IN THE LION'S CAGE
All things seemed to cooeperate to furnish that truly funereal aspect
without which no Decoration Day in a small town is complete.
In the first place Hon. E. Dalrymple Smythe of Rochester and Washington,
D. C., had accepted an invitation to be the orator of the day. This was
a distinct victory over Palmyra and Shortsville, which had to be content
with a mere assemblyman and a more mere district attorney--persons of
purely local reputation--while Tyre basked in the regal presence of a
personage of national fame. Colonel Smythe's voice had occupied more
newspaper space than any other east of the Mississippi River. Coughdrops
and codliver oil had been named for him. Correspondence schools featured
his method of making ANY man a convincing public speaker in thirty days
without leaving his own fireside. He was the editor of the ten volume
work, "The World's Most Flowery Orations," offered at the low
introductory price for thirty days only.
At his first word women wept; at his second, men; and at his third,
even the little children burst into uncontrollable sobbing. And Tyre was
to have the pleasure of shedding its Decoration Day tears before this
master of the lachrymal glands.
A touch of realism was added to the day's program by the funeral of
Captain Elias Roy, a past-Commander of the G. A. R. The captain had
died the week before, but the body had been held over for burial on
Memorial Day; and Colonel Smythe had kindly consented to say a few words
at the grave.
The weather fitted the occasion admirably. Gray clouds hung low
obscuring the sun and imparting a dreary chill to the atmosphere. Nature
herself seemed to have put on mourning.
As usual, it fell to the lot of Mr. Cane to entertain the guest of
honor, but as the colonel was to come in the morning and depart in the
evening this was not regarded as an onerous duty.
When the colonel stepped from the morning train in the wake of a
white-jacketed pullman porter, he was an impressive sight. His glossy
silk hat was flawless; his Prince Albert, molded after the latest whim,
showed the sought-after sweeping lines; taken altogether he resembled
rather an advertisement for ready-to-wear clothes than a fence-mending
congressman.
A citizens' committee took him nervously to its official bosom and led
him down the platform to two "hacks" the tops of which had been folded
back for the dual purpose of affording the colonel a better view of the
town, and giving the populace a better view of the colonel. Several
persons had volunteered to transport the official party around town in
their automobiles, but the committee had declined with thanks,
considering that carriages were more dignified and also more deliberate.
An automobile would have exhausted the sights of Tyre in about ten
minutes, whereas the committee was planning to devote in the
neighborhood of two hours of carriage-riding to that delightful task.
But Colonel Smythe pleaded fatigue and the necessity of reposeful
preparation for the exertions of the afternoon.
He was accordingly taken directly to the home of his host. A few moments
later he was stretched at length on the uncompromising bed in the guest
chamber, quite unmindful of Mrs. Cane's best lace bedspread, his eyes
closed, his mind at rest, his body totally relaxed. How deliciously
quiet it was! Even the birds had ceased their springtime chatter. Sleep
seemed about to overcome him when he became dimly conscious of a distant
throbbing sound.
At first it was rather soothing than otherwise, but as it became louder
it began to be annoying. It seemed to come at regular intervals.
Throb--throb--throb-throb-throb! He could no longer escape the
conviction that it was a distant drumbeat. After a little he could no
longer escape the conviction that it was not so distant. Then the piping
of fifes could be heard. No tune could be detected, but still it was not
a sound that would have been regarded as sleep-inducing.
Mr. and Mrs. Cane were nowhere about. Having the carriage at their
disposal for the day they had gone for a little drive in the country.
When they drew up before the house an hour later they were very much
surprised to see their guest striding up and down the long veranda, his
hands clasped behind his back beneath the skirts of his coat, his tall
hat on the back of his noble head, and a fat cigar in the corner of his
mouth.
"Couldn't seem to rest ... mind too active, I suppose ... thinking up a
little something to say this afternoon ... brain works best when my feet
are in motion," were a few of the fragments they caught as he strode
back and forth.
Mrs. Cane expressed mild surprise. "Couldn't sleep!" she said. "It's so
lovely and quiet--I don't see how you could fail to catch a few winks.
Our other advantages sometimes fail us, but we can always rely on peace
and quietude here in the country."
The colonel made no reply as he continued his beat. After a few rounds
he brought up before Mrs. Cane and asked irrelevantly, "Is there a band
or a drum corps in this town?"
"Oh, yes!" she assured him. "We have an excellent cornet band and a drum
corps as well."
"You'll hear them both this afternoon," Mr. Cane volunteered. "They're
sure to be in the parade."
"Where do they do their practicing?" pursued the colonel.
