance "The Essence of Ole Virginia." Although Billy Hyatt or Tom White danced "The Essence" much more cleverly, Alfred argued that, owing to the bill bearing his name, consistency demanded he execute the dance.

The stock bill was from the Jordan Printing Company of Boston, wood cuts in two colors, red and yellow. The imprint "Boston" on the bills, it was argued, would give the company prestige, that is, after they reached Greene County and other far away points on their proposed itinerary. All were instructed to spread the impression that the troupe was from Boston.

It was rumored that the minstrels were to travel afar, visiting Baltimore, Washington and other cities. The mother was very greatly disturbed, she questioned Alfred frequently as to the rumors.

Lin, in some way known only to herself, had fathomed Alfred's plans; she even knew the backer's name. Alfred begged her to keep it secret, that it would ruin everything to have it known. To Alfred's surprise she advised that he leave home surreptitiously if he must, with the consent of the mother if he could obtain it. Lin argued that he would never do any good at home with "them yar show notions flyin' through yer head. Durned ef I wouldn't go an' show 'em I cud be sumthin'."

This was the first time Lin had ever advised Alfred to disobey his mother and, while her advice was pleasing to him insofar as furthering his ambitions was concerned, it was displeasing in other ways, and lowered Lin in his estimation.

The mother objected strongly to the boy's connection with the minstrels, arguing that the father was absent; that Alfred should not leave home until the return of the father.

Alfred argued with the mother that he had accepted money from Eli and was in honor bound to work it out.

Uncle Thomas was called into conference. Uncle Ned came in without being called. Grandpap threatened legal proceedings to restrain the boy if he attempted to leave the town.

Consternation reigned in the minstrel camp. Eli was frantic. Without Alfred the show could not hope to succeed; so declared all. Alfred grew desperate, declaring, since his mother so strongly opposed his going, that he would remain until his father arrived, explain the matter; then, come weal or woe, he would join the show.

Thus matters stood. Eli endeavored to drown his disappointment; he was not visible for a day or two. Meanwhile Uncle Ned was a frequent visitor "to keep an eye on Mr. Alfred that he did not run away," as he expressed it. Alfred boldly declared that Uncle Ned was interfering and further that they could not hold him; even if they did estop him from going with the minstrels, he would run off to the oil regions.

Another visit from Uncle Ned precipitated a war of words. As the meetings between Alfred and the uncle became more frequent Alfred "grew more tantalizing and impudent," so the uncle asserted. Finally, Alfred informed the uncle that he was meddling and that his meddling was not appreciated. A quarrel followed. Alfred's powers of vituperation were a surprise to the mother and uncle and a delight to Lin, who informed Mrs. Todd: "Lor! I expektid tu see Alfurd mount him enny minnit; he shook his fingur under Ned's nose an' mos' spit in his face. I hed the rollin' pin redy, I'd bin in h'it ef h'tit hed kum to a klinch. I tell ye Alfurd's lurned somethin' since they shaved his kurls off. He combed Ned es he'd nevur been combed afore, an' Mary jes stood an' luked 'til Ned got her riled up then twixt her an' Alfurd's bumburdment, he mighty nur forgot his religion an' his hat."

The uncle in reply to one of Alfred's keenest thrusts permitted his anger to get the better of his judgment. He reflected strongly upon Alfred's father and the manner in which he had reared Alfred and concluded by declaring that he, Alfred, had been a disgrace to the entire family and that if his parents were powerless to control him "we'll take a hand in it."

The entrance of the mother into the verbal battle at this juncture was so sudden, so earnest, so swift, that Uncle Ned left the house, almost forgetting his hat. The mother ended the scene by turning on Alfred: "You have almost broken my heart, you are a constant source of trouble and worry to me and as if that were not sufficient, your father's people must force themselves into our affairs as they always have done since I married into the family. Now if you have promised this man to go with him, if you have accepted money from him, you keep your word, you go and I will stand between your father and you insofar as any of his family are concerned. You go with this man until the money you owe him is paid; then you come straight home. If you do not it will only be the worse for you, I will send Rease Lynch, the Constable, and have him bring you home."

Alfred's elation by the victory over the uncle was not lowered in the least by the fact that the mother's consent was given only to emphasize her displeasure at the interference of the father's folks.

