When Handy and his pro tem landlord arrived in Weston they discovered the ever-faithful Smith at the station awaiting them. He had been on the look-out for over an hour. As he had nothing in particular to occupy his mind, the railroad station was as interesting a place as any he could find in which to loiter. The evening was not particularly agreeable; Smith, however, did not mind a little thing like that. He could stand it; besides, he was most anxious to meet his manager immediately and ascertain what the future promised from actual and personal observation. He was pleased when the train rolled in and the two advance men alighted. Few words were exchanged between Smith and his principal, but few as they were, he was convinced that the visit to Gotown was satisfactory. The trio reached the hotel in time for a substantial supper. That disposed of, and when the dishes were cleared away, Handy began to unburden himself:
"I wish to see the members of the company to-night, Smith, and have a talk with them. We have secured the opening night in a brand-new house next Saturday night—the Gotown Metropolitan Academy of Music. Don't look surprised. It is a fact. The place isn't quite completed yet, and may not be altogether finished when we open it. However, that cuts no ice, for I never in my experience found a newly built theatre to be altogether ready at the time it was announced to open—but the place opened, just the same."
"Is it really a new house, Handy?" inquired Smith, somewhat in doubt.
"It will be when it is finished."
"Have you seen the builder's designs? What kind of a place is it, anyhow?"
"Designs be hanged! No. They build without plans in Gotown. The place is growing so almighty fast they have no time to waste preparing plans or designs. The builder thinks them out as he works along."
"But there's a hall?" inquired Smith, doubtingly as before.
"I told you," replied Handy, a little vexed, "it isn't there yet, but we will find it there when we arrive. Don't you want to risk it, Smith?"
"Of course I want to go, but there are some who hesitate."
"Who are they?"
"I'd sooner you would find it out from themselves."
"That's it, eh? Mutineers on board. Well, all I can say is they can fly the coop at once, and take the next train back." At this point a knock was heard at the door and three members of the company entered. "Ah, good-evening, gentlemen!" said Handy blandly. "Be seated."
Then in his own peculiar manner he described his visit to Gotown, the kind of a place it was, and the prospects of the proposed venture. They listened attentively to his story. When he informed them that to the company was given the distinguished privilege of opening the new establishment, they signified their willingness to take chances. There was one, however, who showed the white feather. From his manner it was evident he was the one disturbing element in the otherwise harmonious organization. He exhibited his ill-concealed contempt of the scheme by smirks, smiles, and shrugs. He could hardly be considered an actor. His best attempts at acting were bad—at times they reached the limit. Off the stage he was a snob by affiliation and a gossiper by inclination. He drifted into the profession on the tide of his own vanity and continued in the lower ranks through the merit of his complete unfitness to advance a rung higher. There are many of his kind in every calling.
"I wish to say one thing right here and now," said Handy, and with firmness. "I want no unwilling volunteers, and I am not offering bounties. This Gotown venture promises well. I told you what I could and would do if things panned out all right, and what I would do, anyhow, no matter how things went. I think from my standpoint the proposition is a fair one. You are the best judges from your point. Anyone who don't wish to go, needn't. That's all."
"Well," replied Smith promptly and cheerfully, "I guess if you can stand it, we can; at least I speak for myself."
Those present, except the individual indicated, coincided with Smith.
"May I inquire," asked the member of the company indicated, "what manner of entertainment you propose to present at this a—a—Gotown place, Mr. Handy?"
"Certainly you may," answered Handy calmly. "It will be one in which there is no part for you, sir."
"What do you mean?"
"Only this: Gotown or no Gotown, you are not in it. I have been studying your actions for some time. As an actor, we can dispense with your services. There is no position in this company for disturbers or gossipers."
"I think this is the——"
Handy continued, not paying the slightest attention to the speaker's interruption: "The next train leaves at 10:13 for the city—about an hour from now. Your ticket will be given you at the station, and you can leave here. You are no longer a member of this company."
This episode, instead of weakening Handy in the estimation of his people, tended rather to strengthen him. It proved that he could wield power when he considered it necessary to do so. Notwithstanding that the departing one was unpopular with his associates, he had managed through insinuating manners and slippery speech to create petty dissensions. After he departed he was voted very much of a bore by those who remained. Handy, on the contrary, did not even once refer to the subject. The act he considered from a purely business standpoint. He had matters on hand of greater moment to engross his attention.
All told, his company numbered seven acting members. He had no advance man or press agent. He did not need either. Weston he made business manager—he himself was director in general and actor in particular. So far everything was all right. What puzzled him most was the class of entertainment he had to supply. His company was not such as he considered an adaptable one; it was not such as he had when he made the descent on Newport. The dwarf was not there; neither was Nibsy—both valuable people from a strolling player's standpoint. It is true he had his loyal friend Smith, and Smith could be relied upon for any emergency. With the ability of the remaining members of his troupe he was comparatively unacquainted. In no way disheartened, he determined to do the best he could. A scene from one play and an act from another, with a liberal sprinkling of songs and dances and monologues sandwiched in between the so-called dramatic portions, he concluded, would be as good a bill of fare as he could supply. This, with the assistance of the Handel and Hayden Philharmonic Orchestra, ought to in all reason satisfy Gotown and its audience.
