Never, probably, in the many representations of "The Lady of Lyons" has there been a stranger tableau than was presented on the stage in Amaranth Hall on the evening when Leslie made his dÉbut as a star.

Leslie stood in the centre of the stage, with his arm encircling the waist of the fair Ida, while Otto, short, stout, and decidedly Teutonic, stood a few feet to the left, shaking his fist at the two leading characters. It was enough to throw a veteran actor into confusion.

But Leslie was not wholly unprepared. Still encircling the fair Pauline's waist, he half turned and thundered in indignant words not to be found in Bulwer's play this stern defiance: "Caitiff, avaunt! This rock shall fly from its firm base as soon as I."

The melodramatic defiance caught the house. There was a chorus of shouts and laughter, and some small boys in the gallery called out, "Pitch into him, Claude!"

Otto, not being accustomed to standing on a stage facing a crowded audience, appeared somewhat abashed, but his indignation was still warm. He turned to the audience and said, in an explanatory tone, "He ain't got no right to hug my gal."

By this time Ida, too, was indignant. She felt that Otto was exposing both her and himself to ridicule, and she cried out, in a vexed tone, "You just sit down, Otto Schaefer, and don't make a fool of yourself, or I'll never speak to you again."

"Sit down! sit down!" resounded from all parts of the house.

Otto could not stand the clamor. With one last indignant glance at Leslie and his promised bride he descended from the stage and made his way to his seat in the orchestra.

When Leslie, resuming the business of the play, said, "Look up! look up, Pauline! for I can bear thine eyes. The stain is blotted from my name. I have redeemed mine honor," there was a shout of applause.

Then Leslie, perceiving his opportunity, interpolated a few words appropriate to the occasion. Pointing to the discomfited Otto, he said, "Heed not that vulgar groundling, who would step in between us and our happiness. Let him return in shame and failure to his butcher shop in Brooklyn, nor dare profane thy presence, sweet Pauline."

Otto felt that this was addressed to him, and he called out in a passion: "Don't you call me names, you New York dude!"

Here a policeman appeared, and hurried the unfortunate man from the hall, and the play proceeded to the close.

At the end Claude and Pauline were called before the curtain by the excited audience. The applause was terrific. Then there was a cry of "Speech! speech!"

Nothing could have suited Leslie better.

"My generous friends," he said, "this is the proudest moment of my life. I don't feel that I have merited your applause, but I accept it for the fair Pauline. If my poor efforts have pleased you I am more than satisfied. I did not anticipate the unpleasant interruption which marred our closing scene, but Miss Strassburger and myself were sustained by the thought that you were with us. Trusting to meet you again ere long, I bid you good-night."

There was another chorus of cheers. Leslie led Ida out at the wings, and the audience left the hall.

"What did you think of it, Rupert?" asked Leslie proudly, as he joined his fellow bell-boy in the street.

"I give you credit for getting out of a tight place so neatly."

"I was too much for the butcher boy, eh, Rupert?"

"You certainly were," said Rupert, laughing. "I hope Ida will forgive him."

"I think she will after a while, as long as he didn't spoil the play. The audience were very enthusiastic."

"Yes, more so probably on account of Otto's ill-timed interruption."

"So I think. It was a splendid ovation. Oh, Rupert, it was delicious. It was, as I said, the proudest moment of my life. I wonder if there will he anything in the papers about it."

"I think it quite likely."

"You didn't see anything of Daly or Palmer in the hall, did you?"

"I don't know the gentlemen by sight."

"I wish they had been there. I think they would have appreciated my triumph over the young butcher from Brooklyn."

"Perhaps they would," said Rupert, dubiously.

The next evening Leslie read the following notice in the Evening News:

"Last evening Bulwer's play, 'The Lady of Lyons' was produced by the Violet Dramatic Company at Amaranth Hall, on First Avenue. The performance was smooth and creditable to the young players. Mr. Leslie Waters as Claude Melnotte, was earnest and effective, while Miss Ida Strassburger made an acceptable Pauline. Towards the close of the play an excitable young German, who was probably under the influence of beer, left his seat, and, jumping on the stage, interrupted the performance. He appeared to be jealous of Melnotte's attentions to Pauline. Mr. Waters showed remarkable composure in a trying situation, and interpolated a rebuke to the officious intruder. The audience sustained him, and he and Miss Strassburger were called before the curtain with terrific applause. We shall doubtless hear from Mr. Waters again."

"That is very complimentary, Leslie," said Rupert. "I hope it won't unfit you for your duties as bell-boy."

"No, but it will make me impatient to close them for good and all, and embrace the glorious profession of Booth and Irving."