"I'll get the music of that," he said to himself, "and have Dirk learn it."
Then Mr. Hart thought how much Mabel would enjoy being there with him. The prospects, however, were that he never might have the pleasure of going to another entertainment like this, and the dreary square of Oakland rose up before him.
But despite this, and to make it short, Mr. Hart enjoyed the evening hugely. He laughed at "The Owl and the Pussy Cat" and "Mary's Little Lamb" with the "Ba, ba" chorus. He enjoyed the tinkling of the mandolins and Tommy Wilson's tale about a man who fell up or down three flights of stairs, and he was tickled to death at Tommy's imitation of a hee-hawing donkey, and wanted to tell him how good it was.
At last it was all over, and he drifted out with the audience, and went back to the hotel. There, in the corridor, he again met his friend with whom he had exchanged the few remarks after dinner.
"Best show I ever saw," he said. "You won't mind my asking you some questions, will you?"
