Prosperity smiled again.  The very first audience after the acquisition of Roderick was larger than the largest of the morning.  Master Bitts—­the only exhibit placed upon a box—­was a supercurio.  All eyes fastened upon him and remained, hungrily feasting, throughout Penrod’s luminous oration.

But the glory of one light must ever be the dimming of another.  We dwell in a vale of seesaws—­and cobwebs spin fastest upon laurel.  Verman, the tattooed wild boy, speaking only in his native foreign languages, Verman the gay, Verman the caperer, capered no more; he chuckled no more, he beckoned no more, nor tapped his chest, nor wreathed his idolatrous face in smiles.  Gone, all gone, were his little artifices for attracting the general attention to himself; gone was every engaging mannerism which had endeared him to the mercurial public.  He squatted against the wall and glowered at the new sensation.  It was the old story—­the old, old story of too much temperament:  Verman was suffering from artistic jealousy.

The second audience contained a cash-paying adult, a spectacled young man whose poignant attention was very flattering.  He remained after the lecture, and put a few questions to Roddy, which were answered rather confusedly upon promptings from Penrod.  The young man went away without having stated the object of his interrogations, but it became quite plain, later in the day.  This same object caused the spectacled young man to make several brief but stimulating calls directly after leaving the Schofield and Williams Big Show, and the consequences thereof loitered not by the wayside.

The Big Show was at high tide.  Not only was the auditorium filled and throbbing; there was an indubitable line—­by no means wholly juvenile—­waiting for admission to the next pufformance.  A group stood in the street examining the poster earnestly as it glowed in the long, slanting rays of the westward sun, and people in automobiles and other vehicles had halted wheel in the street to read the message so piquantly given to the world.  These were the conditions when a crested victoria arrived at a gallop, and a large, chastely magnificent and highly flushed woman descended, and progressed across the yard with an air of violence.

At sight of her, the adults of the waiting line hastily disappeared, and most of the pausing vehicles moved instantly on their way.  She was followed by a stricken man in livery.

The stairs to the auditorium were narrow and steep; Mrs. Roderick Magsworth Bitts was of a stout favour; and the voice of Penrod was audible during the ascent.

“Re-mem-bur, gentilmun and lay-deeze, each and all are now gazing upon Roderick Magsworth Bitts, Junior, the only living nephew of the great Rena Magsworth.  She stuck ars’nic in the milk of eight separate and distinck people to put in their coffee and each and all of ’em died.  The great ars’nic murderess, Rena Magsworth, gentilmun and lay-deeze, and Roddy’s her only living nephew.  She’s a relation of all the Bitts family, but he’s her one and only living nephew.  Re-mem-bur!  Next July she’s goin’ to be hung, and, each and all, you now see before you——­”