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As it was proposed to charge eight cents for seats in the two front benches, Ben printed, in addition to the above, twenty very unique cards, similar to this:
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It was a long job, and he had bitten his tongue until it was sore in his efforts to make the printing legible, while his fingers ached from clutching the pencil so firmly; but he finished his task before the curtain was completed, and was able to give his advice as to the embellishment of it.
It was while working on the curtain that Johnny displayed his skill as an artist, for he assumed the sole charge of it, insisting that the others should proceed under his direction. It was spread on the floor, and Hunter Jones was pursuing his work on his hands and knees, with two candles stuck in bottles as his only light. But Johnny appeared to be equal to the emergency, for he was dashing on the color rapidly, not heeding the fact that one side of his nose was a beautiful green, and the other a vivid red, while his chin was as black as if he had been trying to paint a beard on it.
It was on the central figure of this intended work of art that Johnny was expending the most of his labors, and to those who were watching him it appeared something like an eccentric rainbow, or the interior of a paint-shop, until Master Jones printed under it, to avoid any possibility of mistake, “WiLD iNGuN,” and then all could see the resemblance at once.
ALL COULD SEE THE RESEMBLANCE AT ONCE.
Johnny was proud of his work, and when at last it wascompleted, he stood at some distance from it, transfixed with silent admiration of what he had created, and quite regardless of the fact that the hot tallow from the candle which he held in his hand was running down over his fingers.
It had been decided to have a small painting in each of the four corners, to prevent the Indian from looking lonely, and one of these was to be done by each member of the firm.
Paul drew his entirely in black, in the right-hand lower corner, and it was a very fair representation of two guns and a sword, although the barrels of the guns were rather more crooked than they should have been, while the edge of the sword was notched, as if it had had some hard usage.
Dickey printed in red the same notice that the boys had seen in his home, offering a reward for the apprehension of Tim Dooley; and although his partners declared that it was not at all appropriate for the curtain of a dramatic stage, he insisted that it should remain there, citing as an argument the fact that he had contributed more than the others to the general fund. It was an argument that could not be disputed, and Dickey’s notice was allowed to remain, although Johnny contended that the audience would think his Indian had been intended as a portrait of the missing Tim.
In the upper left-hand corner Mopsey painted, with allthe colors at his command, a picture of a schooner under full sail, with a row of what was at first supposed to be guns showing over the rail, but which he explained were pea-nuts, adding that she was represented as having a full cargo on board.
Ben, with fingers still aching from severe exertion with the pencil, drew a picture of his blacking-box and brush, which would have been quite a correct likeness if he had not made the mistake of painting the brush nearly three times as large as the box.
Then, in order that Nelly might do something towards beautifying this wonderful curtain, she was allowed to print the name of each member of the firm, as well as her own, around the border, giving more color to the whole, even if it did not add to the artistic effect.
It was very late when all this was done, and the promoters of this grand enterprise were obliged to go to their respective beds, much as they would have liked to continue at their work all night.
The hundred and twenty tickets were divided equally among the five partners, that they might sell as many as possible before the opening of the doors on Saturday night, and thus lessen Mrs. Green’s duties as door-keeper.
It was also agreed before they separated that night, that Ben and Dickey should not attempt to do any business thenext day, but devote all their time to banging the curtain and hunting up old bottles to use as holders for the foot-lights, so that everything would be in readiness for the rehearsal in the evening.
During the next forenoon, those of the partners who pursued their regular business had all they could do to attend to those who wished to buy papers and theatre tickets, and more particularly the latter.
There had been very much talk and speculation among this portion of the news-selling world as to the theatre, and every one was anxious to secure a ticket as early as possible, lest if they delayed until near the time of the performance they should be unable to gain admission.
Of course where so much had been said about any one particular thing as was said about this theatre, and where so many rumors were flying around, exaggeration as to the size, furnishing, and general appearance of the place could not be prevented. Some thought that an army of carpenters had been at work fitting up and decorating the whole theatre; others had it that it was upon the stage only that much labor had been expended, and that that portion of the theatre was more beautiful than any other that could be found in the city.
