All hands, at Handy's request, turned in early, as he was determined to make an early start down the Sound. He had not yet decided where his next stand should be. The selection lay between Stonington and New London. If fortune continued to favor him he felt confident of accomplishing something worth seeking for in either place. There were certain reasons, however, why one of them should be steered clear of; but Handy's memory as to names was somewhat vague, so he resolved to sleep on the thought before he determined on his course.

Handy was the first man up and stirring next morning. The others, however, were not far behind. The wind was favorable and the indications were all that a sailor could wish for. After a hearty breakfast the anchor was weighed and the Gem was once more under way, with all sails set. The Little 'Un was somewhat timorous and apprehensive of a repetition of the trouble that overcame him the night before they played the Long Island town on the circus man's paper, but he appeared to be satisfied by Handy's assurance that it never stormed on the Sound in the daylight. His looks indicated that he had doubts as to the truth of the assurance.

The run down the Sound was uneventful. There was no one sick on board, and all were in a cheerful mood when they came to anchor in the Thames River, off New London, the town in which Handy finally determined next to try his fortune. The company had been out at this time nearly two weeks. Though all its members were strong and hearty, their sunburnt looks and somewhat dilapidated apparel did not contribute to the elegance of their personal appearance. Most of them looked like well-seasoned tramps. Handy recognized this. He also knew that though the Nutmeg State was at that time regarded as a paradise of tramps, the inhabitants did not, as a rule, take kindly to the knights of the road. This may be uncharitable and unchristianlike, but people have got to accept the situation as they find it.

No one went ashore until after nightfall. Then Handy and Smith made a landing in the small boat, and surveyed the situation. An available vacant lot was picked out. Ascertaining there was to be an agricultural fair there the following Thursday, that night was selected for the Strollers' next effort. On the prospectors' return to the vessel a council of war was held, at which the plan of operations and course of action were freely discussed.

"It won't do," said Handy, "to try them on 'Uncle Tom,' and I hardly think they'd stand for 'Humpty Dumpty' as we give it. I've been here in the good old summer days before many a time and oft, and I am conversant with the kind of audience we've got to stack up against. On mature reflection, I have come to the conclusion that a variety or vaudeville entertainment this trip will be most likely to appeal to their sensibilities. Song and dance, imitations of celebrated histrionic celebrities, coon acts, legerdemain exhibitions, the famous Indian box trick, and——"

"Easy there," interrupted the dwarf. "Who's goin' to do the box trick?"

"Why, you, of course," replied Handy.

"Not on your life. Count me out on that stunt, Mister Manager. New London is a seaport town. There are vessels in port and sailors on shore. My Newport experience has taught me a lesson. The sailor men there tied me up so darned tight that you'll never get me to undertake any such job as that again within a hundred miles of seawater."

"But——"

"No buts about it. I know when I've had enough. Skip me."

"Then I'll do the act myself," retorted Handy, with a slight exhibition of feeling.

"K'rect, old man. You're welcome to the stunt. I pass every time when there's any rope-tying business in a seawater town."

"Smith, you can give them a banjo solo, do a clog dance, and afterwards wrestle with your celebrated imitations you know so well, and do so badly, of John Drew, Dave Warfield, Nat Goodwin, Sarah Bernhardt, and Sir Henry Irving."

"But I never saw Irving or Bernhardt," interposed Smith.

"Neither did the audience. What's the matter with you? And for a wind-up you can give them a stump speech, and I'll bill you as Lew Dockstader, second. We have got to make up our programme, please remember. If you don't want to take a shy at Dockstader, name someone else equally prominent. It's all the same to me. When I do that Indian box trick I propose to bill myself as Hermann XI. Darn it, man, we have to have names! This company, bear in mind, is made up of an all-star cast."

"All right then, say no more," said Smith.

"Say," continued Handy, addressing the ambitious young man of the troupe, "don't you think you could manage to take off Billy Crane? And give them some exhibitions of his genius in scenes from his many-sided repertory, and we'll star you on the bills."

"Excuse me," replied the comparatively juvenile and promising artist, "but might I inquire who is going to look after my wife and the kid if that New London congregation should tumble to the joke? No, sir. Mr. Crane, permit me to inform you, is a fearless and experienced yachtsman; every hair in his head, nautically speaking, is a rope yarn. He is, as well, a good actor, and New London is a yachting port. Not on your life! Billy Crane is too well known here, so in justice to my physical welfare I must decline the honor of being so presented."

"Well, gentlemen," returned Handy somewhat dejectedly, "these unseasonable, frivolous, and unbusinesslike objections are really disheartening and unworthy of a conscientious member of the histrionic calling. Let me tell you that you are the first actor I ever heard of ever having declined the distinction of being elevated to the position of a star. In the words of the immortal bard, 'Can such things be and overcome us like a summer's dream without our special wonder?' Go to. Were it not that my hair is red and I have no suitable wig—and what would Sweet William be without a wig?—I'd do Crane myself."

