tackle as they stood belligerently waiting for the trouble to begin.
But there were no more turnips for the hollow-chested humorist, or for the now loudly weeping soloist on the stage, and no response to Ben Evans's urgent invitation to use his broad chest as a target.
However, it was plain enough that the "show" was done, that another of "Frohman's Troupes" was a failure. The irate manager of the opera-house was joining with the audience in their denunciation, which was demanding its admission money refunded at the door.
"They'll pay for the hall jest the same," Nan heard him declaring wrathfully. "I'll get it out'n 'em if I have to take their team and wagon."
Mr. Poth's softer side, it seemed, was not for traveling artists.
"You-all better drag it while things has simmered down," Ben was advising the entertainers, while Nan waited with Mrs. Poth for the hall to clear. "I'll see that you get out of town safe."
"We could a done better if they'd have let
