Meanwhile we are going somewhere, and that is to Belleville!

As the train rolls into the station, I look out and see the usual crowd. This is a good town, all right. There is an interest taken. About twenty-five or thirty people are gathered directly in front of the depot door. Then there are about that many more scattered about. They are there for one cause, principally, and that cause is to see the Professor. No I am not bigoted in this respect. I know from the way they act that they are there to see what a real, live hypnotist looks like. But they are not going to chance being put into a state of catalepsy light then and there.

There are a couple of school girls who look at us as we step from the train as though we were something very, very funny. They grab each other and scream and laugh hysterically. Then there is the old oracle who sails around and warms himself at Mr. Andrews' stove or goes up in the office of the Belleville Clarion and makes himself a general nuisance. He is there to "git the latest," whatever that may be. As we stop to see that our baggage is not smashed more than is necessary to stimulate the joy of the baggageman, this old man asks me the time. He is aching to get into a conversation. As I tell him the time, he remarks, "Goin' to put one o' them boy to sleep in that there coffin?" Whereupon I ask Harris if the baggage is out safely and if it will be down to the hall in time.

Then we step into the Belleville House bus and are taken down to the "swellest hotel" to be the wonder during the remainder of our stay.

I see that the town is properly billed. There are plenty of stands for the size of the place and some of our folders lay upon the desk of the hotel office as we enter.

"Hello, Prof!" I hear, and turn to be greeted by one of my commercial friends. "Hello, Davis," I return.

"You're going to have a big house tonight, Prof," he continues. "You should see the tickets that are sold over at the drug store. Must be a hundred seats reserved. Going to be a great push there tonight. Nothing doin' in the old town and people are show hungry; besides you have worked up a pretty good name through curing that old man of rheumatism down in New Oxford".

Curing someone of something at every entertainment has ever been my aim. It is a good one, too, for, as in a case like this, the news will travel as many as a hundred miles and greet you with good returns.

It is but ten o'clock and Harris and I go out to take a stroll. Albert and Harry go to hunt a big stone for the stone-breaking contest.

The main street covers about two blocks, built up on both sides with substantial two-story brick buildings. Belleville shows signs of prosperity and we do not blame the denizens for liking their little town. After all, there they are and they don't care much what happens in the big world outside. They have certain manners that are peculiar to all little towns and their minds are just as bright as are those of a larger place. They don't see things and when the chance is offered to them, they greet it gladly. After all, if a blase city clubman were to be thrown into a little town like this and kept there for three long years and a show came to town; would he go? Would he? Why. you couldn't keep him away no matter how poor it was in every detail. No matter if he had been seated in the best opera houses of two continents and listened to all the great stars in Tragedy. Opera or Comedy, he would be that thirsty to be amused that he would cheer himself hoarse over Uncle Tom's Cabin, even though it was one of those tent varieties 1.

I always think, these things when I get into a little town because the truth of it all is so strongly presented to me.

Harris and I walk across the street - the weather is very mild -to the drug store at which our tickets are on sale. When we step in, there are about a dozen or more in the store. There usually are in a little town. They size us up in a casual manner as though they wondered what we really were, honest people or rank frauds.

Harris holds a conversation with the proprietor just as though they were brothers. He introduces me and we are soon talking merrily. The seats have sold well and the prospects are that there will not be chairs enough in the hall. Most of these halls in country towns serve as opera house, dance hail or assembly room. In them everything is held, from the political speech to the mask ball.

The three of us are soon laughing and talking, and the doctor is not slow in joining us. We have cigars and start to smoke. Then the attorney has something to say to the doctor and he is soon one of the crowd. It is added to one by one until there is quite a company of us, and Harris and I exchange stories with the village solons and surgeons. Here we are again advertising ourselves. We have met the "best people" in town and are already acquainted - just as we have been scores of times before, and just as we will be hundreds of times hence, let us hope.

Then I find it my duty to examine the casket. It has been placed in the big show window and is shown to an advantage. There is nothing terrible about it. It has attracted crowds all day; that is, crowds, as Belleville would call them!

At seven o'clock tonight I will place Albert in a sleep. He will remain there until tomorrow night at eight, when he will be awakened on the stage.

Tonight half of Belleville will be down town to see the subject put to sleep. Then, all night long, someone will be watching him to see if he moves or if he is given anything to eat. And several times during the night there will be stories started that the subject was seen to get the noted vocalists up during the night. These stories will be promptly denied, and so the process of advertising will go on.

When Harris and I go to dinner, it is in company with three of the most prominent and respected citizens of Belleville. There certainly is nothing like having the acquaintance of the best people in town. You will pull their friends and the others also. And the professional hypnotist will find that the "better class" even in a town like Belleville is usually a large per cent of the show-going people. They find out if some of the "leaders" are going and they follow the queen bee. So, when we get these prominent men on our side, we know that the remainder of the seats in the Belleville Opera House will be taken, and that the hall on tomorrow night will be crowded to the doors. We know, too, that our total expenses in Belleville will not be over $35. If the hall is filled, we will have a hundred dollar house, at the very least. I tell you it pays to be "one of the best".