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Updated: June 18, 2025
It was very evident that the ticket-seller, not merely from his natural self-assertion but even more because of his enviable acquaintance with certain actresses and his occasional privileges in the way of free passes, was the acknowledged autocrat of the table. Under his guidance the conversation quickly turned to theatrical and "show" talk. Much of it was vulgar, and all of it was dull.
"Oh, you know more about it than they do," she replied, "and besides, some way I wouldn't feel as if I were bothering you." "Not a bit of bother, Amarilly, and I hope you will always feel that way." The ticket-seller was prompt, thorough, and shrewd in the matter.
Eskew's story of the ticket-seller was the only news of Joe Louden that came to Canaan during seven years. Another citizen of the town encountered the wanderer, however, but under circumstances so susceptible to misconception that, in a moment of illumination, he decided to let the matter rest in a golden silence. This was Mr. Bantry.
To be sure, the ticket-seller was there, and the lady who checked packages left in her charge, but these must have seen so many endearments pass between passengers, that a fleeting caress or so would scarcely have drawn their notice to our pair. Yet Isabel did not so much even as put her hand into her husband's; and as Basil afterwards said, it was very good practice.
The ticket-seller is a prosperous-looking old woman of fifty or there-about, who wears a beribboned cap and side-curls, and has a mouth which tells of years spent in the authoritative position she occupies.
A man came and purchased a ticket of admission. 'Is Mr. Barnum in the Museum? he asked. The ticket-seller, pointing to me, answered, 'This is Mr. Barnum. Supposing the gentleman had business with me, I looked up from the paper. 'Is this Mr. Barnum? he asked. 'It is, I replied.
"Barnum would not like that, probably, if he knew it," I remarked. "But it happens he don't know it," replied the ticket-seller, in great glee. "Barnum was on the cars the other day, on his way to Bridgeport," said I, "and I heard one of the passengers blowing him up terribly as a humbug. He was addressing Barnum at the time, but did not know him.
Through the jostling, good-natured crowd which blocked the sidewalk in front of the Orpheum Theatre, that Sunday at two o'clock, a policeman in uniform pushed his way to the ticket-booth. "Where's the manager?" The ticket-seller bobbed her head backwards. "First door on the left." The policeman stalked through the lobby, and found the door; knocked belligerently, and stepped inside.
"I didn't know thar was one fer girls," said Amarilly. "I'm glad thar's a way fer me to git eddicated, fer I must hev larnin' afore I kin go on the stage. Mr. Vedder, the ticket-seller to Barlow's, told me so." "Amarilly," and an earnest note crept into the gay, young voice "you may find things that you will like to do more than to go on the stage."
But it makes no difference whether it was good or not," continued the ticket-seller, "the people will go to see Barnum." "Barnum must be a curious chap," I remarked. "Well, I guess he is up to all the dodges." "Do you know him?" I asked. "Not personally," he replied; "but I always get into the Museum for nothing. I know the doorkeeper, and he slips me in free."
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