TEN KNIGHTS IN A BARROOM
Sube Cane had often seen his father wrapped in contemplation, so he knew
how the thing ought to be done. He accordingly clasped his hands behind
his back beneath the place where coat-tails should have been, drew his
eyebrows into a scowl, pursed his lips, and fixed his gaze on the object
to be considered.
This proved to be a hole; a small hole in the side of ol' Uncle George
Bond's barn, close to the ground. It was perfectly rounded at the top
and equipped with a neat sliding-door; and it did look interesting. But
then, any hole that there is even the slightest possibility of crawling
through looks interesting to a boy. Sube was so engrossed in his
contemplations that he started perceptibly on hearing a gruff voice
inquire what he thought he was doing there.
He quickly withdrew his hands from underneath the imaginary coat-tails
and released the scowl. Then he glanced around to find himself looking
into the grinning face of his friend, Hon. Gizzard Tobin.
"Thought you'd scare me, didn't you?" Sube growled.
"_Thought_ so!" cried Gizzard. "Say! You jumped a mile!"
"Well, I guess I didn't jump! I knew it was you all the time."
"Yes, you didn't! What'd you jump for, then?"
"Didn't jump. Jus' moved a little."
"I should say you _did_ move! You thought ol' Uncle George was right
after you!"
"That shows how much you know about it," Sube sneered as he bent over to
examine the hole at closer range.
Gizzard vaulted the fence and came up beside him. "What you lookin' at
that ol' chicken-hole for?" he asked disdainfully.
Sube cocked his head over on one side as if to view the problem from
another angle and replied: "I was jus' wonderin'."
"What about?"
"Jus' wonderin' if a feller could crawl through there," said Sube
pointing a stubby finger at the hole.
"You couldn't, and I wouldn't want to," replied Gizzard with
unaccustomed promptness.
"Why couldn't I?" asked Sube deliberately.
"'Cause that there slide's hooked on the inside!"
Sube muttered something unintelligible as he bent over and inserted his
finger under the sliding-door. He raised it far enough to demonstrate
that it was not fastened, and dropped it as he asked:
"Now why wouldn't you want to?"
"S'pose I want ol' Uncle George to kick the liver out of _me_! Why, I
jus' looked in the door one day when he was in there, and he swore at me
till I was out of sight; and he said if he ever caught me on his
premises again, he'd kick the liver out of me! And I bet he would, too!"
Relatively speaking, ol' Uncle George Bond was nobody's uncle; but as a
matter of nomenclature he was everybody's. He was death on boys, to be
sure. However, his unfriendly attitude was of very little importance at
this particular time because he was out of town.
"Gone to Sodus for a month," was the information Sube presently
imparted.
"What makes you think so?" asked the skeptical Gizzard, still intent on
the preservation of his liver.
"Saw him buy his ticket and get on the train this mornin'. That's what
makes me think so! And I heard him tell the agent he was goin' for a
month's vacation!"
"All right," said Gizzard. "I'll go in there if you will--if we can get
in."
Sube squeezed through without a great deal of difficulty; but Gizzard
stuck fast somewhere about amidships. He kicked and wriggled while Sube
pulled, but it was all in vain. It was necessary for Gizzard to back out
and shift his cargo before he could come into port. He presently handed
in to Sube one baseball, one broken padlock, one bicycle-wrench, one
slingshot, and other articles too numerous to mention; and having been
thus lightened, he came through without difficulty.
The wonders of the forbidden country unfolded with such bewildering
rapidity that the youthful explorers had difficulty in deciding what to
try first. However, they soon concluded to redecorate the interior of
the barn with remnants left over from the recent painting of ol' Uncle
George's house.
When they had tired of being painters they opened a carpenter shop and
started to build a boat out of some old boards with the aid of ol' Uncle
George's razor-edged tools. This went very well until Sube hammered his
thumb, when he retired from the concern and left Gizzard to complete
the vessel alone; but after Gizzard had planed a thin layer from the end
of his finger he too retired, and the carpenter business went to the
wall.
They next engaged in the manufacture of cider, opening a mill in a
corner of the barn, where they found a small hand-press. Sube turned the
crank while Gizzard poured in bushels of imaginary apples. Then they
"put on the brakes" to squeeze out the imaginary juice, which was drawn
from a spigot at the bottom in real glasses and bottles with which the
place seemed to abound. After a little the strain on their imagination
became so great that something had to be done to relieve it.