The more imaginative paid no attention to mere detail, but circulated the most startling rumors as to the excessiveamount of brain-work Mopsey Dowd was doing on the new play, which was to be his masterpiece, and to far surpass anything Buffalo Bill or Sixteen-string Jack ever wrote.
Since Mopsey was found at his place of business with the same regularity as before this gigantic scheme was planned, some of his admirers insisted that he worked nights, spending the time when he should have been asleep in bringing forth the most startling and blood-curdling scenes, to be given with all their attendant horrors on the night of the opening of the theatre.
With all these things to give an impetus to the sale of tickets, it was little wonder that they were disposed of readily. When night came, all had been sold save those which Ben and Dickey had, and the demand was still very great.
Each member of the company was quite as much excited when they went home that night as if the performance was to be given then, for the rehearsal was to be held, and all had their parts to learn.
Ben and Dickey had worked faithfully, and performed all that had been given them to do. The curtain was hung, a little awkwardly, to be sure, on account of the uneven manner in which the stage was built; but there it was, whether straight or crooked, where all the beauty ofits many-colored illustrations could be seen if the candles were held near enough to it.
When called upon to hoist and lower it, Ben and Dickey showed evident signs of nervousness; but they succeeded, after some considerable time, in getting it up and down without tearing it, although it was plain to be seen that they were relieved when it was up for the second time, and Mopsey had ordered it left there.
The foot-lights had been arranged by nailing narrow strips of board on the under side of the stage, and allowing them to project about six inches beyond where the curtain would come when it was lowered. On these strips the bottles, some large and some small, were to be placed, each with a candle in it. Ben was confident that they would remain there safely enough, provided no one walked very heavily on the stage; he also suggested to Mopsey that he should have as little fighting as possible in the play, because of the insecurity of these bottle foot-lights. This piece of advice, however, caused the author to frown severely, as if he felt that some of his best scenes would thus be interfered with.
No one had thought of lighting the main body of the hall until Ben and Dickey noticed the omission, and supplied it by tying candles around two barrel-hoops, and hanging them up like chandeliers, which added greatly to thegeneral appearance and finish of the place. After all these things had been inspected the party adjourned to dinner, in order to fortify themselves for the trying mental labor before them, and Dickey remained as the guest of his partners, having been specially invited by them and Mrs. Green.
When the dinner was ended—and the members of the dramatic company made short work of it in order to begin their professional duties as soon as possible—Mopsey Dowd fully realized that he was about to pass in judgment before his partners. Whether he was entitled to it or not, he had some considerable fame as an author, and for that reason he had taken upon himself, voluntarily and even eagerly, the task of preparing an original play for the great event; which goes to show, perhaps, more than anything else, that Mopsey’s fame resulted from chance rather than merit.
When he rose from the table he knew that every eye was upon him, and that each one present expected to hear him say something relative to the brain-effort he was making. He was a genius, and would be until his friends found him out, which occurrence would not be very far off if he should say anything then, for the very good reason that he did not know what to say. He knew that something mustbe done, and that speedily, which would bear out his claim to distinction, and, with a view to gaining time, he said:
“You fellers go into the theatre, ’cause I ain’t quite ready yet, an’ I’ll go up to my room to think over one or two things.”
This speech was very much needed just then, for Mopsey had been so reticent as to his play that his partners were beginning to suspect that he was not all he claimed to be. But now perfect trust was restored by his words, and the proprietors of the theatre went up to their temple of art feeling every confidence in the author who was struggling in the privacy of his chamber for their success.
This delay in the beginning of the rehearsal was just what Nelly wanted, for it enabled her to add what she considered would be the crowning beauty of their decorations. She had conceived the idea only that afternoon, while engaged in the busy whirl of keeping the sound peaches at the top of the basket and the unripe ones at the bottom.
A friend of hers, whose mother kept a thread-and-needle emporium that was contained in a willow basket, and displayed to the public very near her fruit-stand, was skilful in the art of making paper flowers, and from time to time had presented Nelly with specimens of her skill, until everything in the house that could be pressed into service as a vase was filled with these never-fading and odorless roses.