Eli was positively informed that Alfred would be compelled to return home if the mother sent for him; that he was only permitted to leave home that he might discharge the debt.

Eli suddenly recalled the fact that he had advanced Alfred one dollar and seventy-five cents. He realized that it would not require many days of labor ere the debt would be cancelled. He therefore suddenly decided to make a further advance of money on behalf of Alfred's services and, to make it more binding, pay the money to the mother.

Cousin Charley interfered with this plan by calling Alfred aside and whispering: "If Eli goes over to your house and gives Aunt Mary any money, and she sees he's been drunk, she'll hist him higher then Gilroy's kite. You better let him gin it tu Lin." And so it was arranged.

Eli went to Lin, saying: "Mrs. Linn, I owe Alfred thirty dollars. He's a minor. I do not want to pay him the money as I know it is not legal, so I told him I'd give it to his mother, she can do as she likes about it. But if I wus her, I'd keep it; he will git enough to do him, he's a good boy, he don't drink, smoke or chew. I wouldn't have a drinkin' man in my troupe. I didn't know his mother was out. When will she be back? Well, Mrs. Linn, you jus sign this receipt, it will be all the same. Now there's thirty dollars and here's a dollar for you to buy yourself some sugar kisses. No, no, sign his mother's name, not yours. Now, good-bye, Mrs. Linn. I forgot to ask, are you any relation to the Linns out on Redstone. Well, I thought not, you're too good lookin'. If I wern't married I'd be after you."

Lin opened the door, she jerked her head toward the opening, as she said: "Now, say, does yer muther know yere' out? Run along sonny. Don't git mushy."

Lin reckoned: "The reason Eli wouldn't tulerate drinkin' peepul in his trupe is bekus he is afeared the supply will run out."

Alfred calling on Mr. Steele to pay the note, produced a roll of bills. Mr. Steele smiled approvingly. Counting out three ten dollar greenbacks, the boy requested the tanner to figure up the interest on the note.

"There's no interest to pay and there's no note to pay; here is the cancelled note paid in full." As the man pushed the note toward the boy he was written in red ink across the face, "Paid", and also the date.

Alfred demurred. "No, Mr. Steele, I never paid the note, I won't have it that way."

"Well," replied the tanner, "I am not in the habit of taking that which is not coming to me. A friend of yours called sometime ago and informed me that he owed you money and that you was desirous of paying off the note."

"Joe Thornton!" guessed Alfred, without a moment's hesitation.

"Yes, he was the man. How did Mr. Thornton know that I held your note?"

"Well, that's where I broke my word with you, but I couldn't very well get around it. I did Mr. Thornton a favor, he told me he wanted to reward me. I told him I was in trouble, I owed money and I had no way to pay it and I would apply whatever he gave me on the note. He gave me an order for a suit of clothes but he never mentioned the note. I am as much surprised as you; I never dreamed he would pay the note for me."

"Then you did not borrow the money from Thornton?"

"No sir, I did not."

"Well, I would not contract the borrowing habit. The borrower is always a servant to the lender."

The mother was troubled. "How did it come that Eli paid for services in advance? Others never paid their employes until they performed their labor."

Alfred airily informed her that it was the custom in the show business to pay in advance, that is, the good actors always drew their pay in advance. In fact, he assured the mother that it was the only way to keep good actors, keep them in debt to you; even then, sometimes, they'll run off with another troupe.

"Well, what do you purpose doing with this money Mr. Eli left here for you?" enquired the mother.

"Oh, I want you to keep it for me. I'm going to send you all my money; you use whatever you please, use it all if you want to."

"I will keep this money for you," she said, "something seems to tell me you will need it later on."

Lin allowed that Alfred would never need money thereafter. "Ef ye git a good start ye'll jes hev cords of greenbacks, an' I believe yere on the right road. I jes tol' yer muther, I ses, 'Mary,' ses I, 'Alfurd ain't fit fer nuthin' only minstrel showin', he's gittin' more un more like a nigger every day.'"

The mother did not relish the compliment. Lin advised that Alfred keep up his clownish pranks, "then ye kin nigger hit in winter an' clown hit in summer."

