Smith was at this time about due, and as he was noted for his promptitude, he was on hand to keep his date when the hour expired.
"What's the lay now, Handy, old man?" inquired Smith, as he joined his manager.
"Only this, and nothing more," replied the veteran melodramatically. "There's blood upon the face of the moon, an' blow my buttons, if your Uncle Rube is going to supply the gore. See!"
The answer was not altogether satisfactory, and Smith apparently was unable to grapple with the problem. It puzzled him; but then Handy himself was at all times more or less of a conundrum to him.
"Now then, bear a hand, send the boat back and get the company ashore as speedily as possible. We have a few good hours' work on hand before we turn in."
Smith made quick time, and it was not long before the members of the all-star combination began to materialize out of the obscurity of the night as noiselessly as shadows.
"Say, boys," began Handy, in a low tone of voice confidentially, "we move to-night, and I want you to strike tent, pack and get everything aboard without delay. I'll explain all later on."
"Move to-night!" repeated Smith. "Don't we play here Saturday night?"
"Nary a play," responded the manager.
"But you announced 'Pinafore' from the stage!"