July, 1890, was it not? At that time Lew had given up the minstrel business entirely. I recall Lew Dockstader dropping in one day and inquiring how he (Simmons) liked the business? “Like it?” said the senior Lew, “why I am perfectly happy; I wouldn’t go back in the business again for $100 per week.” (I remember it was PER week.) But he did, a couple of years later, and from all appearances looks good for a few more. I joined my father’s troupe. We opened at Elizabeth, N. J., on July 17th. In the company were Billy Birch, Frank Moran, Frank Kent and Bob Slavin; all since passed away. Old minstrel _habitues_ will recall that nigger-act wherein one of the performers declares loudly to his friends that he is boss in his own home, how he rules the ranch and so on; and just as he is saying it his wife would show up then he would inflict dire punishment upon her, she comes running down the aisle from the front of the house saying, “Where’s my husband?” gathers her lesser half by the ear and amidst the jeers of his companions, carries him away. [Illustration: Being a Truthful Portrayal of the Author’s First Appearance on Any Stage; Morristown, N. J., July 18, 1890.] At the second performance, at Morristown, N. J., I was cast for the enraged spouse. I believe I was made up for the part fully an hour before the house opened. How nervous I was awaiting my cue, but when it came, my ears seemed to hear nothing but wife, wife, wife, and instead of saying, “Where’s my husband?” I said, “Where’s my wife?” * * * I won’t repeat what my father said, but what with the tears of mortification that flowed from my eyes and the perspiration from the pores of my face, almost made washing-up a superfluity. After that awful first night I got away with the part without any trouble, and even indulged in conversations while awaiting my cue, which I had always thought to be a physical impossibility. Billy Birch, who was with us, used to suffer severely from rheumatism, and just before parade would say to me, “‘Cully,’ would you mind going over to the hotel, on the bureau, right hand side, and get my medicine?” Would I go? I felt honored. At the opening performance we had a song and dance team who, like myself, were just breaking into the business. Their act was not an unqualified success and extra tickets to Morristown were not purchased. Some one asked Bob Slavin what he thought of the act, to which he replied: “As a success, they’re a failure; as a failure, they’re a success.” The company closed early in November and a couple of weeks before Christmas I consented to wrap parcels at Wanamaker’s store in Philadelphia for a small weekly stipend. It was hard to work for wages after having received a salary.