He was so rejoiced to be freed from his superstitious terrors, so glad, too, to see the "first player" in full life and to know that no tragedy had that night been enacted under this roof save the tragedy of Hamlet, that he laughed slyly as he rested his chin on the high arm of the chair, and with merry eyes watched the men. He hardly cared to speculate upon the strange fact of their presence here at this hour. He was only waiting for them to be gone that he might make his escape at last. "I don't want no mo' o' these crazy shines, though, ef ye do be so mighty sober," said the short man sulkily. "Somebody out there--the night watchman, mebbe--will hear ye trampling in 'ere, an' then wher' will we be?" "A-scootin' up the alley," with a free gesture of his right arm. The "first player" was difficult to repress. The surly, thickset man--Ned could not see his face, but his slouch, his voice, his manner were full of malignant intimations--evidently thought best to change his tone with his tipsy companion. He put down a five-gallon galvanized iron can that he had been carrying, and stared with an admirable imitation of surprise at the "first player." "Why,--look-a-here, if ye jes' wanter have a little aggervation with the perlice an' skeer Gorham by lettin' him know that we hev broke into his theatre, _I'm_ with ye every time! He warn't mean enough, nohow, for the way that ye have laid off ter pay him back! He never done nothin' but kick ye like ye were a cur, an' beat ye half blind, an' fling ye out o' the window! 'Twould have been assault with intent ter kill if a pore man had done all that, but rich Gorham,--pshaw! that's nothin'. Jes' let's stir up a little fuss an' fetch the perlice,--ter skeer _him_! Ho! Ho! _We_ ain't afeared of the peelers. 'Ere goes the ballet." He danced off in the moonlight, shaking his fingers in the air with wild gesticulations and kicking his short bandy legs high, right and left,--but softly, softly, as if he were shod with felt. The "first player" stood for a moment bewildered by this wild scheme to scare the manager. Its absurdity seemed to sober him. He strode off suddenly after the dancing figure. A clutch stopped it. "You fool," he said, with an oath, "I mean to burn the house to the ground, and you know it!" "Well, warn't I agreeable,--if there's no insurance?" replied the bow-legged man. "I tell you I heard from Gorham's own mouth that the policy expired yesterday at noon. He and the agent had a burst-up, and he wouldn't renew. I heard him tell that deadheaded crony of his; you know Gorham has got a tongue that is set on a pivot and wags at both ends." The stocky, bandy-legged figure swayed back and forth with extravagant manifestations of delight. "That gets Gorham! I'd have been sorry for the Insurance Company if it wuz ter lose, ye know. Sorry fur true! I always had a soft place in my heart for a corporation--pore motherless thing!"