"We are not so all-fired badly fixed, after all, Smith, old boy," said Handy, in his customary optimistic manner, as they sat together reviewing the situation. "With seven people we can attempt almost any practical play. We played, you remember, 'Uncle Tom's Cabin' with that number. We also got away with 'Monte Cristo' with seven. Of course it wasn't as well done as James O'Neill does it, but that's another question. Let me see! How many did we have when we presented 'Around the World in Eighty Days'?"
"Fourteen," quickly responded Smith, "but that included a grand ballet."
"Ah, that's so! So it did," said Handy, "but we lost money on that venture. There's nothing in these big companies. Small, compact, but strong utility companies win every time. Charley Frohman will tell you the same thing."
"Seven is none too many for our work, Handy."
"No. It's about the proper figure. With judicious and intelligent doubling, a good manager might tackle almost anything. Say, Smith, did you ever have a shy atRichmond, in 'Richard III'?"
"Well, I should smile," responded Smith, with a delighted expression on his face. "Richmond!one of my best roles. Say! How is this," and immediately he struck a theatrical attitude and began: "Thus far into the bowels of the land have we marched on without impediment; Gloster, the——'"
"Hold! Let up right where you are," interrupted Handy. "I know the rest. Say, Smith, my boy,"—and the manager looked earnestly at the would-beRichmond—"I am going to give you the opportunity of your life."
"How's that?"
"We will present for the first time only the great fifth act of 'Richard III' out of compliment to the people of Gotown, and you will be theRichmond."
"Oh, come off!" answered Smith. "Why, darn it, man! 'Richard' will be all Greek to them—the Gotown public don't know anything about Shakespeare. Maybe never heard tell of him."
"But they will know all about him after we introduce him. But that has nothing to do with the case. Now let me enlighten you. I am afraid you don't catch on to the situation. I will explain: Don't you seeRichmond'sfirst speech, 'Thus far into the bowels of the land,' is typical of the miner. He makes his living by driving into the bowels of the land, don't he?"
"You bet he does, and good money, too," answered Smith enthusiastically.
"Into the bowels of the land, or earth, as the case may be, have we marched on without impediment." Handy paused here for a moment to catch his wandering thoughts in order to explain his text. "You see, Smith,Richmondmarched on without impediment. So does the miner at first, when he has only to wrestle with the soil, sub-soil, and all that kind of thing. Then comes Gloster, the bloody and devouring boar, typified again by the hard and flinty rock the miner frequently encounters. For a time there's a fierce struggle betweenRichard, as represented by the rock, andRichmond, as personified by the miner. It's about an even bet as to who wins out. The play all over; don't you see? There's a purty lively scrimmage between the two. 'Tis nip and tuck for a time. At lengthRichardcaves in, andRichmondwins out. So with the miner, the rock resists, then finally yields, and after that the milk and honey of enterprise in the shape of liquid oil flows forth. Am I clear or crude, dear boy?"
"Both!" exclaimed Smith, holding up both hands. "Handy, why in the name of heaven were you not born rich instead of great?"
"Smith," continued Handy, "you will be the miner, I the rock—RichmondandRichard."
"Handy, you ought to print a diagram to explain the act. The audience may not be able to understand it if you don't."
"Map of the seat of war, eh?"
"Sure."
"Smith, did you ever look over a war map in any of the newspapers that had special correspondents on the spot?"
"Certainly I did."
"And read his description of the scene of action?"
"Yes, of course."
"And scan the scare headlines, telegraphic accounts of the battle, split up and continued into different parts of the paper?"
"Took in the whole shootin' match!"
"And after reading all this fine descriptive work did you chance to cast your eagle eye over the editorial columns?"
"Sometimes I did and sometimes I didn't. Generally I give the editorial comments a rest."
"Now, then, let me ask you, after studying the war maps, and the diagrams, and the big heads, and telegraphic dispatches, and our own specials, etc., etc., and so forth, what conclusion did you come to on the subject?"
"That there was a big battle fought somewhere in which there were many killed and wounded, perhaps."
"Now in a few words you tell the whole story, and you tell it well and without illustrations or diagrams, and without any unnecessary frills by the way of editorials. So will we give the fight to a finish on Bosworth Field without any pictorial work. We'll just give it."
"'Tis your idea, then, to give the act simply with the combat without explanation?"
"Not exactly in the way you put it."
