“Come in here,” he said abruptly.

Bob found himself comfortably seated in a commodious open-air theatre, watching an excellent vaudeville performance.  He enjoyed it thoroughly, for it was above the average.  In fifteen minutes, however, the last soubrette disappeared in the wings to the accompaniment of a swirl of music.  Her place was taken by a tall, facetious-looking, bald individual, clad in a loose frock coat.  He held up his hand for silence.

“Ladies ‘n’ gentlemen,” he drawled, “we hope you have enjoyed yourselves.  If you find a better show than this in any theatre in town, barring the Orpheum, come and tell us about it and we will see what we can do to brace ours up.  I don’t believe you can.  This show will be repeated every afternoon and evening, with complete change of programme twice a week.  Go away and tell your friends about the great free show down on Spring Street.  Just tell them about it.”

Bob glanced startled at his companion.  Baker was grinning.

“This show has cost us up to date,” went on the leisurely drawl, “just twenty-eight hundred dollars.  Go and tell your friends that. But”—­he suddenly straightened his figure and his voice became more incisive—­“that is not enough.  We have decided to give you something real to talk about.  We have decided to give every man, woman and child in this vast audience a first-night present of Two Silver Dollars!”

Bob could feel an electric thrill run through the crowd, and every one sat up a little straighter in his chair.

“Let me see,” the orator went on, running his eye over the audience.  He had resumed his quieter manner.  “There are perhaps seven hundred people present.  That would make fourteen hundred dollars.  By the way, John,” he addressed some one briskly.  “Close the gates and lock them.  We don’t want anybody in on this who didn’t have interest enough in our show to come in the first place.”  He winked humorously at the crowd, and several laughed.

“Pretty rotten, eh?” whispered Baker admiringly.  “Fixed ’em so they won’t bolt when the show’s over and before he works off his dope.”

“These Two Silver Dollars, which I want you all to get, are in these hampers.  Six little boys will distribute them.  Come up, boys, and get each a hatful of dollars.”  The six solemnly marched up on the stage and busied themselves with the hampers.  “While we are waiting,” went on the orator, “I will seize the opportunity to present to you the world-famed discoverer of that wonderful anaesthetic, Oxodyne, Painless Porter.”

At the words a dapper little man in immaculately correct evening dress, and carrying a crush hat under his arm, stepped briskly from the wings.  He was greeted by wild but presumably manufactured applause.  He bowed rigidly from the hips, and at once began to speak in a high and nasal but extremely penetrating voice.