"He was here a moment ago, ladies and gentlemen," he declared. "Rats!" observed a disappointed lady in the gallery. The manager redoubled his assurances. They had searched high and low, he said, but could not find Mr. Mow anywhere. Would the audience-- His speech was interrupted by the conductor of the orchestra. "If Arfur Mow reelly 'asn't arrived," he announced, rising to his feet, "I'll give you a turn meself." And bounding upon the stage, the conductor turned and faced the audience with a flourish. He was none other than the missing Arfur Mow! Having chased his apologist into the wings amid shouts of delight, the great man proceeded to the serious work of the evening--a ditty entitled:--"A Glorious Death; or, How I was Drowned in the Brewery." "What is the next item?" enquired Mr. Mablethorpe in a hollow voice, after the audience and Mr. Mow had taken a reluctant farewell of one another. "The thumbscrew, or boiling oil?" "'High Jinks in a Parisian Café,'" announced Sylvia with great satisfaction. Mr. Mablethorpe coughed. "Be prepared to read your programmes sedulously until further notice," he said to his wife and daughter. But his fears were groundless. The only occupant of the café when the curtain rose was a waiter of melancholy aspect. To him entered a lady and gentleman in evening dress, arm-in-arm,--the gentleman carrying an umbrella and smoking an unlighted cigar,--who intimated in pantomime that they required an abundant and satisfying meal. The waiter responded by stepping forward and bowing so low that he fell right over on to the back of his neck, coming up again to a standing position after one complete revolution. With a deeply injured expression he went down upon his hands and knees and began to search for the obstacle over which he had tripped. Presently he found it. It was so minute as to be quite invisible to the audience, but when thrown into the wings it fell with a reverberating crash. Any further doubts as to the nature of the entertainment were now dissipated by the gentleman in evening dress, who, instead of hanging up his opera hat in the orthodox fashion, gave his head a backward jerk which sent the hat flying backwards on to an adjacent gas-bracket. He next removed his evening coat, and having lighted his cigar from a candle upon the table, proceeded to give a juggling exhibition with the candle, the cigar, and his umbrella.