"Sube can tell you more about that than I can," replied the host,
turning to Sube who had just put in an appearance. "Where does the band
practice, Sube?"
"They used to practice in the barber shop, but now they're practicin' in
the town hall," Sube told him.
"Now?" asked the colonel with an unexpected show of interest.
"Oh, no. Not right _now_," replied Sube. "They only practice nights."
"Hum," said the colonel. "Where does this drum corps practice?"
"At the Henderson farm," replied Sube promptly; "that's three miles out
in the country."
"Any other musical organizations around here?" the colonel persisted.
"Sir?--No, sir," answered Sube. "But--"
"But what, my lad?" asked the colonel, noting Sube's apparent modesty.
"Nuthin'; but I was jus' wonderin'," mumbled Sube, "if you played in the
Rochester band."
As the colonel rather frigidly replied that he most distinctly did not,
Sube was nervously forced into the background by his parents, and a
moment later was as unostentatiously as possible elbowed into the house.
Two o'clock saw the whole town in the opera house. Three-thirty saw them
emerging red-eyed and melting. Three-forty saw the parade in process of
formation and nearly ready to move.
The First Division was led by the hearse containing the mortal remains
of Captain Roy, flanked on either side by an escort of G. A. R.
veterans. Immediately behind the hearse was the Silver Cornet Band; and
following close on the heels of the band were two carriages of chief
mourners. Then came in order, the G. A. R. veterans bearing their
tattered regimental colors; a carriage with Colonel Smythe, Mr. and
Mrs. Cane, and the Village President; carriages filled with Village
Trustees, Street and Sewer Commissioners, and the Committee on
Arrangements wearing fluttering decorations on their breasts; and other
prominent citizens in carriages.
The Second Division was made up of the local fire companies led by the
Henderson Drum Corps.
Every man, woman and child in the township who was able to walk was
eligible for the Third Division, and most of them were there.
While the parade was forming, Grand Marshal Richards from the back of
his trusty charger discovered far back in the crowd a martial band to
which no place had been assigned, and promptly dispatched one of his
aides to conduct them to the head of the Third Division. As the strange
band fell in line bystanders noted with interest the name on the head of
the bass drum:
[Illustration:
CANES
MARITAL
BAND]
Then suddenly it dawned on them that the grenadier in charge was none
other than Sube Cane, and that the jaunty kettle-drummer was a gentleman
commonly called Gizzard Tobin. Little attention was paid to the
assistant bass-drummer, Biscuit Westfall. But he was important. He
wielded no stick, yet carried most of the weight of the drum; and he was
there from a sense of duty rather than desire. Orders alleged by Sube to
have come directly from Professor Ingraham were quite explicit. And as
the several fifers and snare-drummers had little to do with the
subsequent events of the day they shall remain nameless.
The costumes of Cane's Marital Band were military, but they were far
from uniform.
At last the procession moved. The Silver Cornet Band blared out a
funeral march several blocks long, at the termination of which the
Henderson Drum Corps gave a muffled selection that ended only when the
cemetery had been reached. As the vast multitude assembled around the
grave the Silver Cornet Band rendered _Nearer My God to Thee_ with
telling effect. And as the last sad notes died away Colonel E. Dalrymple
Smythe removed his hat and began to clear his throat.
"My friends,--" he extended his arms and looked about helplessly, as if
to create the impression that before the open grave even _his_ words
were powerless. However, it was his intention to remove that impression
a little later. As he stood thus transfixed, a hubbub started somewhere
back in the crowd. At first fitful and chaotic, it became more steady as
it gathered force, and soon settled into a regular beat.
Pluff-a-luff--pluff-pluff
pluff-a-luff--pluff-pluff
pluff-a-luff--pluff-a-luff--pluff-a-luff
pluff-PLUFF!
It was the refrain of slack drums and tin whistles. There was plenty of
noise, and plenty of rhythm, but no suspicion of a tune. For some
moments Colonel Smythe waited for order to be restored, hands still
poised in mid-air. Then he recognized the sound as the one he had
previously heard, and feeling certain that no power on earth could stop
it, he proceeded with his remarks as best he could.
Several persons motioned frantically for Grand Marshal Richards to quell
the disturbance. He nodded his head and dashed off; but he went in the
wrong direction--and the band played on.
Then Willum Edson, the leader of the Silver Cornet Band, took the law
into his own hands and rushed over to put a stop to the din. But before
he could get there Sube had brought his selection to a close, and was
conversing in a suppressed though audible tone, accompanied by violent
gesticulations, with a group of boys who had gathered round his
musicians.
"We can't play, hey!--I showed you, didn't I?--It's a fake drum corpse,
is it!--Fooled you, didn't I?"
