“Runnin’ a lady base–ball nine, be ye?” he inquired. “I seen one, wunst, down to Ne’ York. They can’t play ball not to speak of; but it’s kinder fun lookin’ at ’em. Couldn’t ye interdooce me to the pitcher?” [Illustration] Mr. Cutter made a dignified reply, and withdrew to the smoking–car. There a fat and affable stranger tapped him on the back and talked in his ear from the seat behind. “It don’t pay, young man,” he said. “I’ve handled ’em. Female minstrels sounds first rate; but they don’t give the show that catches the people. You’ve gotter have reel talent kinder mixed in with them if you want to draw.” “Them ladies in your comp’ny, where do they show?” inquired the Conductor, as he examined the ten tickets that Dick presented. “What do you mean?” asked the irritated pioneer. “If they show in Cleveland, I’d like to go, first rate,” the Conductor explained. “Those ladies,” Dick thundered, at the end of his patience, “are not actresses!” “Hmf! What be they then?” asked the Conductor. * * * * * They had arrived at Buffalo. They had gone to the Niagara Hotel, and had been told that there were no rooms for them; and to the Tifft House, where there were no rooms; and to the Genesee, where every room was occupied. Finally they had found quarters in a very queer hotel, where the clerk, as he dealt out the keys, said: “One for Lily, and one for Daisy and one for Rosie—here, Boss, sort out the flower–bed yourself,” as he handed over the bunch. Dick was taking a drink in the dingy bar–room, and trying to forget the queer looks that had been cast at his innocent caravan all the day, when the solitary hall–boy brought a message summoning him to Miss Euphrosyne’s room. He went, with his moral tail between his mental legs. “Mr. Cutter,” said Miss Euphrosyne, firmly, “we have made a mistake.” “It looks that way,” replied Dick, feebly; “but may be it’s only the—the ulsters.” “No,” said Miss Euphrosyne. “The ulsters are a part of it; but the whole thing is wrong, Mr. Cutter; and I see it all now. I didn’t realize what it meant. But my eyes have been opened. Nine young unmarried women can not go West with a young man—if you had heard what people were saying all around us in the cars—you don’t know. We’ve got to give up the idea. Oh, but it was awful!” Miss Euphrosyne, trembling, hid her face in her hands. Her tears trickled out through her thin fingers. “And the old house is sold! _What_ shall we do? _Where_ shall we go?” she cried, forgetting Dick utterly, lost and helpless. Dick was stalking up and down the room. “It would be all right,” he demanded, “if there was a married woman to lead the gang, and if—if—if we caught on to something new in the ulster line?” “It might be different,” Miss Euphrosyne admitted, with a sob. Speaking came hard to her. She was tired: well nigh worn out. “_THEN_,” said Dick, with tremendous emphasis, “what’s the matter with my marrying one of you?”