I proposed that during my stay in the town I would give to each patron a number for every dollar invested, entitling him or her to a chance in a drawing for one of the pictures, which I intended to make on the last night. The other picture I then offered as a prize for a voting contest for the most popular young lady in the city, the proceeds to go to the benefit of the church. Before making this offer, I had looked over the ground very carefully, and was certain it would yield a success. I found I had not been mistaken. The pictures were really fine ones, costing me fifty dollars at wholesale, but by using them in this way I believe they netted me more than their cost. The voting contest developed a rivalry I had not anticipated, and not only were the audiences immense, but the dimes rolled by the dozen into the hands of the two young gentlemen that were appointed treasurers of the church. Our own interests were not forgotten. They seemed about that time to be tangled up with those of the church, and the way we gathered orders, both at the entertainments and in the outside canvass, kept my artist working night and day, and very nearly strained my ability. In anticipation of the step, I had headed my troupe on the second evening of our stay in the place, which happened to be Sunday, and we all filed into church together. Our exhibitions, while lively and interesting, were all of the most unobjectionable order, and in every way I worked it so that we would seem, as we were, worthy of the support of the best people. At the outset it seemed a foregone conclusion that a Miss Kitty Kneilson would carry away the palm. She was so far ahead at the close of the second evening of voting that I was afraid interest might slacken and the receipts fall off. The next evening there happened, altogether by chance, something I would never have thought of, and if I had would scarcely have dared to suggest. Some innocent, scatter-brained, harum-scarum young fellow dropped a vote in the box inscribed with the name of “Claude Maxwell.” When that name was read out there was a roar through the house, and I was afraid there was going to be trouble. Claude Maxwell was a very estimable young gentleman, but he belonged to that class who from their fair appearance, exact dress, and mincing manners are sometimes called dudes. He was bright, big-hearted and full of life, but every one recognized the joke, and there was a clapping of hands, and much laughter, before it was thought how Maxwell might take it. All doubt on that score was removed by the young gentleman himself, who arose in the seat, somewhere near the front, a smile on his features, and made a profound bow. With that the game was started. Maxwell had any quantity of friends among the young folks, and they all seemed seized with a sudden desire to “josh” him. The next moment the tellers announced “Ten more votes for Claude Maxwell.” Some one had thrown in a dollar to keep the joke going.