"Think you're strikin' a one-horse town?" inquired Mr. Poth with asperity.
"We-all are a troupe"—he seemed to force bravado into his boyish voice—"and we're all right people, too. We belong to Frohman's company over at New York, but the season's closed and we're doin' this for our health."
"'Twon't be good for your health if you're as bum as the last Frohman troupe what showed here," responded Mr. Poth candidly. "Air you comedy or tragedy?"
"We runs the gamut."
"Oh, acrobats! Well, they takes pretty well here. I leases the op'ry-house; so you can come around and see me after you make camp."
As the boy lifted the lines a hollow cough came from the interior of the wagon and a look of disapproval came over the landlord's face.
"Lunger," he said laconically.
The turn of the wagon disclosed through the opening in the rear, a tall young man, gaunt to emaciation, while, lying in the bottom, sound asleep with her head on a bag of
