CHAPTER XXXIV
It was in the Orpheum Theatre, of Oakland, California; and Harley Kennan was in the act of reaching under his seat for his hat, when his wife said:
“ Why, this isn’t the interval. There’s one more turn yet.”
“ A dog turn,” he answered, and thereby explained; for it was his practice to leave a theatre during the period of the performance of an animal-act.
Villa Kennan glanced hastily at the programme.
“ Of course,” she said, then added: “But it’s a singing dog. A dog Caruso. And it points out that there is no one on the stage with the dog. Let us stay for once, and see how he compares with Jerry.”
“ Some poor brute tormented into howling,” Harley grumbled.
“ But it has the stage to itself,” Villa urged. “Besides, if it is painful, then we can go out. I’l