"Say, Handy, an idea strikes me. What do you say to the suggestion of doing the combat scene with two-ounce gloves. A great scheme, eh? Don't you think so? 'Twould be modernizing the piece and bring it down to date."
"Shades of Shakespeare, angels and ministers of graces defend us! Smith, Smith, my boy, don't talk tommy-rot! Gloves instead of swords! Go to. Don't you know, my friend, that a glove fight might leaveRichmondopen to a challenge from some ambitious and undeveloped Gotown pugilist, and then where would we be—I mean you? Oh, no! But I tell you what wouldn't be altogether out of place."
"Well, let us hear it."
"We might be able to impress some young limb of the law, in the shape of a lawyer, into the service, who no doubt might, after a brief study of Professor John Phinn's vocabulary of Shakespeare, be willing to go on and tell whoRichardandRichmondwere in their day, and howRichardgot the stuffin' knocked out of him because he was crooked and a tyrant and a monopolist. And, moreover, as all lawyers like to show off in the spouting line, when they get the chance, he might say a good word or two for the immortal Bard of Avon. Not that Shakespeare wants it, but merely as an evidence of good faith."
"Bully! The more I see of you, Handy, the more convinced I am of your remarkable genius."
"Oh, that's all right, Smith. Now, then, let me ask you. Can Daisey De Vere"—the only woman remaining of the company—"sing and dance?"
"She has ability and she is willing to stand by us."
"Has she the experience?"
"Plenty of it, such as it is. And she's anxious for more if she gets the show. Besides, Daisey is a good, straight girl, and these are the kind, I am sorry to say, that have the toughest time in getting ahead, but when one of them gets there it's all smooth sailing afterwards. Yes, Daisey can do anything and everything a decent girl can try to do. You can't faize her. You may put her down for anything to help out. She's been there before."
"What kind of a voice has she—a singing voice, I mean?"
"That depends."
"Depends on what?"
"Well, you see, if she is going to sing in girls' duds, she's a contralto; but then, if she has to do her stunt in boys' clothes, she is a female barytone."
"Oh, she knows a trick or two," said Handy, smiling. "She must have traveled some."
"You bet. She's a traveler for fair. She will go anywhere, and she's at home wherever she lands. She has one trunk in Chicago, another in Cincinnati, a valise in Buffalo, a grip in St. Louis, and other ventures she has in safe-keeping for her elsewhere. Her parents live in Chillicothe. She has a brother in Frisco, an aunt in New Orleans, an Uncle in Boston, an——"
"Hold, for pity sake!" interrupted Handy. "Let up! I don't want to have a geographical inventory of the girl's parents, relatives, and personal effects to ascertain what she can do histrionically."
"Well," replied Smith, somewhat nettled, "you can make up your mind she has wide experience."
"I should say so. With trunks and relatives waiting for her like open dates all over the country in most of the big cities, I guess Gotown won't scare her. There is one point, however, I can put you wise on—she will leave no trunk behind her in Gotown."
"You never can tell in advance, Handy; you were always optimistic. Why can't she, if she has a fad in that direction?"
"Simply, my friend, because there ain't a hotel in the place, that's why."
"What!" cried Smith, in amazement, "no liquor stores in Gotown?"
"I didn't say that. I said there were no hotels."
"What's the difference? Don't you know there are no saloons in New York now? They are all hotels. The law is strict on that score, and if Gotown is regulated on the same plan and there are no hotels, I'm beginning to have my doubts. Say, old man, this is no prohibition colony you're steering us up against, eh?"
Handy looked at Smith in mild surprise and without moving a muscle of his face; but there was a quiet meaning in his eye that spoke more forcibly than mere words. At length he broke the silence.
"Smith, I'm afraid you are not well. Get thee to bed. Rest your altogether too active brain. The Pennsylvania air is a little too much for you. I can get along without further assistance. Good-night! See me in the morning."
Handy and Smith parted for the night, and then the veteran set to work to concoct one of these very remarkable programmes for which his name had become more or less famous in different parts of the country. It is true he was considerably perplexed over the difficulties that confronted him. Perplexities, difficulties, and Handy were old acquaintances, however. They had met many a time and oft in the past, and he had weathered the storm and as a rule came out a winner. It was hardly possible that his customary good fortune would desert him on this trying occasion. With the sole exception of Smith, he was absolutely unacquainted with the theatric abilities of his company or how far he could rely on them to carry into effect his stage directions. Daisey de Vere, judging from the elaborate characteristic account Smith had given of her, rather appealed to him. He felt satisfied she would fill her place in the bill of the play, come what might. She had to. From the diagnosis furnished by his lieutenant he thought she would pan out all right. He knew he wasn't going to offer an entertainment to a houseful of metropolitan first-nighters, with attendant critics from the newspapers to display their erudition next morning in cold type and hot words. He already considered Daisey as a chip of the old block.
