when a spell of business will come. Theatre managers are always temperamental. Suddenly, perhaps on a rainy day, the theatre will be hoisted up onto the workbench for overhauling. The marionettes hear the thrilling click of the little rings on the wire as the curtains are pulled to and fro. Paints and cardboard are got out, there is the excellent smell of turpentine and linseed oil. New scenery is planned.
Is there anything more fun than painting scenery? I doubt it. A back-drop of a dark pine forest, with sunset colours burning between the tree-trunks, is a great favourite. Or a castle, with pointed turrets, outlined black on a mountain top against blue evening sky. These things don't even have to be very skilfully painted: when the theatre is set up in the dining room, and the little bed-lamp that serves as footlights is well adjusted, even crude scenery looks quite marvellous.
And the Junior. Theatre is blessed with a Perfect Audience, an Audience that takes art seriously. The stage is set between the sliding doors of the dining room. A steamer rug hung above it conceals the manager and his assistant. It is a typical matinée because the audience is almost
