To describe Fairtown would be superfluous. Every one knows this popular
seaside resort. This year, I believe for the first time, a large tent had
been erected behind the sea-baths building, which was occupied each week
by a different company of entertainers. In my second week a troupe of
pierrots was there, the "Classical P's," they were called, and hearing
from some one in the hotel that they were quite out of the ordinary, I
went on the Thursday evening. At the opening of the performance the
leader of the troupe announced that Brother Pythagoras, after the
performance on the previous evening, had been obliged to go to town, and
unfortunately had not yet returned, so they would be without his services
that night. There was some disappointment; he had a charming tenor voice,
my neighbor told me. The full troupe numbered six, described on the
program as Brothers Pluto, Pompey, and Pythagoras, and Sisters Psyche,
Pomona, and Penelope; that night, of course, they were only five, but the
entertainment was excellent.

Sister Pomona was altogether an exceptional pianist, her interpretation
of items by Schumann and Mendelssohn being little short of a revelation.
She was pretty, too, and her scarlet dress with its white pompons, and
her pierrot's hat to match, suited her to perfection.

I was amongst the last left in the tent after the performance, partly
owing to the position of my seat, partly, at least so Zena would have it
later, and I did not contradict her, because I was lingering in the hope
of getting another glimpse of Pomona. As I moved toward the exit there
came a short scream, a terrified scream it seemed to me, from behind the
stage. I turned back and waited, and in a minute or two Brother Pluto
came from behind the curtains.