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Look out for that nigger!

Heeding the call of an electrician, Ambrose anxiously awaited the onslaught of a bellicose Ethiopian. Suddenly, struck squarely and severely on the top of his head, he was borne to the floor where he lay prone and trembling under a black cloth stretched on a light wooden frame.

He extricated himself to hear Auburn Six explain: One of the reflectors swung loose. We call them niggers on the lot.

This incident introduced Ambrose to the stage where Martell Hallam was directing Spider Boy.

His next surprise was of a more agreeable nature. Hallam invited him to sit down in a chair across the back of which his name, Ambrose Deacon, was printed in bold white letters.

His third surprise was equivocal. The set in front of him—a superb affair—seemed to represent the ball-room in the palace of a rich Russian nobleman. Auburn Six, in an evening gown of surpassing splendour, a tiara of emeralds around her brow, was wrapped in a sable cloak. Cossacks in shakos and