Whitey had been wondering what particular talents Mr. Mildini was master of, and he found that they were many.  He could and did dance, sing, and tell comic stories in a number of dialects, all convulsing.  But tricks were the crowning wonder of Mildini’s performance, though he called them “feats of magic.”

I’d hesitate to tell you the things he could take out of a silk hat; live rabbits, endless strips of colored paper, jars of imitation goldfish, and many other useless articles.  It is true that the silk hat was his, no one in the audience having been able to produce one, when requested to do so but it was passed freely among the crowd to be examined; to convince doubters that there was no “deception.”  Endless eggs could Mildini take from his mouth, ears, hair, or from the mouth, ears, or hair of any “gent” in the audience.

And every one, from store-keeper to hold-up man, wondered and laughed and was pleasantly deceived.  And after one of the most difficult tricks, when a puncher said, “I wonder what he’s goin’ t’ do next?” the people near Whitey were puzzled when he burst into laughter.

Then there was Mrs. Mildini, who, it seemed, was “Mademoiselle Therese,” who not only could draw enchanting melodies from a violin, but could make it speak in the language of various barnyard creatures, such as geese, chickens, pigs—­oh, almost anything.  And the music she could extract from one string—­“one string, mind you, ladees and gentlemun!” It was marvelous.

It is true that she introduced an element of sadness in the evening when she played “Home, Sweet Home,” and “Way Down upon the Swanee River,” reducing even the bartenders and hold-up men almost to tears.  But possibly a touch of the serious lends a pleasant contrast to merriment.

There remained Signor Antolini, who was the “World’s Greatest Contortionist,” and who certainly could contort in a manner to shame an angleworm:  could twist his slim body into knots that it would seem almost impossible to untie; and could pass it through a hoop through which any sensible person would be willing to bet it couldn’t go.

Whitey had cause to remember this talent of the Signor’s, for in after days when Whitey tried to pass his body through a small hoop, it didn’t pass.  It held Whitey firmly, in a very painful position, all twisted up like that.  And as no one happened to be near, it was some time before Whitey’s yells brought Bill Jordan, who cut the hoop in two, and instead of applauding, laughed.

And last of all came a little play in which the “entire company” took part, a comic little play, in which Signor Antolini was a professor who was going to teach Mrs. Mildini to be an actress.  But they were constantly interrupted by Mr. Mildini, who was a funny darky, all blacked up.  And then it appeared that Mr. Mildini could play on many instruments; one of them a long spoon, which he used as a flute.  There was no end to that man’s talents.  And to think he had been so friendly and chatty with Whitey on the plains!