One might find it in him to feel sorry for this small-souled, warped being, for he was so evidently the jest of Fate, if it were not that he was so blissfully, so conceitedly, unconscious of his own nastiness.  Down home he had shaved the wild young bucks of the town, and while doing it drunk in eagerly their unguarded narrations of their gay exploits.  So he had started out with false ideals as to what was fine and manly.  He was afflicted by a sort of moral and mental astigmatism that made him see everything wrong.  As he sat there to-night, he gave to all he saw a wrong value and upon it based his ignorant desires.

When the men of the orchestra filed in and began tuning their instruments, it was the signal for an influx of loiterers from the door.  There were a large number of coloured people in the audience, and because members of their own race were giving the performance, they seemed to take a proprietary interest in it all.  They discussed its merits and demerits as they walked down the aisle in much the same tone that the owners would have used had they been wondering whether the entertainment was going to please the people or not.

Finally the music struck up one of the numerous negro marches.  It was accompanied by the rhythmic patting of feet from all parts of the house.  Then the curtain went up on a scene of beauty.  It purported to be a grove to which a party of picnickers, the ladies and gentlemen of the chorus, had come for a holiday, and they were telling the audience all about it in crescendos.  With the exception of one, who looked like a faded kid glove, the men discarded the grease paint, but the women under their make-ups ranged from pure white, pale yellow, and sickly greens to brick reds and slate grays.  They were dressed in costumes that were not primarily intended for picnic going.  But they could sing, and they did sing, with their voices, their bodies, their souls.  They threw themselves into it because they enjoyed and felt what they were doing, and they gave almost a semblance of dignity to the tawdry music and inane words.

Kitty was enchanted.  The airily dressed women seemed to her like creatures from fairy-land.  It is strange how the glare of the footlights succeeds in deceiving so many people who are able to see through other delusions.  The cheap dresses on the street had not fooled Kitty for an instant, but take the same cheese-cloth, put a little water starch into it, and put it on the stage, and she could see only chiffon.

She turned around and nodded delightedly at her brother, but he did not see her.  He was lost, transfixed.  His soul was floating on a sea of sense.  He had eyes and ears and thoughts only for the stage.  His nerves tingled and his hands twitched.  Only to know one of those radiant creatures, to have her speak to him, smile at him!  If ever a man was intoxicated, Joe was.  Mrs. Hamilton was divided between shame at the clothes of some of the women and delight with the music.  Her companion was busy pointing out who this and that actress was, and giving jelly-like appreciation to the doings on the stage.