“Why, yes, of course,” he assented. He was uncomfortable over the untruth--or over the fact that he had not told it adroitly. “I wouldn’t have talked to you so freely if I hadn’t thought you were an actor,” she explained. “You know we always treat one another that way.” His manner softened. “I’m sure I understand,” he assured her. [Illustration: “I thought everybody knew me,” she said. “I’m Bonnie May.”] He perceived that, despite the lightness of her manner, she was truly ashamed of her mistake. It seemed to him that she was regretfully slipping back into her own world, her own realm of thought. And she was speedily becoming, to him, not a pert minx, but just a lonely, friendly little child. “I don’t believe I know just where you are appearing now,” he said. For the moment he could not do less than appear to be interested in her. She moved uncomfortably in her chair. “I’m not doing anything just now,” she said. Then her eyes brightened. “The manager skipped just when business was picking up. We had to close our season. Such a jay town we closed in. The people wanted to hold our trunks!” “But they didn’t?” “No, we gave one more performance, so we could square up.” “Why shouldn’t you have kept on giving performances?” “Of course, you wouldn’t understand. You see, the manager was our Simon Legree, and we couldn’t do without him.” “But that last performance----” “The constable who came to hold our things said he’d take the part of Simon Legree just once, so we could pay our bills and get out of town. He said there was sure to be a crowd if it was known that he would be one of the actors. He said he’d always wanted to be an actor, but that his parents thought it would be sinful for him to act.” “But did he know the part?” “He didn’t have to. Even in the profession there are a lot of us who don’t know our parts half the time. You may have noticed. The constable said he could ‘pop a whip’ and we told him that would do, if he would remember to say ‘You black rascal!’ every little while. That would be to Uncle Tom, you know. Our Uncle Tom did both parts. That happens lots of times. With any play, I mean. He’d say: ‘Yo’ say Ah b’longs to you, Massa Legree? Oh, no, Massa Legree, Ah don’ b’long to you. Yo’ may own mah body, but yo’ don’ own mah soul.’ Saying both parts, you know.” When Baron laughed at this she joined in the merriment and even promoted it. “The constable enjoyed it,” she said. “He said he’d like to leave town with us and play the part all the time.” “He’d got over thinking it was sinful for him to act?” “Yes, but the rest of us thought his first hunch was right. Besides, there were other difficulties. You see, our Topsy was the manager’s wife, and she wouldn’t play any more until she found her husband. She wasn’t much of an artist. Anyway, we had to quit.”