It was well into the night when the indefatigable manager got through with his pen, which at best was a work of labor to him—and hard labor at that. It is only fair to admit that he had meager theatric resources to draw upon and be able in any way to whip it into shape to fit the exigencies of the approaching occasion. He derived considerable comforting consolation from the reflection that Gotown was virgin soil upon which he was called upon to operate theatrically. As the result of pondering with his brain and manipulating with his pen, he succeeded in evolving a draft of a programme as mixed and varied as might be expected from the all-star company gathered together at short notice for a benefit or testimonial for some popular unfortunate player—with several loopholes for such changes, alterations, additions, subtractions, multiplications, and divisions as might suggest themselves or be forced upon him later on. From the coinage of his active brain he succeeded in bringing forth and committing to paper something like the following as his programme for the inauguration and opening night of the Gotown Metropolitan Academy of Music:
After Handy had finished his herculean labor in concocting this extraordinary playbill, he leaned back in his chair and read and reread it over and over again, to assure himself it was all right. Then with the consciousness that he had done his duty, he lay down to rest for a few hours to recuperate before he again took up the thread of that busy life which, though at times it brought him sore trials and tribulations, never appeared to have robbed him of that measure of contentment and cheerfulness with his lot which was his chief characteristic in sustaining him through the temporary storms of adversity which he encountered.
The following day was a busy one in thought and action. Notwithstanding the disposition and energy of the Gotown proprietor in getting the Academy of Music ready, there were many things to be considered apart from the mere putting up of the structure itself. And these were as necessary as the house proper. In the first place, there was not a stitch of canvas prepared for the scenery; the lighting of the house had to be considered, and the arrangements for the seating had not been mentioned. These were some of the perplexities that confronted Handy.
The first thing he did to prepare himself for the work before him was to take a bath. He was a great believer in hygiene, and cold water for bathing purposes he considered the best of medicines. The bath taken, he sat down to a good plain and substantial meal, with an appetite to enjoy it. Then, after carefully loading his briarwood, he summoned his man Friday for consultation.
"Now, then, Smith, we have some work ahead this trip, I can tell you, and no mistake; and I hardly know where to begin. Anyhow, call a rehearsal for one o'clock."
"A what! A rehearsal?" replied Smith, amazed. "A rehearsal—rehearsal of what, and may I inquire where?"
"That's so," said Handy thoughtfully. "That's so. Never mind putting up the call, or better still, go and see the members of the company and tell them to be ready for the call. I'll decide later what I want them to do."
The next move of the veteran was to call on the manager of the Weston Theatre to see if he could have the use of the stage for the afternoon. He found he could not, as the company then playing there wanted it for the rehearsal of a new play they had in rehearsal. If the next day would suit, the stage was at his disposal. This was an agreeable surprise to Handy. It suited him much better, as it gave him a little more time to think over the bill he should present at Gotown. He hastened to the hotel and instructed Smith to call the people for rehearsal at the Weston Theatre at eleven o'clock next forenoon.
This piece of business off his mind, he sought his partner in the Gotown venture, to ascertain about the Handel and Hayden Philharmonic. Weston had just returned from a visit to Herr Anton Wagner, the leader and president of the society.
"I have just parted with the boss of the spielers," said Weston, "and I am a bit disappointed. I don't think we can get them to do the street parade stunt, but for the night job they will be all O. K."
"What do you mean by the street parade stunt?" inquired Handy, in some surprise. "That's a new one on me."
"Well, I thought it would be a great scheme if we could get the Phillies to get out their wind instruments and play a few tunes through the main street from the station up to the new Academy the afternoon of the show. You know I have a couple of dozen army overcoats in the storeroom. The spielers could wear them. Then when they got to the Academy they could shed their street armor, hide their wind instruments, and start in on the string instruments in their glad rags."
Handy smiled, and asked: "How did you succeed?"
"Couldn't work the street racket."
"Why?"
"Because the men had to work at their regular jobs. Wagner is a shoemaker. He works the trombone in the streets and the bull fiddle under cover. The man that works the cornet in the outside operates the fiddle on the inside, and he's a dandy at it. He's a tailor, and a good one. He made the coat that's on my back; the man that——"
"Hold on. That's enough!" broke in Handy. "I'm just as well pleased you didn't get them to do that street stunt. But you are sure there will be no disappointment for the night's performance?"
"Sure. They are all anxious to go. But Herr Wagner wants his name to be mentioned on the bills as leader and president of the Handel and Hayden Philharmonic Society."
"All right. He will have a line on the bills."
"He gave me a pointer, too, and asked me to speak to you about it."
"What is it?"
"The man that works the fiddle,—Wagner calls him his first violin,—is an Irishman. His name is Nick Cullen in the shop, but when he tackles the fiddle in public he is known as Signor Nicola Collenso. If you give him a place on the programme you can put him down for a violin solo on the stage."
