He said it was the best act that was ever in the house—for him.
Old "Con" Murphy was on the stage door of the Boston Theater for eighteen years; his hours were from 9 A. M. to 11 P. M., with an hour off for dinner and an hour for supper.
The theater faces on Washington Street and the stage door is on Mason Street. For eighteen years Con sat in that Mason Street door and only saw Washington Street once in all that time.
One day Eugene Tompkins, the owner of the theater, came along, stopped, thought a minute, then said,
"Con, how long have you been here?"
"Sixteen years, come August," said Con.
"Ever had a vacation?"
"No, sor."
Tompkins looked at his watch; it was ten minutes of twelve. "Well, Con," he said, "when you go out to dinner, you stay out; don't come back until to-morrow morning. Then come and tell me what you did."