Barlow (joining in the laugh). Who wouldn't? Each time I stepped onhis leg he glawhite--regular Macbeth stare--like this: "Is this ajagger which I look at before me?" (Suits action to word.) But I neverlet on I saw, but continued to rehearse. When the lurch came,however, and I toppled over on top of him, grabbed his shoulders inmy arms to keep from sprawling inside his lap, and hissed "villanousviper" inside his face, he was inclined to resent it forcibly.

Yardsley. I don't blame him. Seems to me a man of your intelligenceought to know much better than to rehearse on a cable-car, anyhow, to saynothing of stepping on a man's corns.

Barlow. 0f course I apologized; but he was a persistent ancient codger,and demanded an explanation of my epithet.

Perkins. It's a wonder he didn't have you put off. A man doesn'tlike to be insulted even if he does ride on the cable.

Barlow. 0h, I appeased him. I told him I sometimes was rehearsing. That Iwas an amateur actor.

Mrs. Perkins. And of course he was satisfied.