They had supper a little earlier than usual that night, for with the exception of Joe's father, who was busy on a new invention, they were all going to a show that evening at the Riverside Opera House. It promised to be an interesting entertainment, for the names of several popular actors appeared on the program. But what made it especially attractive to Joe and his party was the fact that Nick Altman, the famous pitcher of the "White Sox" of Chicago, was on the bill for a monologue. Although, being in the American League, Joe and Jim had never played against him, they knew him well by reputation and respected him for his ability in their chosen profession. "As a pitcher he sure is classy," remarked Joe. "They say that fast inshoot of his is a lulu. But that doesn't say that he's any good on the stage." "He's pulling in the coin all right," replied Jim. "They say that his contract calls for two hundred dollars a week. He won't have to eat snowballs this winter." "Jim tells me that a vaudeville manager offered you five hundred dollars a week the day after you won the championship for the Giants," said Clara. "So he did," replied Joe, "but it would have been a shame to take the money." "Such a shrinking violet," teased his sister. "I'm sure he would make a very good actor," said his mother, who would have been equally sure that he would make a good president of the United States. The night was fine, and the town Opera House was crowded to its capacity. There was a buzz and whispering as Joe and his party entered and made their way to their reserved seats near the center of the house, for Riverside regarded the famous pitcher as one of its greatest assets. He had given the quiet little village a fame that it would never have had otherwise. In the words of Sol Cramer, the hotel keeper and village oracle, Joe had "put Riverside on the map." There were three or four sketches and vaudeville turns before Altman, who, of course, was the chief attraction as far as Joe and his folks were concerned, came on the stage. He had a clever skit in which baseball "gags" and "patter" were the chief ingredients, and as he was a natural humorist his act went "big" in the phrase of the profession. Knowing that Joe lived in Riverside and would probably be in the audience, Altman adroitly introduced his name in one of his anecdotes, and was rewarded by a storm of applause which clearly showed how Joe stood in his home town. "You own this town, Joe," laughed Jim, who was seated between him and Clara--Jim could be depended on these days never to be farther away from Clara than he could help. "Yes," mocked Clara. "Any time he runs for poundkeeper he's sure to be elected." Joe was about to make some laughing retort, when his quick eye caught sight of something that made the flush fade from his face and his heart lose a beat. From the wing at the left of the stage _a tiny wisp of smoke was stealing_.