“Oh, pshaw! I thought it was some Spanish variety show,” sighed Hockley.
“I should not care to take you to a variety show, Jacob.”
“But this will be dead slow.”
“If you don’t care to go, you can stay here.”
“I guess I’ll stay here then,” answered Hockley. “I’ve got something of a headache, anyway. I’ll go to bed early.”
Hockley’s headache was largely imaginary, and his thoughts were on another novel he had picked up, “Handsome Jack, the Dead Game Sport of Chicago.” He had left off where Handsome Jack was confronted by four gamblers who wished to rob him of his fifty thousand dollar diamond stud, and he was anxious to read on and find out how the “hold-up” terminated.
“Very well, Jacob,” said Professor Strong. “If you have a headache I think the best thing you can do is to sleep it off. Probably the sight-seeing has been too much for your eyes.”
At the proper hour the boys were ready to attend the performance at the Tacon. They were attired in their best, for at this opera house, people invariably wear the finest clothing they possess. The professor called a carriage, and soon they were rolling down the broad highway.
“How foolish Hockley is,” whispered Frank to Mark. “He doesn’t know what he is missing. Do you think he’ll really go to bed?”
Mark shrugged his shoulders. “It isn’t likely. He’ll read another trashy novel, I fancy.”