William Adolphus Turnpike

or him, and this manifested itself in the form of an invitation to take part in "Uncle Tom's Cabin," to be presented by the Berkeley Junior Dramatic Society. William's eager consent was somewhat

l," said the manager-who was not much

No singin

oo. You know the stunt-lights down-spotlight on the stag

ha

e th

'Uncle Tom's Cabin!'" demanded William truculentl

hat," retorted the manager. "We've doctored it up quite a bit. It

w! Gee! you're crazy. Next thing I

nager thoughtfully; "but, say, that wo

m. "Didjer ever see 'em? They'r

'll bring the house

mother, mother, pin some clothes on me,'" he concluded sarcastically. But in the end William was won over, and he entered into th

tion given to a packed house. There were all of three hundred people in the Berkeley Junior Dramatic Society's club house that night, and every one of them parte

m a Scottish shawl? William appeared in the first scene, without having anything to say, but the costume spoke for him. There was a shout of laughter as he walked across the stage for the first time, to be renewed when a shrill voice invited all and sundry to "pipe them legs." The audience piped them-they were encased in black stockings-and laughed again, whereupon William advan

well that packing cases, however stoutly built, and however ably disguised in white cheese cloth, were parlous things for a lady of her weight. T

ightened dog, which, turning towards the foot-lights, made a flying leap into the audience. Fortunately it landed on the stout knees of William's Pa, and that worthy, firmly grasping it by the neck, and thus effectually stopping its barking, carried it to the main door and threw it into the street. Whereupon the scene proceeded, the stage carpenter and his staff of one having meanwhile extricated Eliza from the cake of ice and started her on the concluding portion of her journey to safety. It was then that William, burning to distinguish himself, and having a vague notion t

enter, Eliza and Legree, and Uncle Tom combined, seared William's

he sweet memories it recalled, and to others it appealed, as many old-world songs do, by its plaintive sweetness. William was making a hit, and he knew it. Boy though he was, he felt to the full the bond of sympathy between himself and the audience. There was a queer sensation in his heart as he began the last verse, and he wondered if he could finish it. He had reached the second line when the voice of the prompter, imploringly pitched, begged him to "hurry it up; little Eva's bed's a falling down." William turned sharply toward the bed and, as he turned, something gave way at