Suddenly it occurred to some boy to yell, “Boo! boo!” whereat the other boys laughed, and took up the chorus, “Boo! boo!”

The canvas moved less steadily, slackening for a moment, and then shooting ahead, as if the propelling power were the subject of strange perturbation.  The roguish boys, and the men too, and, chief of them, that practical humorist of a conductor, observing this, screamed, “Boo! boo! boo I boo!” all the louder.  Tiffles knew that the critical time had come, and philosophically laughed at the ruin of his last grand project, as he had laughed at the ruin of forty other grand projects in their day.

The panorama stopped without a signal this time.  A hoarse voice screamed, “Gorryfus!  Gosh thunder!  By jimminy!” The curtain was jerked aside, and Stoop rushed into the hall like a fury.  Coming out of a place partly lighted into one totally dark, his first move was to run blindly into Tiffles, nearly knocking that gentleman off his legs.

“Hold on, Stoop!  Hold on!” shouted Tiffles, with what was left of his breath.  But the idiot only screamed, “Gosh thunder!  Gorryfus!” and darted for the main aisle, intending to run a muck among his persecutors.  There was a general scrambling of the boys to avoid this incarnated wrath.  The whole female seminary, and all the ladies present, screamed together.

CHAPTER VII.

SCENES NOT IN THE BILLS.

The enraged idiot struck out right and left, without hurting anybody—­the objects of his vengeance contriving to elude him in the dark.  Most of the sturdy blows which he dealt, using his arms like flails, fell upon the railings of the seats, and only bruised his hands.  Just as he had caught a boy by the collar, and was about to take a twist in his hair, the door opened, and a light appeared.  It came from three candles borne by three men.

This apparition caused the furious idiot to suspend hostilities on the instant.

All eyes were turned toward the three men.  All voices were hushed.  There was a whisper in the air that something strange was about to happen.

The man who entered first was a stranger, who moved and looked about in the quick, nervous way born of city life.  The other two men were well-known residents of the village.  Some of the audience had had unpleasant cause to know them.

Having locked the door, and stationed his associates in a position to command the windows, the stranger walked quickly up the aisle, bearing his lighted candle, and said, in a loud voice, which fell strangely on the hushed assemblage: 

“Marcus Wilkeson will be kind enough to give himself up.  Upon my honor, he cannot escape.”  This was said with a charming politeness.

A tall figure arose at the wall end of one of the back seats.  “I am Marcus Wilkeson.  What do you want with me, sir?” His voice trembled, and his face was livid.