"Tell him to meet me to-morrow on the stage of the theatre at twelve."
"Good! Nick will be tickled to death."
"Now, then, old man, we're all right so far as the entertainment is concerned. That don't bother me a little bit. But the Gotown Academy sits heavily on my mind, and all on account of minor considerations and the shortness of time in the way of lighting, tickets, seats for the audience and scenery. We can't act in the dark, the people who pay for reserved seats won't care for standing two or three hours, no matter how good our bill of fare is, and there ought to be something in the way of scenery, else those who pay their good coin may kick. Do I make myself quite plain?"
"Very. And have we to supply all these?"
"You bet! Who else is going to do it? This Gotown proposition was yours. I am willing to do all I can. This is Wednesday. There's no time to waste."
"So am I willing. But you are bossing the job. Tell me what you want me to do and I'll do it."
"Then take the next train for Gotown; see McGowan, go with him to the printers at once and get out the tickets, so many at one dollar, so many at seventy-five cents, the rest at fifty and on all of these have reserved seats in big type. You can then have as many as you think we need for general admission. Have no reserved seats printed on them. I will give you the copy for the printer before you go. When does the train start?"
"About half hour from now."
"Find out from McGowan all about the lighting of the place, and what arrangements he has made about seating the crowd; and be sure you ascertain if there is any danger of the house not being ready for us. You know we have no written or regular contract, as all well regulated companies like ours should have. If any other little thing occurs to me I'll wire you, and if anything really important takes place up there that won't hold over until you get back, wire me. Here's the copy for the tickets. Have them printed at once. Get the different priced tickets on different colored cards. Red, white, and blue—and green. Now, then, go, and good speed and good luck."
On the second visit to the theatre Handy was pleased to notice that everything was arranged for him to have the use of the stage next day. Though the manager was perfectly agreeable about it, he was noticeably worried about something, and Handy recognized it at once. Like Gilbert's policeman, the manager's life at times is not a happy one.
"You seem to be put out about something, Governor?" All managers of theatres as a rule are governors, through courtesy, and they like to be so addressed.
"I am. Say, let me ask you a question. Did you ever have a date broken on you at short notice?"
"Did I?" exclaimed Handy, with a smile. "Disappointments and I are old acquaintances."
"You can then realize my feelings. The last three days of next week in the theatre are open, and this is the second troupe that broke with me, and next Thursday is a holiday. Like a fool, I made no effort to fill the first part of the week, relying on the holiday night, Friday and Saturday's two performances to make up the difference. Isn't that tough?"
"That is tough," answered Handy sympathetically. "That is pretty hard. Why don't you wire——"
"Oh, don't talk to me about wiring or telegraphing or mailing. I have been doing that for nearly a week, until I am nearly gone daft. Of course I could get the regular fake, or barn-stormers or turkey companies—you know 'em—but none of 'em for me. I want companies I know something about."
"Quite right. People you can rely on," continued Handy. "You are in a pretty bad fix, and if I can help you out in any way I'll be only too happy to do so. To be frank with you, this Gotown venture has been worrying me more than I care to admit. You know we open the new Academy of Music there Saturday night, and the reason the proprietor is in such haste to do so on that date is because Saturday is the anniversary of the founding of the town."
"I don't see there's anything in that to worry you. You're dead sure to get the crowd."
"Oh, that's all right! But then I am awfully afraid the scenery won't be ready. It was ordered only a short time ago. The owner of the theatre knows nothing about our business and left it until, I am afraid, it's too late. So now you can see the fix I am in."
"That's too bad, too bad! Where do you play after leaving Gotown?"
"Oh, after Gotown, eh?" and Handy became thoughtful and silent for a moment, and then slowly and deliberately explained: "Oh, after Gotown we are going to lay off for a week and add three or four new members to our company. They are not exactly new, for they were with us before, and are all good, reliable people and are up in the stage business of 'Down on the Old Farm,' a rattling good piece."
It might as well be explained now, as later, that up to the time that the Weston manager made known his troubles and his open dates Handy had not the slightest thought of "Down on the Old Farm," and did not have a date after Gotown.
"Say, Mr. Handy, how large is the stage of the new Gotown house?"
"Well," said Handy, after casting his eyes meaningly around the stage, "I should say that it is about the size of this one. Perhaps a little deeper." He had, of course, never been inside of the Gotown establishment—it being yet unbuilt.
"Now, then, I tell you what I'll do. I can help you and you in turn can assist me. I have no attraction here for Saturday night. You can therefore make use of what scenery you require, under the circumstances, without the drop curtain; but I have a first-rate green baize in the storeroom and I will loan all of it to you. My property room is well stocked, and you can have the use of the props. Moreover, I'll send my stage manager up to Gotown to help you—on one condition."
"Name it, Governor."
"That you will fill my dates of three nights of next week with 'Down on the Old Farm' in this theatre."
