"Oh, no, I didn't," interrupted Hudson, "I had a seat right under a box where there was a theatre-party of Mrs. Mayflor Tremont's, with a lot of girls I knew. I was thundering glad I wasn't on the stage, and had more than half a mind to point you out to them." "You wouldn't have troubled me at all," answered Ned. "That is where we unknown woolly Westerners get the drop on the Boston men, and you dudes who go in for Boston society. However, to go on with this confession, I was appointed leader of the Hosts of Darkness. I don't know why I was singled out for this distinction, unless it was on account of my superb figure." "That was it," corroborated Stoughton. "You did look stunning in those red tights, even more fetching than you are now in those pajamas." "The part was not a difficult one, but very important," Burleigh continued. "I had to look fierce, and bear aloft a huge red and gold affair. This was referred to once or twice as 'yon gonfalon of Diabolus,' so I suppose that's what it was. I only had to go on the stage twice. In the last scene, where the Wizard got thrown down, there was a high bridge at the back of the stage. It was steep on the sides, shaped a good deal like the Chinese bridge in a blue willow-ware plate; don't you remember? I had to hold this bridge for the Wizard at the head of my minions, and was doing it with dignity and grace. My instructions were to stay there until the Queen of the Fairies should point at me and say 'Avaunt, vile blood-fiends, to the shades below'; then to retire with signs of rage and terror, while the Hosts of Light came up the other side of the bridge. Now I was watching and listening to the Queen carefully, and I am sure she never pointed at me, or opened her head about 'avaunting.' I think myself that my fatal beauty in the red tights had made an impression on her, and she didn't want me to leave. She probably couldn't find it in her heart to call me a blood-fiend; at any rate there was some hitch, for the Hosts of Light began coming up the bridge ahead of time. Of course, I wasn't going to avaunt without orders, so I stood there waiting for my cue. The leading angel called me a most vile name, in an anxious undertone, and poked his spear violently in the pit of my stomach. He hurt me like the devil, so I promptly smashed him on the head with the Gonfalon of Diabolus, and bowled him down among the advancing Hosts of Light, to their utter confusion. The next minute something lit on the back of my neck, and that is all I know. I believe it was a sandbag hove from the wings, and that I was dragged out by the heels." "You were, you were," Holworthy shouted at the recollection, "but it was done so quickly that half of the audience didn't see it."