The bundle under
Sam's arm, brought with no definite purpose, proved to have been
an inspiration. It consisted of broad sheets of light yellow
wrapping-paper, discarded by Sam's mother in her spring house-cleaning.
There were half-filled cans and buckets of paint in the storeroom
adjoining the carriage-house, and presently the side wall of the stable
flamed information upon the passer-by from a great and spreading poster.
"Publicity," primal requisite of all theatrical and amphitheatrical
enterprise thus provided, subsequent arrangements proceeded with a fury
of energy which transformed the empty hayloft. True, it is impossible to
say just what the hay-loft was transformed into, but history warrantably
clings to the statement that it was transformed. Duke and Sherman were
secured to the rear wall at a considerable distance from each other,
after an exhibition of reluctance on the part of Duke, during which he
displayed a nervous energy and agility almost miraculous in so small and
middle-aged a dog. Benches were improvised for spectators; the rats
were brought up; finally the rafters, corn-crib, and hay-chute were
ornamented with flags and strips of bunting from Sam Williams'
attic, Sam returning from the excursion wearing an old silk hat, and
accompanied (on account of a rope) by a fine dachshund encountered on
the highway. In the matter of personal decoration paint was generously
used: an interpretation of the spiral, inclining to whites and greens,
becoming brilliantly effective upon the dark facial backgrounds of
Herman and Verman; while the countenances of Sam and Penrod were each
supplied with the black moustache and imperial, lacking which, no
professional showman can be esteemed conscientious.
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