“You are Mr. Neptune?” said he.
“You have named me!” I cried, opening my arms and embracing him effusively.
“I am afraid you got into the crowd,” said he, withdrawing, in some embarrassment, I thought. “I suppose that is why you are late.”
“That is the reason,” I replied, feeling mystified, indeed, but devoutly thankful that he did not recognize me as the hunted Juggins.
“Well,” he said, “you had better go on at once, if you don't mind. There is rather a disturbance, I am afraid, and we have lowered the curtain; but perhaps your appearance may quiet them.”
“My appearance?” I asked, glancing down at my torn overcoat, and wondering what sedative effect such a scarecrow was likely to have. Besides, I had appeared and it had not quieted them; though this, of course, he did not know.
“I mean,” he answered, “that the nature of your performance is so absorbing that we hope it may rivet attention somewhat.”
A light dawned upon me. I now remembered the bill outside the theatre. I was the “Amphibious Marvel!” Well, it would not do for the intrepid Juggins to refuse the adventure. For the honor of Jesus College I must endeavor to “break all records.” My one hope was that, as it was to be my first appearance, anything strange in the nature of my performance might be received merely as a diverting novelty.
“The stage is set for you,” said my unknown friend. “How long will it take you to change?”
“Change?” I replied. “This is the costume in which I always perform.”