Alfred declared that if he attained his hopes and ambitions, inside of ten years he would be the possessor of a farm and live on it the remainder of his days. In his boyish buoyancy he grew enthusiastic; he pictured how Mother and Pap would enjoy country life.

Alfred knew the mother had confidence in him, no matter how strongly she opposed his ways. He knew she had faith in him and it has been the saddest regret of his life that she was not permitted to remain on earth until his boyish dreams were fully realized.

A few days later Alfred was seated on all his earthly possessions, a hair trunk with big brass tack heads as ornaments, in a big heavy wagon, waving a last good-bye to mother, Lizzie, Joe, the baby and Lin.

Lin shouted as the wagon moved off: "Good luck! Good-bye! I know ye'll bring the koon skin hum."

It was twelve miles to Bealsville on the pike. The big wagon, the small trunks and big boys were too much of a load for the two ordinary horses. The minstrels walked up the hills to lighten the load.

"Handy Andy," Alfred's favorite farce, in which he impersonated the character of the awkward negro who breaks the dishes, was the closing number on the program. Alfred, always a stickler for natural effects, prevailed upon one of the boys to borrow his mother's china tea set. For safety these dishes were carried in a large carpet-sack.



When the edge of town was reached the team was urged into a smart trot that the advent of the troupe might appear business-like. The minstrels were instructed as to the proper manner in which to conduct themselves that they might appear experienced in traveling—jump out of the wagon, carry their belongings, entering the tavern briskly, "and ask fer licker," added the old stage driver who had been an attentive listener to the instructions.

At the edge of town the team was halted to freshen them up for the finish. The minstrels perched themselves picturesquely on the trunks, posing as if for a photograph. The old horses were urged into a trot by jerking and slapping the lines and wielding the whip. The pace was kept up until the tavern was reached.

Charley Guttery, the landlord, was there to greet the minstrels. Mrs. Guttery was a Davis before marriage, the sister of Uncle Bill's wife. Therefore, Alfred was welcomed by the entire family.

All jumped out of the wagon except Tom White; he began unloading the parcels, tossing them on the sidewalk. Out came the carpet-sack loaded with chinaware. It struck the ground with a crash.

"There goes mother's china teapot smashed all to h—ll," piteously whimpered the boy who furnished the dishes. He began to climb into the wagon, vowing he would throw Tom White out quicker than he threw his mother's teapot out. Tom was ready for fight and Eli had all he could do to keep the boys apart.

All this was great amusement for the natives. "Let 'em go," one shouted, "Let 'em fight; we'd ruther see the fight then yer show."

The large room of the tavern was filled with minstrels and town folks. "Purty long ride ye hed fur such a big load," remarked one towner. Ere Alfred could reply, a big gawk chimed in with: "By the dust on their britches laigs I callerate they didn't ride much." Then all the crowd laughed.

The pike was very dusty and the minstrels showed the effects of their contact with it. "Well, ef they haint got a good show we'll gin 'em a ride they won't furgit. Yes, an' the rail'll be three cornered. How many monkeys has they?" yelled another. Then came quickly, "I dunno, I haint counted 'em yit." This sally brought the biggest laugh yet heard.

Alfred's blood was boiling; he could stand it no longer. His fist shot out and immediately there were legs and arms sprawling all over the floor; the crowd trampled each other as they stampeded, all endeavoring to exit through the one door at the same time. Once outside, several of them, more bold than the others, began making threats and movements to re-enter and bring Alfred out. At this juncture the old stage driver and Eli waded into them and soon there was not one of the rowdies to be seen.

Alfred was hustled upstairs and into a room and ordered to remain quiet until further developments. The constable was soon on the scene with warrants for Eli and the old driver. They were taken before a justice of the peace and, by the advice of Mr. Guttery, they requested a continuance of the case until the following morning. This was granted.

A few moments later, three or four of the minstrels were arrested. Not one of them had engaged in the disturbance; they demanded an immediate trial, feeling certain of acquittal. No evidence was offered as to their participation in the fight. Several residents of the town swore positively that none of the accused had engaged in the row in any way. One witness testified that they had just stood around doing nothing. This he emphasized by repeating at intervals in his testimony, "They just stood around doing nothing."