"If we jus' had a few apples we could make a little _real_ cider," Sube
suggested tentatively.
"Well, I know where we can get some," said Gizzard. "There's a tree jus'
loaded with harvest apples right out behind the barn!"
Without another word both boys started for the opening by which they had
entered, but Gizzard, being a little nearer, reached it first. While he
was wriggling his way to the outside Sube tried the back door and found
it fastened only by a hook. So it happened that when Gizzard reached the
apple tree he found Sube already there with his cap half full of
apples. Then the cider business began in earnest.
The apples were small and not very juicy, and the boys soon found that
there was quite a little work connected with the manufacture of cider in
commercial quantities. But they did manage to make a glassful apiece
before they were compelled to knock off for the noon hour.
The partners went out by the back door, which they fastened shut with a
piece of board; and as they walked home they made plans for the future
conduct of their business.
"We got to put on a few hands to pick up the apples while we run the
mill, if we want to increase our produck," Sube informed his partner
gravely. "There's too much overhead for us to handle alone."
"I'd say there was too much underfoot," returned Gizzard with equal
gravity. "What we want is apples--"
"I guess you don't understand much about bus'ness," was Sube's lofty
comment. "Overhead's a reg'lar bus'ness word that means--means somethin'
special."
Gizzard defended his position heatedly. "I guess I know jus' much about
it as you do!" he retorted. "Underfoot's a reg'lar word, too! And it
means some'pm special! I've heard my dad use it a hundred times."
For a moment Sube maintained a discreet silence. He wanted to avoid
having trouble with his partner at the very beginning of their business
career if it could be done with honor; especially as the title to the
business was somewhat clouded. Then he said diplomatically:
"Well, anyway, we got to put on a few more hands to pick up apples."
"Right you are," agreed Gizzard. "Who we goin' to get?"
"Oh, we might hire Stucky Richards, and Cathead, and Cottontop Sigsbee.
S'pose that'll be enough?"
"We don't want to get too many! The more we have, the more cider they'll
drink up."
"That's right. I guess they'll do."
The cider mill commenced business in earnest that afternoon with a full
roster of hands. And they soon demonstrated their sufficiency, for
apples were delivered at the press faster than the proprietors could
dispose of them. When they had picked up all the apples on the ground
they threshed the tree until hardly an apple was left on it; and they
even went so far as to pick a bushel of crabapples for their employers.
The result of the afternoon's work (which was well up in the gallons)
was placed in a convenient cask equipped with a spigot. Then the
enterprise was reorganized as a saloon. Ol' Uncle George's workbench
made an ideal bar, at which thirsty customers clamored for beer, liquor,
and other ugly-sounding beverages, that Sube and Gizzard as bartenders
served with a flourish an expert sodawater clerk might well have envied.
Then the histrionic muse, never far beneath the surface of youth, came
forth and transformed the scene into an extemporaneous drama that was a
howling success in spite of its leanings towards the morality play. This
production, called by its authors, "Ten Knights in a Barroom"--was, in
fact, so successful that the players promised themselves the pleasure of
repeating it daily during the ensuing month.
But this proved to be impossible; for that night ol' Uncle George was
called home by a fire in his shoe store.
The management declined to make use of ol' Uncle George's properties
while he remained in town for fear that he might have occasion to use
them himself, and thus bring about some slight unpleasantness in their
hitherto delightful relations. Meanwhile the members of the company
fidgeted and chafed under the delay.
A rehearsal attempted in Canes' barn was, for some unknown reason, a
decided frost. Then they tried Stucky Richards' barn, which was right
next door to ol' Uncle George's; and although things went somewhat
better there, they lacked the zest of the initial performance.
Stucky's properties, as far as they went, were above criticism; his
workbench made an excellent bar; his broken chairs were deliciously
hopeless; his cuspidor was admitted by all to be much better than ol'
Uncle George's; his bottles and glassware were vastly superior; but
there he stopped.
He had no cider press, and no means of getting one. He had no cider; and
worst of all he had no spigot-equipped cask without which no
disreputable saloon can exist.
