saw, for lying directly across the only opening of the tent, was a sleeping Indian. And even hoping that this

one could be stepped over without awakening him, there were doubtlessly other sentinels about the camp.

There was nothing to do but return to his bed, and, having done so, he (Continued on page 249)

INDEED I WON'T BUY A TICKET OR ATTEND YOUR DREADFUL AFFAIR, LILLIAN SAID"

B

EHIND the closed doors of the

parlor, Lillian played Mendelssohn's "Spring Song" with an appreciation which would have done credit to a more mature performer. Over and over again its strains filled the room, for Lillian was playing for the pure joy of it.

Her mother's caller nodded approvingly. "How beautifully Lillian plays," she said. "She must have been studying all her life."

"She has," Mrs. Fairley assented. "She is a natural musician, and we have tried to give her all possible advantages."

"Of course you would do that for so talented a daughter," Mrs. Jay agreed. "Are your sons musical?"

"Not at all," began Mrs. Fairley. "They-"

The sentence was interrupted by a shocked exclamation from the next room, and a tousled head appeared between the portières. "Mother," said a voice, questioningly, "did you tell Mrs. Jay that Bob and I were not musical? How could you do us such an injustice, Mother?"

"If I have done that, I beg your pardon," laughed his mother. "But I was not aware-" "Please may I make you aware? I can prove my point in ten seconds." "Do so, by all means," laughed the caller. "I am interested."

Thus encouraged, Ned settled his ample length in a comfortable chair and tapped a small pamphlet which he held. "Bob and yours truly," he began, "are at this moment planning a rare musical entertainment. Not any parlor affair-we're going to hold it in Harding Hall, as soon as it is ready. Tickets of admission may be reserved at any time."

"Ned!" protested his mother. "Mrs. Jay won't understand your nonsense. She isn't used to boys."

Ned looked pained. "This isn't nonsense, Mrs. Jay," he persisted.

"It's sober truth-very sober. By the way, we may need some patronesses, and you two ladies would be the very stuff-I mean you'd be be fine!"

"How thrilling," exclaimed Mrs. Jay. "I've never been a patroness, I believe whatever that means. Tell us about it."

"Bowling-alley," said Ned. "We

need one in the City College gym, and the trustees won't give us a thing toward it say they can't afford itand all that. But they will let us have the space, so we said we'd raise the money for it."

"Just you and Bob?" asked Mrs.

It's

"No indeed," Ned reassured her. "We two couldn't do it alone. our athletic club,-twelve fellows,and we're all for it. Every fellow has a mandolin, or a saxophone, or an instrument of some sort-and a voice; gobs of talent going to waste, and our gym needs a bowling-alley."

"Yes? And just how is the talent to be used?"

Ned pointed to his pamphlet with an impressive finger. "Old-fashioned minstrel show; the club to give the program, and our friends to buy the tickets also sell them. I'm studying the hows and whats, and Bob's up in the den digging out the material. I forgot to tell you, Mother-the fellows are coming to rehearse this afternoon."

"Ned, are you in earnest?" asked Mrs. Fairley.

"Never more so. Got to be. We didn't expect our director to act soso previously, but as soon as we said we'd raise the cash for the alley, he sent away for the outfit. Now it's done, we'd hate to flunk and make our dads pony up."

"What will your father say?"
"Oh, Dad'll be game. He said

they needed a bowling-alley when he went to the C. C., and I'm counting on his buying twenty-five tickets, and selling a hundred!"

Mrs. Fairley sewed steadily on. "A minstrel-show those boys prepare will not be common," she said. "It may be silly; it will be un-classical; but it won't be harmful. I wish, dear, that you took more interest in your brothers' amusement. You "Of course," said Mrs. Jay, "your could give them both help and pleassister will help you." ure if you would."

Mrs. Jay laughed, while her hostess groaned. "These boys-what will they do next?"

"Lil? She wouldn't touch our show with a forty-foot pole! You see, Mrs. Jay, we don't go in for-erstrictly classical stuff, and she does. The chaps who wrote the music Lil plays didn't write minstrel songs or jazz-I wish they had! There'd have been class to a Beethoven Rag, I'll say! Excuse me, ladies, if I seem to leave.

It's time for the fellows." "He's a dear," said Mrs. Jay warmly. "I wouldn't miss their performance for anything. Tell Ned to reserve a dozen tickets for me, and if I can help, let me know. I'd like to hear their rehearsal, but I have another engagement."

The door had hardly closed behind her, when from the backstairs came the sound of hurrying feet, and a tinkle of strings. A few moments later a blare of brass sounded from overhead, and bedlam broke loose.

The downstairs music came to a sudden end, as a horrified Lillian dashed across the hall. "What is it?" she demanded.

"Bob and Ned are conducting a rehearsal for a club minstrelshow," replied her mother, calmly, as she threaded a needle.

Lillian threw herself on the couch. "Mother, you won't let them," she begged. "Oh, please say they can't have itjust listen!"

"I grant it is pretty bad now, but I'm sure they will improve,' said her mother.

