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24 IT TOOK NINE TAILORS
ward the finish. Resentment welled within Henry's breast; he turned red in the face, raised his flute, and smashed it over my head. The fight that followed was a dandy. When Father came home, he gave us each a tanning and made us pay for the repairs to the flute out of our allowances.
Father was not usually a strict disciplinarian, but when Henry and I tried his patience beyond endurance, he would grab a switch and go for us. Then we would dash out the front door while he pursued us, the tails of his cutaway flapping behind him. As we circled the house Mother would stand on the front porch imploring Father to stop making a spectacle of himself. But Father was no quitter. He usually continued the chase until we retreated up a tree, where he would manage to get in a couple of good swipes at us as we went up.
When we graduated from grammar school, Henry and I entered East High School in Cleveland and got our first jobs as actors. We were on our way to a nickelodeon one Saturday when we passed the Euclid Avenue Opera House. Over the marquee was advertised, "Next Week— BEN HUR— with William Farnum." We stopped to look at the pictures in the lobby and spied a sign that announced, "Supers Wanted— inquire stage door."
Henry and I ran a race to the stage door where we presented ourselves to the stage manager. He agreed to hire us provided we could supply a letter from our mother giving us permission to stay out of school on Wednesday afternoon for the matinee.
Over the week end we wrestled with the problem of how to get such a letter and finally hatched a scheme. At noon on Monday we told Grand mere that since Mother was not home she would have to write a letter for us to the school principal. The letter must say that Henry and I had permission to stay after school on Wednesday to perform a piano and flute duet for the school assembly. She beamed with pride and wrote the letter. Of course, it was in French, because that was the only language she knew. When we presented the letter to the stage man