But this was not all that troubled the Ten Knights in a Barroom company.
Professional jealousy crept in to plague their once placid ranks. By
secretly consulting the faded poster in Severn's blacksmith shop (from
which he had adapted the name for his production) Sube learned that he
had overlooked a character. The next time the company assembled he
attempted to rectify his error.
[Illustration]
"Say, you kids," he began; "we made a mistake about one thing. You can't
all be Old Soaks. Somebody's got to be a little ragged girl that pleads
with her drunken father to come home with her. Now who's goin' to be the
little girl?"
Cathead thought he scented a conspiracy, and wishing to be on the safe
side, volunteered to take the part of the drunken father.
"Not on your life!" cried Sube. "Somebody's got to be a little girl, and
you'd make the best one of anybody here. Wouldn't he, kids?"
Stucky and Cottontop were positive that Cathead would make an ideal
girl, and they so expressed themselves. But Cathead thought otherwise.
"I won't be a girl! I ain't goin' to be a girl! I never been one and I
ain't ever goin' to be one!" he insisted.
"Now looka here, Cathead--" Gizzard began pleadingly.
"I won't look there! And I won't be a girl! I'll be a drunken father,
but I'll never be a girl!"
"But somebody's _got_ to be a girl!" Sube urged desperately. "Now who's
it goin' to be?"
He looked from Cottontop to Stucky and then back to Cottontop again, but
there were no volunteers.
"I couldn't be it if I wanted to," Cottontop explained. "I'm too big to
be a girl, and besides, there'd be nobody to take my part."
Then Stucky felt that he must have himself excused. "My voice is
changin'," he said, purposely causing his voice to crack and waver.
"Hear how it acks! I couldn't be a girl with a voice like that.
Everybody'd be onto me in a second."
It seemed to be up to Cathead, but without waiting to be so informed
Cathead began to bawl excitedly: "I won't be a girl! I won't be a girl!
And if you don't shut up I won't be in your ol' show at all!"
It was at this point that Biscuit Westfall appeared in the doorway,
where he paused, a little uncertain as to his welcome; for the attitude
of the other boys towards him was subject to change without notice.
Sometimes he was tolerated; often he was told to go home; and more often
he was tormented until he was glad to retire. Biscuit's life was too
sheltered, his character too beautiful to make good company of him. Had
he butted into the theater on the day previous he would have been
unceremoniously kicked out; but to-day he was hailed with delight.
"We was jus' talkin' about you, Biscuit," Sube began cautiously. "We was
wonderin' if you could take a part in our show."
Biscuit was overjoyed. His confidence was restored, and he entered
without misgivings as he cried:
"_Can_ I? CAN I? Say! Watch me! _Watch_ me!"
Sube scratched his ear dubiously. "You've said a mouthful, Biscuit:
_can_ you! It's a pretty hard part. Cathead, there, has been teasin' us
to let him take it, but we don't think he can do it."
Cathead considered that this was placing him in a false position and
tried to protest; but Biscuit drowned him out.
"Say! I've took part in everything they've had in Sunday School ever
since I was a littie-bittie baby! I can take any ol' part!"
"Can you plead?" asked Sube.
"Can I plead? _Can_ I! Say! You jus' oughta hear me when I get
started--"
"Did you ever take a girl part?"
Biscuit frowned. "I could, but I don't want to. If it's a girl part, let
Cathead have it, and I'll take some other part."
A long argument followed, but Biscuit was stubborn. He would not be a
girl under any circumstances. So rather than abandon the part Sube
reluctantly permitted the child character to be changed from female to
male. Cathead gladly assumed the cares and burdens of a drunken parent,
and the rehearsal proceeded.
It had not gone very far, however, when Biscuit discovered that he was
not to participate in the bacchanalian revel, but was to linger about
the doorway pleading with his father to come home with him. Then there
was trouble again. Biscuit refused to go on with the part unless he was
allowed to drink and have fun in the saloon like the other boys.
Sube was disinclined to sacrifice the historical accuracy of his
production, but the part was a hard one to fill and juvenile actors were
scarce. So he finally yielded, and suggested a slight alteration of the
lines by which the drunken father invites the ragged child to come in
and "have some'pm" and the child accepts.
This change being satisfactory to Biscuit the rehearsal went on.