"Yaa-a-a-ah! But they shut you up!" taunted somebody. "You dassen't play
again!"
"We dassen't, hey!"
And before the colonel was fully aware that he had the floor to himself
Cane's Marital Band had begun its second number.
Again Willum Edson made a rush for Sube's band. But Sube refused to be
cowed. No doubt he suspected the rival musician of professional
jealousy, for he swung his drumstick with a flourish that surpassed any
of his previous performances. And, pressing too close, Willum Edson
received a vigorous thump in the pit of the stomach, whereupon he
straightway lost his temper and gave the drum corps leader an angry
shove.
Sube promptly fell over a headstone, marking the resting place of
Experience, Third Wife of Carso Norton, pulling Biscuit and the bass
drum on top of him. When he had regained his feet he discovered to his
dismay a large triangular hole through the drumhead that took the MARIT
entirely out of MARITAL.
He had time for the utterance of just one angry bleat in the direction
of Willum Edson, when Nature took a hand in the conflict and let fall
one of her torrential spring downpours. A mad scramble for cover
followed.
The few who had brought umbrellas raised them, and then had to fight for
the privilege of remaining under them. Those who had come in carriages
hastened to get under the protection of the tops. The members of the
Silver Cornet Band trailed their instruments to keep them from filling
with water as they beat a hurried but organized retreat. The fire
companies in their spotless parade uniforms broke ranks and scattered.
Cane's Marital Band took refuge under a piece of canvas that had been
spread over the pile of soil thrown from the open grave, with the
exception of Sube and Biscuit, who were too much encumbered by the bass
drum to secure a place and were compelled to look for other quarters.
At the first splash of rain the colonel rescued his silk hat from a
bystander (who had attempted to protect it by putting it under his
coat) and casting dignity to the winds made a rush for his carriage. He
clambered in beside Mrs. Cane and sat helplessly in the downpour while
Mr. Cane and the Village President struggled with the ungainly top.
The driver was too much engaged with his plunging steeds to lend a hand,
but he superintended the job with superb profanity. When finally the top
had yielded to their efforts Mr. Cane, drenched and disgusted, pulled
himself into the carriage as the colonel explained:
"_That_ was the noise! The identical noise! The noise that passed under
my window and disturbed my rest! What in--What was it?"
As Mrs. Cane murmured that she hadn't the slightest idea, something in
the crowd caught her eye. It was a tall grenadier cap that had become
partly unwound and gave the appearance of having a tail. And nearby was
a large bass drum with a hole through one head. A fleeting glance and it
was gone. But a look at her husband told her that he too had seen it.
At this point the carriage became hopelessly involved in a jam of
vehicles and stopped. As it stood there the downpour moderated, and
finally settled into a gentle shower. And just before it started on
again shouts and laughter could be distinctly heard. A most unseemly
proceeding for the return from a funeral, and on Decoration Day of all
days!
Mrs. Cane leaned out and looked forward, but she could distinguish
nothing but a hooting, howling mob that seemed to be crowding round the
hearse.
At length the carriage moved; and as it caught up with the hearse she
beheld to her horror the cause of the shocking levity. Inside the hearse
was an imitation lion pacing restlessly back and forth, as it lashed its
bass drumstick tail in evident anger. There was something strangely
familiar about the beast, and especially about the tawny mane of
foxlike fur that was wrapped around its neck.
Suddenly the creature whirled about--and Mrs. Cane found herself looking
directly into one of Sube's best lion-faces. She fell back into the
cushions with a gasp. Then, perceiving that her guest was looking the
other way and had not yet seen the horrible sight, she clutched her
husband's arm.
"Drive on!" she pleaded desperately. "Drive on quickly!"
"But how can I?" he returned with a gesture of futility.
At that instant the colonel caught sight of the lion. His mouth fell
open. He drew back in surprise. Then he did something that he had not
done in years. He put aside all the care and sadness of the world; he
surrendered what little dignity the downpour had left him, and throwing
back his head, he bellowed with laughter.
A sudden shift in the jam of vehicles let the hearse move out of their
sight, but the colonel followed it with his eyes as far as he could see
it, leaning out of the carriage for one last look, and roaring and
chortling until he was weak.
By the time the carriage had reached the Cane homestead Mr. Cane was
beaming, in spite of his disheveled appearance.
"Yes, sir," he boasted, "that boy of mine is certainly a skeezix! Great
sense of humor; he can get fun out of anything--even a funeral! What do
you think of that boy of mine anyway, Colonel?"
"_Ours!_" Mrs. Cane corrected. "_Our_ boy!"