If the "boys" of New London looked forward to having a good old summer time with Handy and his all-star company the following Saturday evening, they were wofully out in their reckoning. Though "Pinafore" was announced with due managerial formality, perhaps somewhat ambiguous, for that particular occasion, when the time for presentation arrived there was not a vestige of either tent or performers. After the entertainment on the night of the fair the company went aboard the Gem of the Ocean. Handy alone remained ashore. As he had been manager, advance and press agent, and principal performer, he concluded to add another to his many responsibilities and become night watchman. The tent, stage properties, etc., had to be guarded, and he undertook the duties of guardian.

"Let no one turn in until I get aboard," said he to Smith, "and you row ashore in an hour's time. Mind, don't be later than that, and you needn't get here sooner. Tell the boys I have some work for them to do before they lay down to rest. Take a bite and a sup and join me here in an hour."

The two men parted; one with his companions for the boat at the end of the pier and the other to play the part of watchman over his outfit. A few of the town chaps lingered in the neighborhood of the tent.

In the country, as in the city, it is remarkable what a fascinating influence players exercise over young fellows who are ambitious to be regarded as the knowing ones regarding everything appertaining to the playhouse. How glibly the beardlings of the twenties or thereabouts will use the names of actors with whom perhaps they have never exchanged a word, in the silly belief they are raising themselves in the estimation of their auditors. It is an odd conceit, yet it prevails with the would-be fast young men of the present day. To hear some of these mollycoddles prate one who was not acquainted with their weaknesses would imagine these chaps were on intimate terms with players—who, as a rule, are slow to cultivate new acquaintances, attend strictly to their own business, and do not particularly relish that particular class of hanger-on. No man knew this type better than Handy. However, he never antagonized them. That he considered would not be wise policy. He good-naturedly humored them with much superficial gossip that really meant nothing. His good nature never forsook him, and he always had his temper well under control. He knew to a nicety the side his bread was buttered on. That happy-go-lucky disposition of his stood him in good stead many a time, and his free-and-easy manner of drawing people out frequently served as an aid to determine his future course of action. The limited exchange of conversation he had with the loungers satisfied him that he was right in his estimate that there would be a hot time in the old town on Saturday night if he remained. Finally the last dallier had his say, and, after an exchange of cordial good nights, departed.

Smith was at this time about due, and as he was noted for his promptitude, he was on hand to keep his date when the hour expired.

"What's the lay now, Handy, old man?" inquired Smith, as he joined his manager.

"Only this, and nothing more," replied the veteran melodramatically. "There's blood upon the face of the moon, an' blow my buttons, if your Uncle Rube is going to supply the gore. See!"

The answer was not altogether satisfactory, and Smith apparently was unable to grapple with the problem. It puzzled him; but then Handy himself was at all times more or less of a conundrum to him.

"Now then, bear a hand, send the boat back and get the company ashore as speedily as possible. We have a few good hours' work on hand before we turn in."

Smith made quick time, and it was not long before the members of the all-star combination began to materialize out of the obscurity of the night as noiselessly as shadows.

"Say, boys," began Handy, in a low tone of voice confidentially, "we move to-night, and I want you to strike tent, pack and get everything aboard without delay. I'll explain all later on."

"Move to-night!" repeated Smith. "Don't we play here Saturday night?"

"Nary a play," responded the manager.

"But you announced 'Pinafore' from the stage!"

"Of that fact I am well aware," replied Handy, "but don't you know that 'Pinafore' is an opera, and let me further inform you that disappointments in opera are quite the regular thing. In fact, an impresario cannot get along legitimately, my boy, in grand opera or in fact any old kind of opera, without disappointments every now and then. The public expect operatic disappointments. They come naturally, and sometimes come as a godsend. You never can tell when a particular opera is announced what you are going to get."

"Then why don't you substitute something in place of 'Pinafore?'" meekly suggested the Little 'Un.

"Pardon me, my unthinking friend, but you lose sight of the fact that substitutions are always unsatisfactory, if not positively dangerous. Besides, they are strong evidences of weakness. We are nothing if not strong and resourceful. Suppose I substituted 'Faust,' for instance, and announced it with Melba as Marguerite, and suppose again that the famous Astralasian prima donna caught an attack of the American grip that same afternoon, it would hardly do to substitute Marie Cahill or May Irwin to take her place, that is, provided we could have induced either of those distinguished artists to become the great diva's substitute. Oh, no! 'Tis out of the question. But, come, get a move on you. Let us be just to a public that has treated us well."

The members of Handy's company were under good discipline. They were satisfied that he had valid reasons for this sudden change of base, and therefore, went cheerfully to work. Handy himself started for the water-side, and after a brief absence was once more among them, doing the work of two men and encouraging his companions by energetic action and example. Their task was accomplished without the aid of light save that which was afforded them by the bright stars overhead. It was an hour before dawn when everything was placed on board and the tired strollers had gone below to court the rest and repose they both longed for and needed.

"Let her swing out in the stream away from the dock, captain," ordered Handy, when they were ready to start. "The tide is nearly flood and we can drop down the river with the first of the ebb. We can get outside early and then determine where next we'll make for."

"Aye, aye, sir," replied the skipper.