"Looks don't play a very important part in my work," Douglas
answered curtly. Mandy's confidential snickers made him doubly
anxious to get to a less personal topic.
"Well, they count for a whole lot with us." She nodded her head
decidedly. "How long you been showin' in this town, anyhow?"
"About a year," Douglas answered, with something of a sigh.
"A year!" she gasped. "In a burg like this? You must have an
awful lot of laughs in your act to keep 'em a-comin' that long."
She was wise in the ways of professional success.
"Not many, I'm afraid." He wondered, for the first time, if this
might be the reason for his rather indifferent success.
"Do you give them the same stuff, or have you got a rep?"
"A rep?" he repeated in surprise.
"Sure, repertory--different acts--entries, some calls 'em. Uncle
Toby's got twenty-seven entries. It makes a heap of difference
in the big towns where you have a run."
"Oh, I understand," Douglas answered in a tone of relief. "Well,
I try to say something new each Sunday."
"What kind of spiels do you give 'em?" she inquired with growing
interest.
"I try to help my people to get on better terms with themselves
and to forget their week-day troubles." He had never had
occasion to define his efforts so minutely.
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