The evidence all in, the justice of the peace addressed them somewhat as follows: "You have been arrested charged with disturbing the peace. The evidence goes to show that you are not guilty of that crime; therefore, on that count I will discharge you, the borough to pay the costs. But it appears by the testimony of one of your own witnesses, one of our most reliable citizens that you were standing around doing nothing. Therefore, I will fine you two dollars each and costs for loitering."

By the advice of the landlord the costs were paid by Mr. Eli and the fines were to be paid the next morning when the other cases were called.

The minstrels that night were slimly attended.

In the middle of the night Alfred was rudely disturbed by someone awakening him. "Git up, git up, quick! We've got to git out of this town or it'll take all the money I've got to square the fight you started yesterday. Git up quick!"

It was Eli's voice and he was very thick tongued; he had been up all night. The team was harnessed and hitched to the wagon. The landlord was there to see the sleepy minstrels off. The last good-byes were scarcely spoken ere the door of the big room was closed by the landlord and the lights put out. It was inky dark to Alfred as he sat on the high seat by the driver and heartily wished himself home.

It came out later that the landlord and one or two others advised Eli to get the minstrels into Greene County ere the eyes of the law opened the next morning. Hence the 3 a. m. exodus.

Arriving at Carmichael's Town after a long and tiresome ride, the minstrels found Tom Kerr, the jolly landlord of the tavern, with a dinner ready that changed their minds from gloom to gayety.

The minstrels were well advertised. Winn Kerr, Lias and Dee Flannigan had witnessed their entertainment previously, hence the town turned out to welcome them. Wealth flowed in upon Eli and all went merry as a dinner bell. But Eli had great difficulty in tearing himself away from old and new found friends.

The regular minstrel wagon was not large enough to carry Eli the next morning, consequently Jim Kerr carried Alfred and Eli to Waynesburg in a private rig. Again the crowd was too large for the courthouse; again Eli made friends who detained him after the departure of the troupe. Alfred refused to remain behind with Eli but left with the minstrel boys.

Eli failed to arrive in the next town in time to open the doors. The crowd was more than ample to fill the hall. Alfred took the door and made settlement of bills. Eli arrived during the night. The next morning Alfred and two others advised Mr. Eli that they had received word from home that their engagement with the minstrels must end.

When Eli came to his senses he appealed to Alfred to explain why they had decided to quit. Alfred said: "Because you have been drunk ever since the show left Brownsville and the boys are afraid you will not pay them."

That night Eli invited all the company to meet him in his room at the tavern. By the time the boys arrived Eli was so saturated he forgot that which he desired to say to them. Instead he insisted on drinking with each one individually, he scorned to drink with the company as a whole.

"I want you all to know me. If you want money, I've got slathers of it."

All wanted money and they got it. And they spent it. Gaudy bows and ties, striped shirts, congress shoes and other dependables never possessed by the wearers previously, began to make their appearance. Eli was voted the best ever. Those who had threatened to leave because Eli imbibed too freely were termed Methodists and back-biters.

Fairmount reached, the old stage driver and his team left for home. From this point the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad was to be the mode of travel, a change hailed with delight. Some began figuring on how many days it would be until the minstrels invaded Baltimore.

Two nights were played at Fairmount; the first night a large, well pleased audience attended. More invitations to Eli's room, more liquor ladled out and more money handed around to the company. On the second night there was a very light attendance; a long hunt to find Eli ere bills could be paid and the company could move on to Grafton. Eli had decided to remain in Fairmount until the next train.

Morgan, the advance agent, accompanied the minstrels to Grafton. Morgan took the night's receipts. The next morning he could not be located nor did Eli make his appearance. The minstrels watched and waited; the day wore along. Finally, it was decided that the performance would be repeated that night.

A man walked over the town, ringing a bell as he went. Halting at short intervals he loudly announced the second exhibition of the minstrels at early candle light. The landlord of the tavern volunteered to look after the financial end of the enterprise. After the exhibition he called the boys together and advised that after his bill and other expenses were deducted, there would be enough left to pay their railroad fare to Fairmount and that they would probably find Eli there.

Arriving at Fairmount it was learned that Eli had left for Baltimore the night before. It came to light that Morgan had left on the same train, boarding it as it passed through Grafton. Some members of the company contended that Eli had gone on to Baltimore to arrange for their coming and that they would hear from him or see him soon. Others, that he had left for good.