It had occurred to her that these flowers might be so arranged on the wall as to form the word “Welcome;” and when she suggested her idea to the boys, after Mopsey had gone into his room, they were delighted. Therefore the delay caused by the author enabled them to go to work upon this last and most beautiful of their decorations at once.
Dickey went out for a paper of tacks, and Johnny drew on the wall, directly opposite the entrance of the hall, the outlines of the word to be filled up with the paper flowers. But there was a difference of opinion among those who were watching him as to how the word should be spelled. He had drawn out the letters “Welkum,” while Paul insisted that it was not right, spelling the word correctly, and referring the matter to Ben for arbitration.
Thus appealed to, as if he was an authority in such matters, Ben looked wonderfully wise, but refused to give any decision until after he had written the word down on a bit of paper, spelling it in various ways, that he might see which looked correct.
After some moments of anxious suspense for Johnny, for he had built a very frail stand to enable him to reach a point on the wall where it would be impossible for any of the audience to tear the flowers down, Ben announced that neither was correct, and that the word should be spelled “Wellcom.” It was in vain that Paul insisted Benwas wrong. The decision had been given, and the others decided that where a matter was left to a third party for adjustment all must be satisfied with the ruling. Therefore Johnny marked out the letters as Ben had said, and after Dickey’s return with the tacks the flowers were put up, forming a very gorgeous and badly spelled word.
Before the partners had finished admiring this very beautiful ornament on the wall of their theatre, a noise was heard on the stairs, and, on looking out, Dickey announced, by many frantic gestures, that the author was coming. It was a moment of anxious expectancy, for at last they were to know the result of their partner’s labors, and they were to be shown just what they were to do on the important occasion. Dickey was particularly anxious, probably fearing lest his part should not be such as would admit of his carrying a sword and shield.
Mopsey walked into the room with slow and measured step, as if he knew the weight of the words he was about to speak, and feared lest, being too heavy, they might topple him over. But Master Dowd was not one who did anything in a careless manner; he did not deign to speak until he had walked the length of the room, disappeared behind the scenery, and stalked out upon the stage, holding a huge sheet of paper in his hand as if it was a weapon with which he was about to strike any refractorymember of the firm, should his play not be exactly to their liking.
“WHO PUT THAT UP?”
“Fellers,” he said, as he cleared his throat, and then noticing the female portion of his company, he corrected himself by saying, “Fellers an’ Nelly: When we first made up our minds to build this theatre—” Here he waved his roll of paper around as if to designate which theatre he meant. The movement drew his attention to the new ornament, and caused him to forget what he was about to say.
“Who put that up?” he asked, almost angrily.
“I did,” said Johnny, and then, anxious to shift any responsibility of the spelling to the shoulders on which it belonged, he added, “but Ben spelled it.”
“Well, fix it,” commanded the disturbed author. “If any of the fellers should see that they’d think we didn’t know nothin’ at all. Put it w-e-double l-k-o-m.”
Johnny started to obey him, thinking with delight that he had been almost right before, and Mopsey continued:
“When we built this place I said I’d fix up a play myself, so’s we’d be sure to have everythin’ all right; but business has been so good, an’ I had so much trouble with my pea-nut roaster—for I broke it twice, an’ had to hire one offer the Italian that keeps across the street—that I thought we’d play somethin’ the boys all knew, an’ we’d kinder lay over anythin’ they’d ever seen at the same time. So I thoughtwe’d play the whole of Shakespeare, an’ that would give everybody a fair show.”
There was a look of disappointment on the faces of his hearers as he said this, and noticing it, he added, quickly,
“You see we couldn’t get up a whole play new, an’ give all hands a chance to do fightin’; an’ then, agin, Dickey wouldn’t have a shield an’ a sword any other way than this.”
This last argument changed the look on Dickey’s face at once, and he was perfectly satisfied with any arrangement now, for he knew that his ambition was to be realized. The others were very careful to show no signs of approval until they were satisfied that they had been treated as well as Dickey.
“Of course,” continued Mopsey, as he looked around at his audience much as if he expected to hear some of them say that he couldn’t write a play, “the first thing we had to have was a programme, an’ I’ve made one out, so’s you’ll know jest what you’ve got to do.”
