"We got into Bungtown early next day. I went at once to the theatre. There I was happy to learn that the advance sale was good and the prospects for the evening's performance A1. We opened to a full house, and the audience appeared to enjoy the entertainment. The following evening did not pan out quite so well, in consequence of a torchlight procession through the streets and a big Grand Army parade. The night after--our farewell performance. Great Scott! A rainstorm thinned the attendance to the proportions of a fashionable church in the metropolis during summer, when the popular preacher is absent on vacation abroad, seeking after the health he never lost. How I felt can be better imagined than described. I was up against it for fair. As I told you, I was unable to settle the hotel bill at the last town, and in addition we had now the handicap of an extra hotel and railroad fare for Breadland's clerk, who according to agreement was to travel with the show until the whole account with Breadland was squared up." "The prospects were not encouraging." "No; but we managed, somehow or other, to get out of town; though when everything was fixed, including a few dollars to Breadland on account, it was a close shave. Fortunately, the railroad fares to our next stand were light and we had three days there. It was in that sylvan retreat by the flowing river we nearly met our Waterloo. Speak of bad business. It was something weird." "Misfortune and you must have been running a race." "Yes, with the filly away in the lead. But we managed to play right on. Sunday morning found me once more _hors de combat_, with another hotel bill unpaid and an almost empty treasury to meet it. I nearly gave up in despair. Remembering, however, that despair never yet pulled a man out of a hole, in sheer desperation I resolved once more to fall back on the expedient that carried us over the sea of troubles that beset us before we reached Bungtown." "Great Heavens! you don't mean to say you proposed to carry another hotel clerk on your staff?" queried Fogg. "I had to do something. Necessity is the prompter of ingenuity, and the suggestion came from that source. There is no use in going further into detail. I convinced the landlord and secured another secretary of the treasury to look after the income, and we got out of town next morning as happy as clams at high water. Well, without mincing matters, I must say we had as rough a road to travel any band of poor strolling Thespians ever struck." "Misfortune still in the lead?"