“Because I heard one of them ask what sort of show ours was. There are posters in the hotel you know. The other man said it wasn’t half bad—quite a compliment to us, Joe. And the first one remarked, as they had nothing to do to-night, they might as well take in our performance. So we may see them in the audience.”
“Do you think they know I’m with you?”
“I don’t see how they can. You don’t recall them, and it isn’t likely they’d know you.”
“All right, then I’ll be on the lookout for them,” Joe decided. “It sure is queer, though, that they should make a joke about the deacon’s loss.”
“That’s the way it struck me,” agreed the professor. “Now how about the tricks to-night? Have you the pigeons and the canary?”
“Yes,” answered Joe. “But I’m not just sure of what I am to do.”
“Then we’ll have a little rehearsal.”
Joe was a little nervous that evening as the time for the performance drew near and the theatre began to fill. He was not at all alarmed at the part he was to play on the stage, for he had become used to that now. But he wanted to see the strange men, to ascertain if, by any possible chance, they could be some of the customers of his foster-father—customers he might have seen about the feed and grain place.
“I’ll point them out to you if I see them,” said the professor, as he was getting into his dress suit—the suit that had about it so many pockets, hidden in various places, so that articles could be gotten rid of or produced at will. Joe now had a suit like this, since he did almost as many tricks as Professor Rosello himself.
“I may not be able to see them very well from the stage,” Joe remarked.