Here Mopsey unfolded the paper he had carried in his hand, and displayed a bill of the play. It is unnecessary to say that this piece of literary work had cost the author a very great effort. Doubts as to the spelling arose at every turn, but the final result was as follows:
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Mopsey waited patiently until all had read this wonderful production, and he was pleased to see that nearly all were satisfied with their parts. Ben Treat was the only one who appeared to think he had any cause for complaint, and he very soon made his grievance known.
“I can’t play ghost,” he said, fretfully; “I don’t know nothin’ ’bout it, an’ I want more to do.”
Mopsey had made up his mind as to what course he should pursue in case of any dissatisfaction, and he said to Ben, in tones of deepest scorn,
“A great feller you are to get up a fuss before you know what you’ve got to do! an’ you oughter be ashamed of yourself. Why, you’ve got an awful lot to do. In the first place, you’ve got to come an’ ’most scare the life out of Polly, an’ then when he runs away you’ve got to do a songan’ dance, an’ turn three or four hand-springs before you sink right down through one of these holes, I don’t know what you do want if that don’t suit you, unless it is to do the whole play.”
Ben had nothing more to say; he realized that his was really an important part, and he was abashed by the withering sarcasm of the angry author. Then each of the others, fearing lest they should not have as good an opportunity for the display of their talents, demanded to know what they were to do.
“Now I’ll begin an’ tell you the whole thing,” said Mopsey, as he prepared to show how all of Shakespeare’s plays could be performed on one evening by a small company. “In the first place, Nelly comes out, all dressed up, an’ sings a song; then the play commences. I come out with a sword an’ pistols, an’ tell about my hoss runnin’ away, an’ after I get through, Shiner comes out an’ picks a fuss with me, an’ I kill him.”
Here the speaker was interrupted by the gentleman who had been selected to play the part of Othello, with the remark that it was hardly fair to dispose of him at such an early stage of the performance, more especially on the first night.
“But you come on agin an’ dance,” said Mopsey, fretfully. “Why don’t you wait till I get through? After Ikill Shiner, Dickey comes in an’ we two have a reg’lar fight, an’ we both run away. Then Shiner jumps up an’ dances just as long as he can, an’ down comes the curtain. In the next act Polly comes out an’ talks a lot of stuff; an’ when he gets through, Ben comes right up through the floor an’ scares him awfully. An’ when he runs off, Ben does a song an’ dance, an’ that ends that act. Then Nelly sings another song, an’ we all come out fightin’; an’ when we get through, Dickey dances a clog; an’ if that ain’t show enough for five cents, I don’t know what is.”
In fact the partners were of Mopsey’s opinion, and since they were all to appear in the last act in a grand fight, they would not have complained even though it had been necessary for them all to die in the first scene. Even if Mopsey had not written an original play, he had covered himself with glory in this arrangement of Shakespeare’s works; and if there had been any doubts as to the success of their enterprise, they were dispelled now.
Of course it was necessary to make some arrangements for costumes, and an exciting discussion began at once, during which Mrs. Green was called upon to see what she could do towards fitting the party out. Mopsey proposed that a further assessment of twenty-five cents be made upon each of the company, and announced that, prosperous as business was just then, he had decided to shut up shop thenext day, in order to give his whole attention to the important work of preparation. Dickey volunteered to sacrifice his business also, in order to aid him, and it was believed that with the funds just raised these two could buy and hire weapons enough to arm the entire party.
Mrs. Green had several things which it was thought could be used with good effect, and all hands went to work making wooden swords, in case there should be any trouble in finding the real articles. Nelly made more tickets, so that all who were anxious to witness the performance might at least have one, and Paul was given charge of the money that had been received thus far; for all were anxious to see the entire receipts of that night’s performance in one unbroken whole, even if it was necessary to advance funds from each individual pocket in order to make the necessary purchases. And during the remainder of that evening Mopsey rehearsed the different members of the combination separately, until he was convinced that they could carry out their respectiverolesperfectly.
