But it was only when they turned the last corner and started down the hill toward the Rink that he realized just how hard it was going to be. It seemed to him all Hardiston was there ahead of him. The crowd clustered in front of the Rink and extended out into the street; and more were coming from each direction. Mrs. Hullis and Mrs. Chase, ahead, were lost in the throng. Wint stopped; he turned to his father. “We’ll cut through the back way,” he said. Chase agreed; and they turned down an alley, and came circuitously to the stage door and went in. The minute he came inside the door, he heard the hum and buzz of voices. He could see out on the stage, with its stock set of a farmyard scene. There were chairs, and a table. Amos, and Sam O’Brien, and B. B. and two or three others were waiting just inside the stage door; and Sam gripped Wint’s shoulders and exclaimed: “Lord, but you give us a scare, Wint. Thought you wasn’t coming. I was all set to go fetch you.” “Oh, I was coming, all right,” Wint said nervously, one ear attuned to the murmur of the crowd. “Sounds as though there were a lot of people here.” “Every seat, and standing room in the aisles, and half of ’em can’t get in.” Wint grinned weakly. “And I suppose they’ve got every rotten egg in town.” Sam stared; then he howled. “Rotten egg! Oh, Lord, Wint, you’ll be the death of me. I’ll die a-laughing. Rotten egg!” He turned to Amos. “Wint says rotten egg!” he cried. Amos looked at Wint in a curious fashion; and he smiled. “It’s half past seven,” he said. “No need to make them wait.” Wint gulped. “All right. I’m ready as I will be.” Amos nodded. “Then it’s your move, B. B.” B. B. cleared his throat. “Very well.” He turned and started toward the stage. Sam shepherded Wint that way. Amos and Wint’s father came side by side, the others following. Wint found himself out on the stage. The glare of the footlights blinded him for a moment; but he heard the sudden, brief clatter of handclapping that greeted them. The stir was quickly hushed. His eyes, accustomed to the footlights, discovered that the house was banked full of people. Floor and gallery were jammed. Small boys clung to the great beams and steel rods that crisscrossed to support the roof. Some of them seemed right overhead. And everywhere Wint looked, people were staring at him. He felt the actual, physical weight of all those eyes, overwhelming him. He felt crushed, helpless; he had a curious obsession that he could not move hands or feet. He worked the fingers of his right hand cautiously, and was relieved to find that they answered to his will. He was dazed. He became conscious that B. B. was on his feet, his hands clasped in front of him in a characteristic way; there was a little smile upon his face, and he was speaking in a low, pleasant voice. Wint could not catch the words; his ears were not functioning. His senses were numbed by that overpowering sea of faces in front of him.