A WELL-TAUGHT LESSON.

So well were Neka and his company received in New York that their engagement was extended from one week to two. It could easily have run a month or six weeks, but it was utterly impossible to get the theatre for that length of time.

Two weeks had been booked by Bindley in Philadelphia, and after finishing up in the metropolis, the company left for the Quaker City on the Pennsylvania Railroad.

The trip was taken on Monday morning, the company leaving at eight o’clock. This would bring them in Philadelphia in time to have dinner and a rehearsal in the afternoon.

On the train a curious incident occurred to Neka, and it is well worth recording, as showing the spirit of independence which was now growing in the lad’s breast.

The company occupied one of the middle cars of the train, and it was almost full when they got aboard. Neka and Wadsworth got a seat together, and directly in front of them a thin, mean-looking traveling drummer occupied a seat alone.

At Newark the train stopped to take on more passengers, and among others was a young woman with a baby in her arms. She tried to find a seat, and the only one vacant was that beside the mean-looking drummer. He saw her, but sat in the very middle of the seat with a bag on each side of him and refused to stir.

“Is that seat----” she began, timidly, but he turned his face about coldly and stared out of the window.

She bit her lip and walking a few steps, prepared to stand up in the aisle, still holding her child in her arms.

“Won’t you take my seat, madam?” asked Neka, politely, as he arose and tipped his hat.

“Oh, I don’t want to deprive you----” she faltered.

“You won’t deprive me. I’ll take the seat ahead,” returned Neka.

The lady with the baby sat down beside Longfellow Wadsworth, and the boy moved ahead.

“I’ll thank you to let me have this seat,” he said to the mean-looking drummer.

At first the man scowled at him and did not reply. Then Neka repeated his request.

“This seat belongs to a man in the smoking-car,” he growled, finally.

“Well, I’ll sit in it until he comes back,” said Neka, who did not believe the statement.

Again the man scowled.

“Reckon you can stand just as well,” he growled, under his breath.

“I don’t intend to stand while there is a vacant seat,” retorted Neka, with some spirit. “Move or I’ll call the conductor.”

“See here, boy, you keep your tongue to yourself,” grunted the drummer. “This is my seat, and that baggage belongs to a man in the smoking-car. I have no right to touch it.”

“Well, I’ll touch it and keep his seat for him,” returned Neka, not giving in an inch.

And seizing the two bags, he placed them on the floor and squeezed himself into the seat beside the drummer, who swore under his breath.

Several passengers who had witnessed the scene smiled to themselves and an old gentleman nodded approvingly.

“Like to see young Americans stick up for their rights,” he said, to his companion. “That drummer’s a hog.”

All the way to Princeton the drummer growled to himself and squeezed Neka as much as possible. This made the boy angry, and he looked about for some way to get square with the unreasonable fellow.

At Princeton the lady with the baby got out, and Neka rejoined Longfellow Wadsworth. A whispered conversation ensued, and suddenly both smiled to themselves. When the conductor came along Neka held a consultation with him.

“Certainly,” said the train official, and passed on.

When the train rolled into the great depot at Philadelphia the drummer arose, stretched himself lazily, and prepared to walk out with his two grips. At once Neka stopped him, at the same time stopping the old man who had nodded approvingly.

“Just you drop those bags,” said Neka, in a loud voice.

“What’s that?” demanded the drummer, sourly.

“You drop those bags. You said they belonged to a man in the smoking-car and that you had no right to touch them. Now leave them alone.”

There was a laugh at this, and a crowd gathered around to see the outcome of the incident.

The drummer got red in the face and stared at Neka as if he would chew the boy up.

“Conductor,” continued Neka, undisturbed by the drummer’s looks. “You will have to take charge of these two valises. This gentleman says they belong to a man in the smoking-car.”

“They don’t; they belong to me,” snapped the drummer.

“He said they belonged to somebody else, and he had no right to touch them,” put in Longfellow Wadsworth, seriously.

“So he did, so he did,” added the old man from the opposite side of the car. He enjoyed the fun as much as any one. “He may be a would-be thief, conductor. You had better keep an eye on him.”

At this the drummer was almost ready to faint. He stared around speechlessly.

“I’ll take the grips to the station-master,” said the conductor. “The owner can claim them there by identification of contents.”

And he caught up the bags and walked out, while the crowd howled at the drummer until he was only too glad to sneak out of sight. He was boiling mad at Neka, but could do nothing, and the severe lesson had served him right.

From the railroad station the company went to the hotel and had dinner. At two o’clock they repaired to the theatre for rehearsal.

In another chapter mention was made of the “Human Fly” act. This turn was done by a young woman known on the stage as Nina Tonetti, although her real name was Nina Pluggs. The act consisted in walking head downward on a temporary ceiling erected on the stage. The secret of the act lies in the shoes that are worn, each being of rubber and having a force pump attached which creates a suction underneath that holds them wherever they are placed.

In Philadelphia Nina Tonetti had decided on a startling innovation. This was to consist of an act in which she was to walk on the ceiling of the auditorium itself instead of a temporary affair hoisted on the stage.

When the rehearsal for this act began Neka as well as Longfellow Wadsworth and Bindley were on hand to see that everything was in good working order, for a drop from the ceiling would mean broken bones and perhaps instant death.

Nina Tonetti herself understood the peril of her undertaking, and although determined to go ahead, she did so with extreme caution.

“I hope you are not going to try the plaster,” said Neka, “I doubt if it will hold you, no matter how hard it appears to be.”

“No, I am going to walk along that woodwork only,” replied the young woman, and pointed to some fancy work which ran diamond-shaped from the center of the proscenium around the huge chandelier in the center of the auditorium ceiling.

At last the preparations for the first attempt were completed, and Nina Tonetti donned the suit she usually wore when performing it. Then up she went on a ladder until the center of the proscenium arch was reached.

Here she balanced herself for a moment, then turned upside down and set first one foot on the ceiling and then the other.

In this strange fashion she walked a dozen feet or more.

“That’s good,” said Longfellow Wadsworth. “That will create a sensation.”

“So it will,” put in Bindley. “She’s a daring one,” he added, as the Human Fly took a longer step than any of the previous ones.

One side of the diamond-shaped fancy woodwork was traveled when Nina Tonetti was seen to pause. She put out one foot and then drew it back.

“What’s the trouble?” called out Bindley.

“The next board is unsafe,” she replied. “It’s suffering from dry rot, I believe.”

Scarcely had she spoken, when there came a sharp crack, and the very bit of woodwork to which her feet were glued, as it were, sprang away from the ceiling six inches or more!