The four musicians, men who had seen more of the world than the ambitious amateurs, boarded a train for Wheeling. Alfred decided that he and his followers would make their way to New Geneva and there board the boat for home. Loading their few belongings, including Alfred's hair trunk with the brass tack ornaments, into a farm wagon drawn by two big bay mules, the homeward journey was begun. Not in dejection, as one might imagine, the boys were too full of spirit to be cast down greatly. One or two began to fret but the jibes of the others soon had all in good humor.

The roads through the hilly, muddy country were not as firm as those previously traversed, a contingency the boys had not taken into consideration. At times the mules were unable to move the wagon, even though all the minstrels were pushing or prying to the extent of their muscular power. Instead of dust, as on the first day out, the minstrels were covered with mud, from shoes to hats.

Arriving at New Geneva, mud bespattered, tired and hungry, they congregated on the old wharf boat until the steamer was heard coming below the bend. When the boat hove in sight, her prow cutting the water, it was the most welcome sight Alfred ever remembered witnessing. Safely aboard, it was found that not in the whole party was there enough money to pay the fares to Brownsville. Therefore deck passage had to be taken and without meals.

George Warner, the colored steward, knew every one of the boys. One by one they were smuggled into the pantry and a meal that was never excelled given each one.

It was two o'clock in the morning when the boat touched at Brownsville. Alfred determined to carry his trunk home with him. Hoisting it on his broad shoulders he began the walk up the hill homewards; every little ways lowering the burden to the ground, he would seat himself upon it pondering as to the tale to tell of the ignominious ending of his dream of prosperity. He thought of Lin's parting words: "I hope ye bring the koon skin hum," and he could not suppress his laughter.

He brought the big iron knocker down rather lightly, hoping only Lin would hear it. He did not care to face his father or mother until he got a little more courage. Again the knocker was raised and lowered, a little louder than before. The window sash above was raised and the father's voice, gruffer than Alfred had heard it in a long time, demanded, "Who's there?"

Alfred hesitated to give his name.

"Who's there?" louder and more gruffly than before, impelled the boy to answer: "It's me."

"Who's me?" came from the window quickly.

"Oh, come on down, Pap, let me in. It's me, Pap, don't you know me?"

Alfred was so crestfallen and ashamed that he could not bear to speak his own name. "In a minute, Alfred," came in a more kindly tone as the father's head was withdrawn from the window. Then the father's voice was heard informing the mother, "The boy's back."

It flashed through the boy's mind that the conditions that brought him home so unexpectedly were known only to himself and he could stave off unpleasant explanations for a time at least.

The door opened, the father shook his hand heartily. "How are you? How have you been? We've been expecting you. How did you get out of the trouble in Bealsville? The Clipper says you were all jerked up and slid out between two days."

The mother and all the children were up. Lin insisted on setting out a pie and making a hot cup of coffee. Alfred was highly complimented that he had kept his promise to return. Alfred accepted the praises with a conscience stricken feeling that kept him miserable under his assumed gaiety.

The first time Lin and Alfred were alone in the kitchen, she turned full on him as she asked in a deeply interested way: "How much did ye make outen yere trip?"

The question was so direct and without warning that Alfred dropped his gaze and began stammering. Lin continued: "There's somethin' ded about yer; I smelled a mice the minnit I seen yer face. Jes let hit out, ye'll feel better. I'll help ye. Where's Eli? Where's the other boys?"

Alfred gave Lin the whole miserable story, neither adding to it nor concealing anything. Lin summed up the matter thus: "Ef ye're out enything ye kin sue Eli. His muther'll settle."

They figured it up, Alfred was a little in Eli's debt. "Then what ye palaverin' 'bout, ye've done all right?"

"But it's the disappointment of the thing, the way it wound up and it looked so promising," whined Alfred.

"Well, ef ye never git hit harder then Eli hit ye, ye'll need no poultices," consoled Lin. "Why don't ye gin Redstone Skule-house another try? Charley Wagner an' everybody else sed ef ye'd go back that ye'd make all back ye wus shy afore."

Alfred was on his way in less time than it takes to record it, notifying the boys that they would go to Redstone School-house next Saturday night. The school-house secured, the music was the next important matter. Charley Wagner had a sore throat, so he informed Alfred. All others approached were affected in the same way. It looked very much as if the exhibition would have to be given up.

