The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1912-05-08

which some associate with economy.
 The lips were full and saved from
 sensuality by the length and firmness
 of the upper one. The neither lip had
 an oratorical pout The eyes were full. At their outer corners the
 chronological bump of calculation
 overhung and in certain portions hid
 the upper lid. Below the eyes there
 was an inclination to puff. The eye itself was the uncertain color of
 smoked glass. When Brookfield smiled his eyes were almost blue; when he swore-and he swore occa-
 sionaHy-they were quite black; but they were always level, fearless, un- wavering. The head was round and fairly large The ears were notice
 ably low in position, indicating a capacious brain-pan. At the base Of the skull behind there was fulness not altogether pleasing to the sight Ebut, like all men similarly endowed, | it's possessor had an occult and rec1p- rocal understanding of all dumb anil | mals.
 | As Brookfield paced back and forth 1 he endeavored to get his mind away
 from the stranger who had so sin gularly attracted him-and the old lobby was potent with suggestion.
 Except for an occasional single pie ture here and there, which he recog-
 nized as recent additions, it's walls closely and irregularly covered with faded and fading photographs, were
 as he remembered them to have been
 for the past twenty years. Favor l ties of the theatre-go1ng public of the days of John Owens and the elder Davenport were represented there; ,;
 Goodwin, juvenile and sleek and slight, as Brookfield remembered him in the early days. of his popularity; Joe Emmett, another helpful patron of Brookfield's establishment; John Ray mond, with whom, when it had been necessary to leave the table for the
 theatre, he had repaired to the old
 actors dressing-rOom and continued
 the contest by matching silver dollars during waits. These and hundreds of
 others gazed at him with the well-re- membered looks of early friends.
 1 There was a batter of metallic taps on the tiles behind him. Brookfeld | turned to meet a shaggy, rheumatic and over-fed dog, half Irish terrier
 and half bull. The dog wagged his
 stumpy tail and turned over on his
 back, all four paws in the air, at
 stood the request, and as he scratch ed the shaggy belly with the toe of 1 his pump he said, Where's your mas | ter, Bert-where is he?'' Bert inter
 preted the remark to be request for
 his opinion upon the character of the l
 and smiled dog fashion. Knowing | that the manager of the theatre was
 not far off when the dog was in the | lobby, Brookfeld moved back toward
 the private office. The dog preceded
 him and stood eXpectantly at the sec
 ond door, which was the one leading
 into the theatre Brookf1eld opened
 it; the dog went into the auditorium
 as was his undisputed privilege, and | Brookfeld followed. Bert battered down the side aisle and into the pros
 cenium-box, by which Brookfield knew
 that the manager was probably on the
 stage. He desisted, therefore, from
 his purpose in following the dog, es-
 pecially as his knowledge of the opera | reminded him that it was nearing the l final curtain. He stood looking over | the audience.
 l The distinctive charm of Macau- | ley's Theatre is it's somewhat anti | quated model: a wide and shallow 1 parquet floor surrounded by a dress | circle, dish h-shaped, the rise a little l more acute than that favored by mod ern architecture, but making it poSSi- | ble for every one in the theatre to see l everybody else, and giving to it that 1 feeling of intimacy and homlikeness | so dear to the Southern heart. Ex- cept for a few purchasers who had 1 drifted in from the hotels-the small percentage of visitors-the ground floor members of the audience of this