However successful a venture the opening of a theatre might prove to the five boys interested, it was quite evident, before that eventful Saturday had passed, that it would seriously injure their regular business. At least half their time that day was spent in answering the questions of intending patrons, or those who had already purchased their tickets; and of course while they were thus engaged they could not sell papers or blacken boots. Therefore, when they stopped work at five o’clock, according to agreement, so that they would be sure to have time to dress before eight, they had not made more than ten cents apiece. They did not realize what this loss of time had cost them, for nearly all of the tickets had been sold, and in contemplating the theatrical receipts, those that should have come from the legitimate business were entirely lost sight of. There was every prospect that they would have a large audience, and when they went to Mrs. Green’sthey congratulated themselves on having thought of such a brilliant project.
That Mopsey was a thoughtful manager, as well as sparkling author, was shown by a notice which the boys found fastened to the street-door. It read:
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and had evidently been prepared in anticipation of the rush of patrons which it was almost certain would fairly besiege the place before they were ready to receive them.
Once in the theatre, it was seen that Dickey and Mopsey had not been wasting their time, for there was such a collection of cast-off uniforms and weapons as would have furnished a much larger company than theirs with outfits. The two who had gathered this remarkable collection together were standing over it in conscious pride; but Mopsey did not give them much opportunity for admiration.
“Now all hands turn to an’ git dressed,” he said, in a tone of authority, well knowing that his command would be willingly obeyed. “We’ve got to be sure to be ready, an’ we can eat dinner after we’re rigged up jest as well as not.”
As it was only too evident that Mopsey would be obliged to superintend the dressing of each boy, the party stood waiting for him to designate the one who should receive the first attention.
“We’ll start on you, Dickey,” said Mopsey; and some of the party thought that while the two had been alone that day, Master Spry had stipulated that he should have the honor of being arrayed first.
Dickey stepped in front of the busy-looking manager, his face beaming with delight, and his mouth open so wide that his smile seemed almost a grin.
Among the collection out of which Shakespeare’s characters were to stalk into view were quite a number of Mrs. Green’s kitchen utensils, and nearly all of the party were puzzled as to what was to be done with them when Dickey’s toilet explained everything. Two tin covers that had evidently been taken from the wash-boilers were fastened on Master Spry’s chest and back, and Mopsey insisted on lashing them on so strongly, lest they should become displaced in the fight, that poor Dickey found it impossible to hang his arms down by his side, but was obliged to hold them straight out, very much to his discomfort. A tin saucepan, somewhat the worse for wear, and well blackened, was placed on his head for a helmet, and in his hands a huge cavalry sabre. To throw a dash of color into what would otherwise have been a rather sombre-looking costume, Mopsey laced a quantity of red tape around each leg, which gave him a very striking appearance, to say the least.
But every rose must have a thorn, and Dickey soon foundout what particular thorn there was in wearing the costume of Macbeth. In the first place, since he could not use his arms sufficiently to bring them around in front of him, he was obliged to dispense with a shield, for it would have been worse than useless; and again, when he tried to sit down, after he had been admired by his companions, he found that the tin covers were so long that they doomed him to stand until the close of the performance. He would have liked a rest just then, for he was very tired, but the exigencies of the case, and costume, prevented him, and he leaned up in the corner, looking, save about the legs, like a turtle in a restaurant window.
Johnny was the next one who was to be made happy, and perhaps uncomfortable, by Mr. Dowd’s idea of costume. But his was on an entirely different scale, since he was to play the part of Othello. A pair of blue uniform trousers were first put on, and then pinned up, since they had originally been intended for a man; a broad leather belt was buckled tightly around his waist, and in this was placed a carving-knife, a pistol with no lock and but part of the barrel, and a jack-knife; an old sack of Mrs. Green’s, made of red flannel and somewhat soiled, was put on as coat, and on the shoulders were pinned epaulets made of gilt paper. In addition to the weapons contained in his belt, Johnny had a genuine sword and scabbard fastened to his side, and an army musketto carry in his hands, that looked as if it might have been used in every battle during the late war.
