things happened in nearly every town visited by the company. The donkey was to be taken into the theater by the stage entrance, but Hans found a chance to say to Frank: “Shust vait here till dot theater comes oudt uf me. I vill peen righdt pack a minute in.” Ephraim induced one of the musicians to take charge of his horn, and remained with Frank. Hans soon reappeared. “Now shust you took dot tinner to me,” invited the Dutch lad. “I pelief a square meal can eadt me a minute in.” “Eat!” cried the Vermont lad. “Why, that Dutch sausage can eat any gol darn time an’ all the gol darn time! Never see northing like him in all my born days.” “Oh, shust shut yourseluf ub!” cried Hans, quickly. “Your mouth dalks too much mit you. You don’d peen no ganary pird to eadt. You vos aple to ged der oudtside uf a whole lot.” “Waal, b’gosh! these air howtels we stop at some of um have pritty blamed poor grub,” confessed the Yankee youth. “Their beefsteak is made of luther, an’ their bread might be bought up by ther loaf an’ used fer pavin’-stuns on the streets.” “Well, I think I’ll be able to give you something to eat that you can digest, but you mustn’t expect too much.” “We kin eat any old thing with you, Frank,” declared Ephraim. “Why, when we was campin’ aout at Fardale last summer we hed appetites like hosses, an’ it didn’t make no diffrunce whut there was to eat, we jest et it.” “Yaw,” nodded Hans; “und some uf der things vot vasn’t to eadt we shust eated all der same.” “But naow we want yeou to tell us haow it happens yeou are here, Frank,” urged Ephraim, as they walked along together. Frank, who had formerly been a schoolmate of the boys at Fardale Academy, after which he had gone to Yale, briefly explained that he had been forced to leave college on account of the loss of his fortune, and was now making his own way in the world. The boys knew he had left college, but they had not heard he was working on a railroad. Both were astonished. “Darn my turnups!” cried Ephraim. “Shimminy Gristmas!” gurgled Hans.
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