Handy was dumbfounded at the proposition. It seemed almost like a glimpse of heaven. He was almost overpowered, and in a somewhat hesitating manner replied: "It is very kind of you, Governor, but I cannot give you an entirely decisive answer just now; but this, I assure you, you may make your mind easy. I must, if only for courtesy sake, consult my partner, who is now in Gotown. Besides, I must see the Gotown manager. I may be magnifying the disappointment about the scenery. The kindness of your offer and your generosity in putting your scenery at my disposal appeals to my heart. I think I can give you an assurance that your date will be filled for the last three nights of next week with 'Down on the Old Farm.'"
"I can rely on your word?"
"Here's my hand. The usual terms, I suppose?"
"I'll go ten per cent better."
"Get out your printing at once for 'The Old Farm,' and make all necessary arrangements. I'll be off to Gotown at once. I'll run down and send my man up to get the scenery ready for Gotown to-morrow afternoon."
Handy made hasty steps down to the hotel, consulted with Smith, and instructed him to go up to the theatre and take a look over the scenery and props.
"Our end of the work here is all right, Smith, my boy, but I am a bit nervous about the Gotown lay-out. Not that I doubt Mr. McGowan's intentions, but I am afraid he has bitten off more than he can chew. However, there's no need in bidding the devil good-morrow till you're up foreninst him, is there?" Then slapping Smith heartily on the back he cried: "And we are all right for next week, too. We play the old stand-by 'Down on the Old Farm' at the Weston the last three nights. Come down with me to the station and I'll tell you more. I am off for Gotown. Will see you to-night, if I can; but if not, I will be with you the first thing in the morning. There's no time to lose."
It was a surprise when Handy's cheerful face was seen on the threshold of McGowan's emporium.
"Well, I'm blest! Look here, Wes, see who's here! In the name of fortune, what wind blew you in?"
"Oh!" replied Handy, in his usual good-humored way, "I was growin' lazy workin' so hard, and ran up to see how the Academy is growing."
"Fine as silk. We are putting in overtime on it to-night in the way of gasfitting. You know, Handy," said McGowan, confidentially, "these gasfitters, like plumbers, are curious critters and need watching, and I'm going to have them work night and day until they get through. I wouldn't, between ourselves, have this anniversary celebration fall through for any amount of money, but——"
"Ah! I was expecting that."
"That but?"
"But we haven't a stitch of scenery for the darn stage. That's what's worrying me, and I can't see me way to mend it."
The veteran smiled, and then calmly asked, "Is that all that perplexes you?"
"And isn't that enough?" exclaimed his friend.
"Well, under ordinary circumstances," replied the veteran, "it would be more than enough; but let me relieve your anxieties. All the necessary scenery, properties, including a green baize curtain, latest style, will reach Gotown Friday night on special car."
Weston opened his eyes and mouth in wonder and exclaimed "What!"
McGowan, on the contrary, became serious and asked, "Handy, say, are you kiddin' us?"
"I am telling you the truth."
Then he explained to McGowan how, through the kindness and patriotism of the manager of the Weston Theatre, he was able to do the trick.
McGowan looked at Handy a moment, then caught him in an embrace and let a yell out of him that could be heard a half mile distant.
"Patsy!" he yelled out, "get a move on you. Call in Hans to help you, and I'll take a hand in myself. Handy, you're a bird! All present step up to the bar and drink the health, prosperity, and good luck of Mr. Handy and his friend, the manager of the Weston Theatre. This is on the house."
As soon as things quieted down and Handy had a chance to have a chat with his partner, Weston, he learned that the show promised great results financially.
Now that the scenery problem was solved, everybody seemed happy. Big Ed was the happiest of the lot. He shook hands with everyone who came in as the night grew older, and his description of the special car, and the green baize curtain, just like any first-class theatre in New York, Boston or Philadelphia, was glowing and picturesque. He was determined to show the people of Gotown and the remainder of the county that Gotown was in it with both feet, and when she started out to do things that she could do it and make no mistake about it.
Handy and Weston took the late train and reached Weston shortly after midnight, and retired for a good night's rest.
Next morning as Handy and his host sat together at breakfast, he explained the arrangement he had entered into with the regular Weston impresario. "The deal wasn't quite closed. I wanted, as I told him, to consult you, my partner in the Gotown proposition. I wished to give you a chance to go snacks with me in this new venture, if agreeable, on condition that you be as light as possible on the company for board and lodging while they are not working."
Both of them then set out for the theatre, where they found Smith and the company. Smith was in consultation with the stage manager of the house. Between them they had already selected three drop scenes—a parlor, a drawing-room, and a landscape or wood, two pairs of wings, two fly borders, and a pair of tormentors, the green baize curtain, and the stage carpet.
"Say, Wes, how does this strike you?" asked Handy, in a stage whisper.