It seemed singular that two should be condemned to stand, and through no one’s fault; but Johnny also found it almost impossible to sit down, owing to the number of pins Mopsey had used, to make sure that the trousers would remain at the proper length, and he leaned against the wall by the side of Dickey.
Ben’s costume required very little care, since it was simply a sheet thrown over his head; but he insisted so strongly that a ghost had just as much right as anybody else to have his legs laced up with red tape, and to wear a sword, that Mopsey was obliged to give way, and do as he desired. A profusion of tape was tied around his legs; and in order to produce a pleasing effect in case his feet could be seen below the sheet, he insisted on having quite a number of ends hanging down from the ankles. He also had a belt, with a carving-knife, and a pistol in about the same state of repair that Johnny’s was, stuck into it; and then, with the sheet over his arm, so that he could have it handy, he looked on while the others dressed, envied by Dickey and Johnny because he could sit down so comfortably.
Paul made a very showy-looking Hamlet, to say the least. He wore a pair of rubber boots many sizes too large for him, with tops that reached his knees, and wereornamented with tissue-paper rosettes; a black frock-coat, which on close inspection proved to be Johnny’s best one, that he had worn when he called upon Mrs. Green, hung about his shoulders, covering his hands completely with its profusion of sleeves, and giving him a singular, if not distinguished appearance. This coat had been made more gorgeous than it originally was by having gilt paper pasted to each button, and a red sash tied about the waist, in which were two table-forks and a wooden sword, the latter article interfering sadly with his knees when he walked. On his head he wore a huge paper cap that had been painted red, white, and blue, and ornamented with a tuft of feathers that had once done service in a dusting-brush. He also had a gun, and the weight of it was about as much as he could stagger under when he tried to carry it over his shoulder, so he dragged it along behind him, very much as a person of Hamlet’s melancholy temperament would have been likely to do. He also could sit down, which was no small comfort.
All this costuming had taken some time, and Mrs. Green had already called up the staircase that dinner was nearly ready before Mopsey had commenced to clothe himself in such garments as he supposed Richard the Third wore. First he put on a thin pair of cotton pants that had once been white, but were now a drab, and which fitted quiteclosely to his skin. On the outside seams of these he pinned a strip of gilt paper, and then drew on a pair of boots, the tops of which came up quite as high on him as the rubber ones did on Paul. Around these boots was laced more red tape, until it would have been a difficult matter to have formed any idea as to what they might have been intended for originally. He had a broad leather belt, and outside of it was a red sash, with ends that nearly touched the floor. As weapons he wore a sword in a scabbard, a carving-knife, a portion of a pistol, and a table-fork. His coat was a soldier’s overcoat, cut down to prevent it from trailing on the floor when he walked, and on his head was a paper cap nearly twice as large, and with very much more ornamentation in the way of feathers and red paint than had the one worn by Paul.
The company were now ready for their arduous duties on the stage, and could afford the time to go to dinner. More than once had Mrs. Green called out to them that that very important meal was ready, and should be eaten if they expected her to get the dishes washed in time to act as door-keeper. She had also become imbued with the excitement of this first performance, and had packed away her fruit-stand fully two hours earlier than usual, in order that she might first feed her actor-boarders, and then look out for their interest at the door.
It was a ferocious looking and, in at least two cases, an uncomfortable feeling company that filed down the stairs and into the dining-room, led by Dickey, who was obliged to enter the door sideways, because his arms stuck out so straight as to prevent his moving through any aperture less than five feet wide in any other way.
“Gracious!” ejaculated the startled landlady, as she saw this singular-looking object enter the room, followed by four others, more or less gorgeous, and all equally terrible. “How on earth did you contrive to make yourselves look so horrible?”
“Mopsey did it,” squeaked Dickey, piteously, as if he had been accused of some wrong deed, and earnestly wishing that he was the ghost.
“He’s Macbeth,” said Mopsey, in explanation, and anxious to show that he had only done his duty in thus making Dickey so uncomfortable. “That’s pretty near the way Macbeth always gits hisself up.”