Cousin Charley suggested that Alfred go to Merrittstown and hire the blind Hostetler family. All were blind excepting John, who had one eye. There were three brothers and a sister—two violins, a double bass violin, the girl sang and in time with the music manipulated two large corn-cobs, much in the manner of a minstrel's cracking the bones. A contract was entered into with the family whereby they were to receive ten dollars for the night, and their suppers.

The school-house was packed, there was some thirty-seven dollars in all. When the performance was nearing the end, Cousin Charley made his way behind the curtain and in a whisper informed Alfred that the constable had seized all the money and properties of the minstrels and that he, Alfred, was to be arrested and put in jail. Alfred's acting was not so spirited as in the opening. Those who were aware of the load that oppressed him, sympathized and condoned with him until he was nearly unmanned.

The suit came up before a justice of the peace. Eli's creditors had an attorney, Alfred and the minstrels had none. The plea that Eli was not interested in the venture, that it was Alfred's show, was offset by the fact that Alfred, in his dealings, informed every one that the show belonged to Eli. And there was the advertising matter. Did not all bear the words, "Eli, Owner and Manager." Alfred had designedly and against his pride ordered Eli's name placed on the bills to relieve himself of all responsibility and worry.

The evidence was conclusive. At least that's what the lawyer, Isaac Bailey, said. Lin said: "It was boun' to go agin Alfurd. Limpy Bailey cud make black white an' Squire Wilkinson's agin' evurythin' but the Methudis' Church."

There were numerous little bills unpaid, including five dollars to the blind family. Chapters of truths and unfounded rumors, were in the mouths of the gossips as to how the troupe stranded in West Virginia, compelled to walk home, traveling as deck passengers on the steamboat. It even went the rounds that they would have starved if George Warner had not fed them surreptitiously on their way home.

Alfred was crestfallen. He was ashamed to visit his old haunts in the town. He evolved plan after plan only to be persuaded by Lin to abandon them as soon as they were broached to her. The father rubbed salt into his wounded feelings at every reference he made to the minstrel business and the lowness of those connected with it, holding Eli up as a terrible example of what minstrel life would bring a man to.

Berated, brow-beaten, driven to the wall, Alfred answered his father in kind following one of his most bitter arraignments of show people: "Father, what are you talking about? Something you know nothing of. Eli was not a showman, not a minstrel man. He was only with an amateur minstrel show eight days. Nothing in his associations made him lower than he was before he left."

"Then why did you go with him?" sternly demanded the parent.

"I wanted to make money."

"Yes, you wanted to make trouble and disgrace for your poor mother and myself," was the father's rejoinder.

"How sorry I am I did not do differently. How sorry I am that this ever happened and I planned it all so differently. I felt I was protecting myself and I'm into it deeper than before." Thus would Alfred reason with himself.

But the judgment of regret is a silent witness of the heart to the conviction that some things are inevitable. With Alfred it was a confession hard to make—another battle lost that seemed won. The words, "disgrace to the family, to your mother and myself," kept ringing in his ears and he resolved to leave the town, go to the oil regions, go west, go anywhere, get rich, come back and make his people retract all their cruel reflections.

Lin adjured him to "furgit the sore spot; es long es ye pick hit, it'll never heal. Why, ye cud go to Capt. Abrams, Sammy Steele ur Joe Thornton an' borry enuf to pay every durn cent ye owe; though ye don't owe nuthin', everybody ses so thet knows enythin' bout hit. Thet Eli's in fur hit all. He ought to pay hit. Thur's thet blin' family, he'll nefer hev no luck ef he don't pay 'em."

This allusion to the blind family was the last stone. Alfred felt that he and he alone was responsible for the amount due the blind family. This obligation brought him more regrets than all his troubles. He crept upstairs, he fell on his knees and prayed, yes, prayed fervently, earnestly. No penitent, no prisoner, no saint, no sinner ever beseeched guidance and assistance with a more contrite heart.

It was announced that Uncle Thomas was to preach to the young people of his congregation. Alfred went early. He was ill at ease. He imagined all the congregation gazing at him and when two or more bent their heads and whispered, he imagined that it was he who was under discussion.