"Great! but how did you do it?" he replied, in a manner bordering on amazement.
"Hush! You never can find out how to get out of a hole until you first get into one."
"Big Ed McGowan will be the most surprised man in Pennsylvania when he sees all this landed at the doors of the Academy."
"Oh, Mr. Smith! have you had a talk with the people, and how do they stand?"
"Prepared for anything, and are eager for the fray," answered Smith, in a breezy off-hand manner.
"Good! Now then sit down at the prompt table there and make notes," directed Handy, "of our lay-out. We open with a grand overture by the Handel and Hayden Philharmonic Society; and as a matter of course, on account of their patriotic kindness in volunteering for the celebration of the anniversary of the foundation of Gotown, they will have an encore and will then play a medley of national American airs, 'Yankee Doodle,' 'Hail, Columbia,' 'Patrick's Day,' 'The Watch on the Rhine,' 'The Star Spangled Banner,' and 'Dixie.' Then the curtain will go up on 'Box and Cox.' You'll playBox, Diggins will doCox, and Cromwell will playMrs. Bouncer."
"Hold on, sir," said Smith. "Cromwell can't doMrs. Bouncer—he has a moustache, you know."
Handy smiled. "Let him shave it off. Don't you remember that in Augustin Daly's theatre, in the very heyday of its glory, Mr. Daly would not allow any actor to wear hair on his face? Cromwell is too good an actor to hesitate to make so slight a sacrifice in the interest of art. Tell him I said so, Smith."
Smith smiled, and in a stage whisper said: "He heard all you said. Yes, Mr. Cromwell will shave."
"Then will follow Miss De Vere in one of her coon songs, after the style of Fay Templeton, May Irwin or——What's that, boy?" addressing a lad who approached the prompt table.
"There's a man back at the stage door, sir," replied the boy, "with a fiddle case under his arm, who says you have a date with him."
"Oh, yes! That's all right, my boy. Where is he?" and Handy walked back with the boy. "Is this Signor Collenso, about whom I have heard so many pleasant things?"
"Say, Mr. Handy, me name is plain Bill Cullen for every-day work, but for professional purposes in the music line I discovered that it pays to put on a bit of style, and that's how I came to ring in the Collenso."
"Quite right, my dear fellow! All artists of more or less great ability, especially in the musical line, make such alterations. For instance, Lizzie Norton is twisted into Mme. Nordica; Pat Foley changed into Signor Foli; and when Ellen Mitchell became great, she dropped the old name and Italianized it into Melba. Oh, that's all right."
"Yes, sir; I know all that, and there are others. But when you and I are talking, let us give the Italian cognomen a rest. Now, what do you want me to do?"
"What can you do?"
"Oh, something of everything—classic and otherwise."
"What can you do in the classics, for example?"
"Selections from Mendelssohn, Paganini, Schumann, Rubinstein——"
"Say, my friend," asked Handy, in some surprise, "do you play such music?"
"Oh, yes, whenever I get a chance in public; but when alone they are my favorites. But, then, for encores I give them 'Killarney,' 'Molly Bawn,' 'The Swanee River,' 'Mr. Dooley,' 'Harrigan'—anything that's popular and what they call up to date."
"All right, Cullen. I'm busy just now. Will you call around to the hotel to-night and we'll have a chat, and fix things up?"
"Sure. I'll be on hand. About eight o'clock."
Handy then returned to the prompt table.
"Where were we, Smith? Oh, yes! I remember; we were giving Miss De Vere a dance. Well, after Daisey's dance will come Señor Collenso's violin solo, selection from Paganini. Then will follow the talented young Gotown lawyer in a dissertation on Shakespeare, and also inform them about the mill betweenRichardandRichmond. Smith, have you all that down?"
"Every word of it."
"And then will come the fight between Richard andRichmondwith broadswords, in which you will have the opportunity of your life. The curtain will drop here, and then there will follow the intermission."
"Are you going to have much of an intermission?" inquired Smith.
"Oh, ten or fifteen minutes or so. You know we must give Big Ed, the proprietor of the emporium, as well as of the Academy, a chance to do a little bit of business. Besides, it's awfully dry work listening to good music, fine songs, and strong acting without something to help you to thoroughly enjoy them."
"That's true. That's a great first part, Mr. Handy. Music, song, vocal and instrumental; dance, oratory, and tragedy. Great, great!"
"Miss De Vere will start in after the intermission with that beautiful and thrilling song, 'Down in a Coal Mine.' Some member of the company, whoever knows it, can recite 'Shamus O'Brien,' or some other equally popular recitation."
"These two numbers will be sure to catch 'em," remarked Smith, with a broad grin of appreciation.
