“Huh,” said Jud as the curtain went down for the last time. “I guess you have to be a Redcoat or a Tory to like a thing like that.” “Look,” whispered Don. “Bluster’s found his snuff-box.” “Sure enough!” It was all that the boys could do to keep from laughing as they watched the big sergeant-major. He had found his snuff-box indeed. In the uncertain light his face was ruddier than ever, and his little eyes seemed to be popping from his head as he turned first to one side, then to the other. He looked at the little box; he looked at his hat; he looked at his cuffs as if the thing might have been hidden there. Perhaps he thought he had suddenly become a magician. Then he looked at the ceiling, as if to find the person--or the bird--that had succeeded in dropping it so that it had landed on his hat beneath his chair. But even a magician or a bird could not have done that! He was still looking at the ceiling when the lights were dimmed, and the curtain was hauled up again. “The Blockade of Boston,” which was to be played next, was a farce in which the character who represented General Washington was supposed to stride awkwardly upon the stage, wearing a long rusty sword and a wig that was many sizes too large for him; behind him walked his servant, an uncouth country boy with a rusty gun. But the audience was not to laugh at the antics of the two that night. The curtain had been up only a few moments when the noise of firing sounded from a distance, and then a red-coated sergeant burst into the hall and exclaimed: “The Yankees are attacking our works on Bunker’s Hill!” Startling as the announcement was, it carried only a ripple of mild excitement; for no doubt many of the audience supposed that the sergeant’s words were part of the farce that was to be played. “A good beginning anyway,” a lieutenant who was sitting in front of the boys said to his neighbor and laughed heartily. At that moment a general who was seated close to the stage sprang to his feet. “Look,” whispered Don. “There’s Howe himself. I didn’t notice him before.” “Officers to your posts!” cried the general in a ringing voice. Then there was excitement enough for anyone. To the two boys it seemed as if the whole audience rose and started for the doors at the same instant. Women were screaming and several had already fainted. Chairs and benches were being overturned--one chair overturned with Sergeant-Major Bluster in it. Scabbards were clashing and men were shouting hoarse commands. “Let’s get out of here!” whispered Jud. “All right; but wait till the rest have gone; we’d be killed in that mob.” “What a glorious ending to the ‘Blockade of Boston’!” Jud exulted. “Couldn’t be better, could it?” In the excitement some of the lights round the stage were blown out, and then the place was so dark that you could hardly distinguish faces.