“Poor man!” said Mrs. Green, sympathizingly, “it must have been terrible hard for him, an’ he couldn’t had a great deal of comfort with his arms.” And then, as she looked over her spectacles pityingly at the miniature Macbeth, and noticed that it was the covers of her wash-boilers that he wore, she said, “You must be awful careful not to tumble down, Dickey, for you never could get up; an’ besides, ifanybody should step on you they’d spoil them covers, an’ one of ’em’s ’most new.”
Dickey made no promise, but his face showed plainly that he appreciated the danger he would be in if he should fall over, and that he was determined to stand as straight as possible in the combat which would take place in the third act.
All of the company save Dickey and Johnny seated themselves at the table, and began to make a hearty but hurried meal. Johnny stood up in a careful manner, and got along very well, but poor Dickey could neither sit down nor help himself. He made one or two vain efforts to pick up a biscuit from the table, but his armor would not permit, and he was about to lean back against the wall in helpless indignation, when Mrs. Green noticed him.
“Poor child!” she said, in a motherly tone, “I do think it is a shame for Mopsey to rig you up in such a way that you can’t eat, an’ you do have such a good appetite.”
“He wanted to play Macbeth,” said Mopsey, anxious to clear himself from any blame, “an’ if he plays it he’s got to go that way.”
“Yes, I wanted to play it,” said Dickey, in a pathetic tone that told he would never want to do such an uncomfortable thing again. “I wanted to, but I didn’t know I was goin’ to be fixed so’s I couldn’t even wiggle.”
Mrs. Green went without her own supper for the sakeof giving Dickey his, and she fed him patiently, while he stood with outstretched hands leaning against the wall, but able to eat all that was put in his mouth.
By the time the boys were through supper Nelly came into the room, dressed for her portion of the work in the evening’s performance; and even Mopsey, who the day before had suggested that she should wear a sword, thought she looked charming in her white dress with blue ribbons.
It was very near the time set for opening the doors, and already they could hear a crowd of boys on the sidewalk, as they jostled and pushed in their efforts to enter before the managers were ready to receive them. Mopsey, excited at this clamor of the public, drove his company up-stairs, and hurried Mrs. Green to such an extent that she concluded to let her house-work go until after the performance, and went down to open the door.
The noble company of actors stood in breathless expectancy behind the scenes of their theatre, waiting for the sound of tramping feet that should tell of the rush of the public to witness their genius, as shown in this particular line of business. The interest was so great that even Dickey forgot the discomfort of his Macbeth costume, and stood as near a crevice in the boards as possible, to see their patrons as they filed into the hall.
The auditorium was as near a scene of enchantment as tallow-candles could make it. The twelve bottle foot-lights flared and flickered as if they were conscious of the wonderful display of talent they were there to illumine, while the barrel-hoop chandeliers cast even a more brilliant light than one would have supposed. The flower decorations on the wall, forming the word that meant quite as much as if it had been spelled correctly, stood forth in all their beauty, even more prominently than if the light had been stronger.
That Mrs. Green had never acted in the capacity ofdoor-keeper of a theatre before, was shown by the trouble she was having. It had been her purpose to open the street-door, and then go in advance of the crowd to the door of the hall, where she could receive either the money or the tickets of those who entered. But one look at the noisy throng was sufficient to convince her that more than half of them would distance her in the race up-stairs. She therefore changed her plan, and by exerting all her strength she was able to keep the door closed so far as to prevent more than one from entering at a time. By this means she succeeded in collecting tickets from nearly all who entered. As soon as she thought she could do so with safety, she ran up to the attic-door, where she could act the part of door-keeper with more comfort and dignity.
At least fifteen minutes before the advertised time for the performance to begin, every one of Dickey’s board-seats were filled with a noisy, perspiring crowd of boys, who found considerable amusement in swaying back and forth on the not very secure seats, until one of them would go down with a crash. This seemed to afford the greatest amount of amusement to those who were thus thrown to the floor.
Good Mrs. Green was thoroughly astonished by the amount of patronage bestowed that night; for after she thought that the audience was complete, boys of all sizes continued to pour in, until she had quite a pile of five-centpieces in her apron, besides the tickets, and nearly one-half of those present were obliged to stand.
