No philanthropist of the "Coal Oil Johnny" sort had discovered the minstrels as yet, but the path of their travels was one of nightly carousals. The two dancers were assisting the manager-angel in scattering the money that came in. The people were hungry for amusements; hence the tour thus far had been one of profit. The manager and his companions never went to bed when there was another place to go. It was one of the pass-times of the two dancers to enter Alfred's room noiselessly, pull him violently out of bed and steal out in the darkness. In one of their playful moods they carried Alfred's wearing apparel to another part of the hotel. Alfred warned the stage manager that he intended to resent this treatment. However, there was no cessation to the indignities the two put upon the young minstrel. But like all so-called ladders, they could not stand the gaff. After a particularly keen onslaught upon Alfred with their tongues, in which several of his weaknesses were commented upon, Alfred got back at them: "I don't have to cater to the manager to hold my job; I'm drawing my wages on my work, not on my cheek," was Alfred's retort. * * * * * At Titusville, a banquet was tendered the minstrels by the landlord of the hotel. Many speeches were delivered, good, bad and very bad--all predicting the perpetual success of the minstrel enterprise. There was a lull in the gaiety. The toastmaster announced as there was no prepared program all would be expected to say something. He thereupon introduced one of Alfred's tormentors. The fellow arose, cleared his throat and made a laborious attempt to speak a few intelligible words, concluding with an indelicate story. The landlord tiptoed across the room closing the door that none might overhear. With a maudlin leer he followed the landlord with his eyes, as he shouted: "Thanks, Landy, this ain't a ladies' story." As he sat down there was neither laughter nor applause. The toastmaster called upon Alfred. He was overcome with bashfulness and did not arise until several urged him to say something. "Get up, get up," urged the two men opposite. Alfred arose, so confused he could not articulate. A voice shouted: "Tell them about the panorama." Alfred began Palmer's lecture. It had no application to the occasion, but few understood it, there was an oppressive silence. Alfred had no idea of when to cease talking, and would probably have given the whole lecture, had not Bill Young, a musician, one who took a very great interest in him, seized him by the arm, shaking him forcibly: "Here, here; you forgot the song, you promised to sing for us." Bill continued: "Gentlemen: Alfred will now give you a correct imitation of an old maid singing 'Barbara Allen.'"