"Easy there," interrupted the dwarf. "Who's goin' to do the box trick?"
"Why, you, of course," replied Handy.
"Not on your life. Count me out on that stunt, Mister Manager. New London is a seaport town. There are vessels in port and sailors on shore. My Newport experience has taught me a lesson. The sailor men there tied me up so darned tight that you'll never get me to undertake any such job as that again within a hundred miles of seawater."
"But——"
"No buts about it. I know when I've had enough. Skip me."
"Then I'll do the act myself," retorted Handy, with a slight exhibition of feeling.
"K'rect, old man. You're welcome to the stunt. I pass every time when there's any rope-tying business in a seawater town."
"Smith, you can give them a banjo solo, do a clog dance, and afterwards wrestle with your celebrated imitations you know so well, and do so badly, of John Drew, Dave Warfield, Nat Goodwin, Sarah Bernhardt, and Sir Henry Irving."
"But I never saw Irving or Bernhardt," interposed Smith.
"Neither did the audience. What's the matter with you? And for a wind-up you can give them a stump speech, and I'll bill you as Lew Dockstader, second. We have got to make up our programme, please remember. If you don't want to take a shy at Dockstader, name someone else equally prominent. It's all the same to me. When I do that Indian box trick I propose to bill myself as Hermann XI. Darn it, man, we have to have names! This company, bear in mind, is made up of an all-star cast."