After further discussion on minor details the programme was arranged for Thursday night. The next day posters were in evidence all through the town. The fair grounds were literally strewn with handbills. Handy was a great believer in printer's ink, and he used his paper with a lavish hand. The show was announced for two nights—Thursday and Saturday. The variety entertainment was billed for Thursday night, and "Pinafore," with an all-star cast, was promised for Saturday evening. The company had no knowledge about the "Pinafore" scheme. When Handy was questioned about it, he satisfied his questioners with the assurance that it was all right, and he would explain matters later on. His assurance was sufficient. The company knew their man.

Wednesday night the tent was put up. That day Handy succeeded, for a consideration, in inducing the country band that played during the day at the fair to perform a like office for his show at night, and do the duty of an orchestra for the performance.

The afternoon of the day of the show an unexpected storm loomed up, which threatened the enterprise with destruction. It seems that Handy had visited New London before with a somewhat similar venture, and had been compelled by financial circumstances which he was unable to control to depart the town in a hurry, leaving behind him an unpaid printer's bill. Now a slight omission of that character very easily escaped Handy's memory. The printer, on the contrary, being a thoughtful man, on finding that Handy was the manager of the new all-star theatrical outfit, made his appearance with the sheriff and a writ of attachment. For a time the aspect of affairs was anything but cheering. The printer was as mad as the traditional hatter. Fortunately the sheriff, who was an old Bowery man in days past, and a pretty decent and sympathetic kind of a fellow, discovered in Handy an old acquaintance, and magnanimously came to the rescue and volunteered to help him out of his difficulties. The kind-hearted official guaranteed the payment of the printer's bill, to be taken out of the first receipts that came in at the box office. This arrangement being mutually agreed upon, the preliminary work progressed actively.

The night brought a crowd, composed mainly of the country people who had attended the fair. It was the biggest, best natured, and most easily entertained audience a theatrical company ever played to. There were more bucolic auditors gathered together in the tent than the troupe had seen previously. Handy had the country band well in hand. He made them play down the main street and parade up to the tent. Then he got them inside and astonished his auditors with such a liberal manifestation of music that those present could not well decide whether they had come to listen to a concert or have an opportunity to see the real "theayter" actors. Handy evidently was determined to furnish them with music sufficient to last them until the next Fair day. The band played so long that the town element among the audience became somewhat unwelcomely demonstrative.

The curtain at last arose, and the variety portion of the entertainment began. The tent was well filled,—the front rows of seats being unpleasantly near the stage. The minstrel act in the first part was something unique and original. The country people took it seriously, but the town contingent, recognizing the fake element, started in to indulge in guying the performers. This incensed the countrymen. They had paid their good money to see the show without being subjected to annoyance from the town fellows. One particularly strenuous young New London dude had his derby smashed by an excited rustic who determined that his Phoebe Ann should enjoy the entertainment even if he himself had to make peace by teaching the city chap the way to behave himself and keep quiet. He evidently meant business and apparently had many friends who were not only ready, but willing, to assist him.

All the acts were short—very short—and between each of the acts there was more music by the band. At length the performance was brought to a close. Before the curtain fell Handy came forward, and, after thanking the audience heartily for the magnificent attendance and generous support, announced that on Saturday evening he would have great pleasure in presenting, providing negotiations in contemplation were perfected, for their consideration, the melodious and tuneful grand comic opera, "Pinafore," in the presentation of which the company would be reinforced by several valuable additions, who were expected to arrive early on Saturday from the Metropolitan Grand Opera House.

"Great Scott—'Pinafore!' You don't mean to say," asked a friend a short time after hearing of Handy's moving adventures by land and water, "you had the nerve to attempt 'Pinafore' with your small band of strolling players, eh?"

"Play 'Pinafore'!" replied the irrepressible Handy, with a smile. "Of course, not. Never intended to. You see this was the situation; and the man who isn't equal to the position in which he places himself is bound to come out at the wrong side of the account book, when he is compelled to settle up. The 'Pinafore' announcement was for the edification of the New Londoners. I recognized the fact that the country people in their innocence and goodness of heart would take kindly to the entertainment we had prepared for them, but for the town chaps it was an altogether different proposition. When I announced 'Pinafore' I felt satisfied they would defer their energies and lay low for the 'Merry, Merry Maiden and the Tar,' determining to have a little fun of their own kind with us on Saturday; but after the performance we struck tent and by early morning we were once more out on the Sound for fresh fields and pastures new."