"Sometimes, if the play happens to catch on. When you are stranded five hundred miles from home, and your salary isn't paid, it isn't exactly hilarious."
"Are you going to play anywhere near here?" asked Jed, who was beginning to think he would like to see a performance.
"We are billed to play in Duncan to-morrow evening, or rather this evening, for it's morning now."
"Duncan is only five miles away."
"If you want to attend I'll give you a pass. It's the least I can do to pay for turning you out of your bed."
"I could walk the five miles," said Jed.
"Then come. I'll see you at the door and pass you in. Ask for Harry Bertram."
"Thank you, Mr. Bertram."
"Old Fogson won't make a fuss about your going, will he?"
"Yes, he will; but I've made up my mind to leave the poorhouse, and I might as well leave it to-day as any time."