"Then will follow a dance, 'The Fox Hunter's Jig,' by Mr. Myles O'Hara, a prominent citizen of Gotown, who has in the most generous and patriotic manner volunteered to add to the festivities for this occasion. It will be his first appearance on the stage. The music for this event will be supplied by the celebrated Irish piper, Mr. Dinny Dempsey, who will also be seen on the stage in native Irish costume and full regalia. Then, Smith, you can trot out one of your well-known comic monologues that you are so famous in. After that we'll wind up with 'The Strollers' Medley,' in which all the company will take part, and Daisey De Vere can do a favorite stunt of dancing now and then to fill up the gap. Now, then, go to work. Get the people busy and have them in good working order. Call a full dress rehearsal at one o'clock on the stage at the Gotown Academy of Music, so that we'll all know what we've got to do at night. I think that's all just now."
There wasn't an idle hour for the remainder of the day and the greater part of the next by the company, under Smith's guidance, preparing for the anniversary event in Gotown. There were rehearsals, and rehearsals, and more rehearsals.
Friday evening, between eight and nine o'clock, Handy, his partner, and the stage manager of the Weston Theatre, arrived in Gotown with the borrowed scenery and props. Ed McGowan and assistants were at the station with three wagons to convey the stage accoutrements to the newly built temple of Thespis that was to open its doors to the public the following night. It was an all night job of preparation, but there were many and willing hands to do what they were bid, under the direction of Handy and his pro tem stage manager.
A student of the drama, had he been present, might have been carried back in thought a century or over, when many of the great players of days that are no more had to go through somewhat similar experiences. The Booths, the Cookes, the Keans, the Kembles, the Forrests, the Jeffersons, the Wallacks, and other great actors whose names are written on the imperishable tablets of fame have traveled over just such roads. Smith and the company, after a good night's rest and a hearty breakfast, reached Gotown early in the forenoon.
At fifteen minutes past seven o'clock the doors of the Metropolitan Academy of Music were thrown open, and at eight o'clock there was not an unoccupied space in the house. The Handel and Hayden Philharmonic musicians took their places in front of the stage and began the overture. It consisted of a medley of familiar airs. The audience was so well pleased with what they heard that the musicians had to let them have it again. Then the curtain went up and "Box and Cox," a rather original version of the old farce, opened the show. It created some laughter, but the people came there to be pleased, and they were. "Old Black Joe" was sung, with an invisible chorus, and brought down the house. Daisey De Vere's coon song, with original business and grotesque imitations, made another big hit. Signor Collenso's classic—and it was well rendered—was tamely received, but when he treated his auditors to "Molly Bawn" and the "Boys of Kilkenny" they went into ecstasies. This was followed by the appearance of the rising young lawyer, who paid a glowing tribute to Shakespeare, and then introducedKing RichardandRichmondto fight it out to a finish on Bosworth field for England, home, and booty. It was certainly a most elaborately grotesque combat. The people in front liked it apparently, and goaded on the combatants to redoubled efforts, and when the tyrant king was knocked out three cheers and a tiger were given with a vengeance, and the curtain fell on the first part amid uproarious applause.
There was intermission of fifteen minutes. On the reappearance of Daisey De Vere, when the curtain went up, she was accorded a greeting that showed she had won her way to the hearts of her audience. With her interpretation of the onetime popular song, "Down in a Coal Mine," she completely captured those present with her vocalization. She had to repeat the ballad that good old Tony Pastor made popular in days of yore, when she had warmed up to her work, her "I'll tell you what I'll do. If you'll all join me in the chorus, I'll give you two verses when I get my second wind," set them all laughing, and clinched the hold she had already secured. The recitation of "Shamus O'Brien" seemed tame by comparison. But when Myles O'Hara gave them a vigorous and athletic exhibition of the "Fox Hunter's Jig," as Myles' father danced it in the Green Isle long before the O'Haras ever dreamt of emigrating to the land of the West, the applause was once more renewed. Dinny Dempsey supplied the music on the Irish pipes, which was in itself a novelty so appealing that he had to repeat, and Myles to dance, until both were fairly used up. It was eleven o'clock and after when Handy and his company started in for the wind-up, with their familiar old stand-by, "The Strollers' Medley." What it was all about no one present could tell. Only there was plenty of fun and merriment in it. There was a song, and a chorus now and then, a bit of a dance occasionally, and Daisey De Vere did a few grotesque steps and Handy entertained them with a comic speech. All were in the best of humor and heartily enjoyed what they saw and heard. Joy danced with fun, and the crowd was indeed a merry, happy, and fantastic gathering.
Before the curtain fell Big Ed McGowan came on the stage. His appearance was the signal for a great outburst of cheers. When something like quiet was restored, he thanked the audience, on behalf of the company for their splendid manifestation of appreciation and grand attendance at the great entertainment. He then invited all hands present to join and sing "Should auld acquaintance be forgot?" It is needless to add that it was sung with a vigor, strength, and heartiness which still remains a cheerful memory in Gotown.