Although it was not eight o’clock, the audience suddenly came to the conclusion that it was time for the performance to begin, and they announced that fact by piercing whistles, furious stamping of the feet, and such gentle admonitions to the managers as, “Hurry up, Mopsey,” “Give it to us now, Shiner,” as well as other phrases betokening extreme familiarity.
The managers of this theatre were not unmindful of the fact that their audience must be obeyed, even if some of the rules were broken, and Ben and Paul were ordered by the author, who had taken upon himself the position of sole manager, to raise the curtain. Then Nelly came out and sang a melody that all were familiar with, being assisted by the audience in the chorus, until Mrs. Green was obliged to cover her ears with her hands, lest the great volume of music should give her a headache.
This portion of the entertainment was greeted with the wildest applause; and when Master Dowd, after Nelly had left the stage, attempted to appear in all the gorgeousness of his costume, he was plainly told to go back and let Nelly sing again—a command which he obeyed at once, lest some of his audience should take it into their heads to force compliance.
After Nelly had sung the second time the applause died away, as if the audience were willing that the regular business of the evening should proceed. All the actors were standing where they could go on to the stage at a moment’s notice, save Dickey, who was leaning against the wall, holding his sword straight out, at the imminent peril of hitting some one of his partners as they passed.
“Now be all ready, Dickey,” said Mopsey, warningly, as he prepared to go on the stage.
“See here,” whispered Johnny, “be kinder careful when you an’ I fight, ’cause there’s lots of pins in these pants.”
Mopsey nodded his head, as much as to say that he would look out for such things, and in another instant he was before the foot-lights, receiving a storm of applause, although he was at a loss to know whether it was directed to him personally, or to the costume he wore. So great was the enthusiasm manifested by his presence that it was some moments before he could speak, and during that time the few lines he knew of the part of Richard the Third had entirely escaped his memory. It was a trying moment both to him and his brother actors, who were watching him, as he stood there with drawn sword, first on one foot and then on the other, waving his hand and then the weapon, as if he were about to speak, and yet making no sound.
“Go on, Mopsey—say something,” whispered Ben in a hoarse voice; and the audience hearing him, suggested kindly,
“Yes, give us somethin’, old man.”
Thus urged, Mopsey made one mighty effort, and shouted in his loudest tones, as he waved the sword still more frantically than ever,
“I’ve lost my hoss! I’ve lost my hoss, an’ I want some one to tie up my head—but—but—but I’m a match for any feller ’round here, and—and—”
It was not only evident to the audience, but to Mopsey himself, that it was of no use for him to try to remember the words he should have spoken, and he waved his sword frantically for Johnny to come on, hoping to save his good name by the bloody combat, which could be prolonged until their patrons were in good-humor. But just at this moment it was impossible for Johnny to be of any service. He had tried to alter the position of some of the pins in his trousers, so that they would not prick him so badly, and the consequence was that the entire work was undone, while one leg fell down over his foot in a manner that prevented him from stepping, unless at the risk of tumbling flat on his face. Ben did his best to repair the damage, while Mopsey stood waving his sword, whispering very audibly for Johnny not to mind the pins but to come on.Meantime the audience, in the loudest tones, coaxed Johnny to come out and take Mopsey away.
But Ben succeeded finally in getting the ill-costumed Othello arranged so that it was possible for him to walk, and he rushed on to the stage, the gun in one hand and the sword in the other, just as Mopsey was meditating a retreat from the freely-expressed criticism of his audience.
The relief of the author-actor when he saw Othello was greater than could be expressed by words, and he resolved to regain the good opinion of the audience by the ferocity with which he would wage the combat. It is probable that some such thought was expressed in his face when he rushed towards Johnny, for, startled by the furious bearing of his partner, Othello became frightened, and holding both weapons in front of him, he looked ready for instant flight. It seemed as if this very timidity restored to the prototype of the cruel Richard all his assurance, for now, suddenly remembering the words he should have spoken at Johnny’s first appearance, he waved his sword still more furiously, and shouted,
“It looks as if there was more than a dozen of this same feller, for I’ve killed four or five already, an’ here’s a lot more of him.”