“How much is the ticket?” asked Phil.

“Fifteen cents.  Best reserved seats twenty-five cents.’

“I believe I will be extravagant for once,” said Phil, “and go at my own expense.”

“Good!” said the signor huskily.  “You’ll feel repaid I’ll be bound.  Bowerman always gives the public their money’s worth.  The performance begins at eight o’clock and won’t be out until half-past eleven.”

“Less than five cents an hour,” commented Phil.

“What a splendid head you’ve got!” said Signor Orlando admiringly.  “I couldn’t have worked that up.  Figures ain’t my province.”

It seemed to Phil rather a slender cause for compliment, but he said nothing, since it seemed clear that the computation was beyond his companion’s ability.

As to the performance, it was not refined, nor was the talent employed first-class.  Still Phil enjoyed himself after a fashion.  He had never had it in his power to attend many amusements, and this was new to him.  He naturally looked with interest for the appearance of his new friend and fellow-lodger.

Signor Orlando appeared, dressed in gorgeous array, sang a song which did credit to the loudness of his voice rather than its quality, and ended by a noisy clog-dance which elicited much applause from the boys in the gallery, who shared the evening’s entertainment for the moderate sum of ten cents.

The signor was called back to the stage.  He bowed his thanks and gave another dance.  Then he was permitted to retire.  As this finished his part of the entertainment he afterward came around in citizen’s dress, and took a seat in the auditorium beside Phil.

“How did you like me, Mr. Brent?” he asked complacently.

“I thought you did well, Signor Orlando.  You were much applauded.”

“Yes, the audience is very loyal,” said the proud performer.

Two half-grown boys heard Phil pronounce the name of his companion, and they gazed awe-stricken at the famous man.

“That’s Signor Orlando!” whispered one of the others.

“I know it,” was the reply.

“Such is fame,” said the Signor, in a pleased tone to Phil.  “People point me out on the streets.”

“Very gratifying, no doubt,” said our hero, but it occurred to him that he would not care to be pointed out as a performer at Bowerman’s.  Signor Orlando, however, well-pleased with himself, didn’t doubt that Phil was impressed by his popularity, and perhaps even envied it.

They didn’t stay till the entertainment was over.  It was, of course, familiar to the signor, and Phil felt tired and sleepy, for he had passed a part of the afternoon in exploring the city, and had walked in all several miles.

He went back to his lodging-house, opened the door with a pass-key which Mrs. Schlessinger had given him, and climbing to his room in the third story, undressed and deposited himself in bed.