“You ought to have heard him,” continued Mandy, made eloquent by Polly's show of interest. “'What will dose poor folks do?' he kept a-sayin'. 'yes' yo' lie where yo' is,' I tole him. 'Dem poor folks will be better off dan dey would be a-comin' to yoah funeral.'” “Poor folks?” Polly questioned. “Do you give money to folks? We are always itchin' to get it AWAY from 'em.” Before Douglas could think of words with which to defend his disapproved methods, Mandy had continued eagerly: “An' den on Sunday, when he can't go to church and preach--” She got no further. A sharp exclamation brought both Mandy and Douglas to attention. “Preach!” Polly almost shouted. She looked at him with genuine alarm this time. “That will do, Mandy,” Douglas commanded, feeling an unwelcome drama gathering about his head. “Great Barnum and Bailey!” Polly exclaimed, looking at him as though he were the very last thing in the world she had ever expected to see. “Are you a skypilot?” “That's what he am, chile.” Mandy slipped the words in slyly, for she knew that they were against the pastor's wishes, but she was unable to restrain her mischievous impulse to sow the seeds of curiosity that would soon bear fruit in the inquisitive mind of the little invalid. “Will you get onto me a-landin' into a mix-up like this?” She continued to study the uncomfortable man at her side. “I never thought I'd be a-talkin' to one of you guys. What's your name?” “Douglas.” He spoke shortly. “Ain't you got no handle to it?” “If you mean my Christian name, it's John.” “Well, that sounds like a skypilot, all right. But you don't look like I s'posed they did.” “Why not?” “I always s'posed skypilots was old and grouchy-like. You're a'most as good lookin' as our strong man.” “I done tole him he was too good-lookin' to be an unmarried parson,” Mandy chuckled, more and more amused at the pastor's discomfort. “Looks don't play a very important part in my work,” Douglas answered curtly. Mandy's confidential snickers made him doubly anxious to get to a less personal topic. “Well, they count for a whole lot with us.” She nodded her head decidedly. “How long you been showin' in this town, anyhow?” “About a year,” Douglas answered, with something of a sigh. “A year!” she gasped. “In a burg like this? You must have an awful lot of laughs in your act to keep 'em a-comin' that long.” She was wise in the ways of professional success. “Not many, I'm afraid.” He wondered, for the first time, if this might be the reason for his rather indifferent success. “Do you give them the same stuff, or have you got a rep?” “A rep?” he repeated in surprise. “Sure, repertory--different acts--entries, some calls 'em. Uncle Toby's got twenty-seven entries. It makes a heap of difference in the big towns where you have a run.” “Oh, I understand,” Douglas answered in a tone of relief. “Well, I try to say something new each Sunday.” “What kind of spiels do you give 'em?” she inquired with growing interest.