The song services ended, the minister arose, opened the Bible and very slowly read the text selected—"Honor thy father and thy mother." Raising his eyes from the book, looking over the congregation as if to select some one to whom to direct his words, he repeated, "Honor thy father and mother, which is the first commandment with promise. Honor thy father and mother, that it may be well with thee, and that thou mayest live long on earth."

Then followed a lengthy discourse as to the duties of children to their parents.

As the sermon progressed, the preacher said: "Rebuke not an elder but entreat him as a father. Rebuke not an elder but treat all your elders with that respect you would others should exhibit toward your parents. Show me the young man who is disrespectful to his parents or elders, disregards their admonitions and I will show you a boy who is without the pale of content."

Uncle Tom seemed to look straight at Alfred as he let fall the words. Alfred felt sure that he referred to the quarrel between himself and Uncle Ned.

In the next quotation Alfred was slightly reassured: "An angry man stirreth up strife and aboundeth in transgressions, for he that is slow to anger is better than the mighty and he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city."

Alfred said to himself, he is touching up Uncle Ned. He wanted to turn his head around to see how the Uncle took his medicine, but the preacher had his attention. Alfred was sitting erect, looking straight at the speaker. His attitude seemed to say: "If you are going to hit them all I can stand it but don't hold me up as a lone example of all that's sinful in this congregation."

Then the speaker waded into the popular frivolities of the times; cards, dice, gambling, drinking, dancing and other pastimes. As Alfred was immune from all of the above sins he sat up still more straight and even ventured to look around at some of the society young folks of the congregation. He began to feel that Uncle Tom was a very good preacher.

After a moment's pause as if to pull himself together for the final onslaught upon all that was sinful, the preacher resumed: "I do not hesitate for a moment to condemn show life and all who are aware of its iniquity that engage in it. The circus, the theatre, the actors therein, the proprietors, those who, for sordid gain, place these terrible temptations before our young people." Alfred felt himself sinking in the pew. "I do not hesitate to condemn the theatre as one of the broadest roads that leads to destruction. Fascinating no doubt to the young of susceptible and impressionable feelings, on that account all the more dangerous. Show life is a delusion. It holds out hopes never realized; it poisons the mind and diseases the soul; it takes innocence and happiness and repays with suffering and misery. It separates families; it desolates homes; it makes wanderers on the face of the earth of those who are allured to it. Once let a young man acquire a taste for show life and yield himself up to its wicked gratifications; that young man is in great danger of losing his reputation. He is rushing headlong to certain ruin."

Alfred was sitting straight up. His cheeks burned like fire but there was no shame in his face, he even looked about him; he met the gaze of those who stared and held it until the eyes of the others dropped.

The preacher continued: "All the evils that can blight a young life, waste his property, corrupt his morals, blast his hopes, impair his health and wreck his soul, lurk in the purlieus of this abominated show life that is threatening some of the best beloved and most talented of our young people. Folly consists in drawing false conclusions from just principles; and that is what the theatre does. Men may live fools but fools they cannot die. The instruction of fools is folly; therefore, the actor cannot teach wisdom or morality. He that refuseth instruction despiseth his own soul; but he that heareth reproof getteth understanding."

The parting admonition, delivered to the young people in general and, Alfred felt, to himself in particular, was: "Choose a good name; a good name is rather to be chosen than great riches and loving favor rather than silver and gold."

Alfred felt that the latter part of the sermon was directed at his ambitions to become a clown, get rich and buy a farm. He wondered who had informed the preacher of his ambitions.

When the congregation stood up and sang, Alfred's voice could be heard above those around him. When the plate was passed he placed his last dollar on the coppers and dimes on it.

When the minister requested that all the young people who desired the prayers of the congregation for their future guidance, stand up, Alfred remained seated. There was no contriteness in his heart; no impression had been made upon him. He forgot his surroundings; he felt no embarrassment that all stared at him, their looks seeming to say: "Well, how did you like it? Hit you pretty hard, did it not?"

Alfred forgot the sermon, forgot the surroundings; other thoughts swayed his mind. "I'll make Uncle Tom, I'll make this congregation, I'll make this whole town acknowledge my worth. I've not done anything I'm ashamed of." Then the five dollars he owed the blind family flashed upon his mind. "I'll pay them, I'll pay every cent I owe."