Lillian shook her head vigorously. "If they did those things perfectly, the result would still be hopeless trash. It's simply wicked to call it music. And a minstrel-show is so common.' 99

you. To me, the influence of an older sister over two impetuous boys seems even more important than her musical education, worth-while as that may be." "No one understands," Lillian sighed hopelessly. "I'm going for a walk till that uproar ends."

Some time later the rehearsal came to silence, for even the performers realized there was something wrong. "It's pretty bad," announced Ned frankly. "We'll have to practise like the dickens to be worth people's money."

"That's no joke," said several voices.

"I'm afraid we won't be able to learn our stunts alone-not right, you know-and play for ourselves and everything. I wish we had somebody to play for us and hold us together."

"How about your sister, Bob?" interrupted James Eaton. "She's a crackajack player."

"Lil Fairley wouldn't get in on this if there wasn't a bowlingalley in the world," declared Bob. "She's classical, and we aren't. And if we hire a regular to coach us, he'll pocket all the profits." "That's all right, but we're going to need a coach and a star before we get through."

"A wha-at?"

"A star

some one who 'knows his stuff'; a player, or a dancer, or a singer, who isn't altogether an amateur."

"But we'd have to pay a star and a coach.

Can't you see what would be left for our bowling-alley?"

"Stop croaking!" Ned rose in his wrath. "We have to expect bumps. We'll work like Trojans, and the details will fall into line."

But after a few

days of
hard work,

Ned turned to
his mother for
advice. "We
didn't mean to
drag you in on it,
Mother," he apolo-
gized, as he perched
himself on the arm of
her chair. "We thought
sure we could do it, but
it's going like sixes and
sevens."

"Give it up," Lillian advised hopefully. But Ned was too much in earnest to resent the suggestion.

"Can't," he declared. "We promised we'd do it. The fellows are standing by all right, but it's harder than we thought it was. And if we hire help, we can't pay for the equipment. It's already ordered, so we can't fall down on it."

"No, you couldn't," his mother agreed. "What is your worst trouble?" "It's the music. We can do the talking all right, but the singing gets us every time. Couldn't give us a bit of advice, could you, Mother?"

"Let me think." At that Bob

came in and settled himself on the other arm of the big chair, waiting hopefully for the help that was pretty sure to come, and Lillian left them and went to her piano.

Mrs. Fairley looked up into the two eager faces. Help she must, and help she would! "Do you think you could pay for an accompanist for the

"THROUGHOUT THE EVENING,

rehearsal and the entertainment, if the coach didn't cost anything?"

"We'd better do that than give it up," they told her.

"Perhaps you could get an accompanist who could also play a solo or two. That would probably cost less than two separate performers."

"That sounds good to me," said Bob.

LILLIAN WAS THE INSPIRATION"

Ned was still sober. "That's for the show itself, but what about the rehearsals; did you have something for us there, Mother?"

"Wait, boys. I'm going to try your sister. If she says yes, you must appreciate it doubly, for it will be an ordeal for her."

"Yes, and it'll be an ordeal for us,

lost on Lillian. "I can't. I simply cannot," she wailed. "You think I'm stubborn, but I'm not. It's physically impossible."

"Your many hours of study have accomplished less than I hoped, if they have unfitted your music for practical uses," said Mrs. Fairley disapprovingly.

"It isn't that, Mother. It is just that I can't murder music any more than I could murder a live thing," Lillian insisted. "They ought to be made to give it up-I can't take part in their atrocities."

It was at the dinner-table that night that Mrs. Fairley invited the boys to hold their rehearsal in the parlor beside the piano.

"But Mother, will Lil-?"

"No, she won't, but your patronesses will," said their mother. "Mrs. Jay will act as coach. I 'phoned her about it, and she consented gladly."

"She will do it well, too," said their father. "She has had experience in that sort of thing."

"Good stunt, Mother," approved the boys. "How about the pianist?"

"I thought I'd offer my services for that," said Mrs. Fairley, demurely. "I'm dreadfully out of practice, and it's years since I undertook anything so important as this, but I'm pretty sure I'll be better than no one."

"Better than no one? Better than any one!" declared Ned, while Bob added gratefully, "Thanks Mother. You're a brick!"

That night, twelve anxious boys gathered around the piano, where Mrs. Fairley sat with Mrs. Jay beside her, full of interest. In the big chair, Mr. Fairley assumed the place of critic. "I'm umpire," he announced, grinning, "go ahead, fellows."

That rehearsal was the beginning of the end, for the coach was thorough, the accompanist a tremendous help after the uncertain tinkle of their own instruments, and the boys showed their appreciation by trying with all their might. Choruses improved by leaps and bounds; the solos-well, nobody could doubt the depth of Traylor Jackson's bass as he rumbled. out "The Cradle of the Deep," and Mr. Fairley brought about an immediate improvement in the jokes and stories, and introduced several new ideas.

"What if she won't," Ned asked. "We'll see," was all their mother would say, but they went off whistling. "Mother's got something up her sleeve," Ned chuckled to his brother. "We've got some patroness." But her mother's persuasion was

"If you and our patronesses will see us through, we'll soar."

"Get your wings ready then," laughed Mr. Fairley. "Every one in place and on time at the next practice."

The next evening Mr. Fairley brought home a great piece of news. "I saw Ellerslie to-day, and he's