"Oh, yes, you do; only--I know!" He winked again; there was positively
an impertinent twinkle in his eye. "You can see as far through a brick
wall as anybody, when you like, only sometimes you don't like. What
we've got to do is to fill the Assembly Rooms with money, and with more
money, mind you, than the room holds. And the way to do that is to get
the people to act whose names I have got down on that piece of paper."
"I still don't follow you. However, since you are managing the affair I
suppose it's no business of mine. You are responsible for its success,
not I."
"Exactly; you've hit it! I am responsible, and you may take it from me
that in a little matter of this sort I know my way about. It's going to
be a success--a bumper."
In spite of his confidence, when we came to actual business, things did
not begin auspiciously.
By way of a commencement, he read the piece to the people who were
going to act it. He said that dramatists always did do so, and that it
was necessary to do everything in regular order. The reading took place
at Mrs Lascelles's house, The Grange. I had not been in the house
before, and from the manner in which she received me I inclined to the
opinion that she would just as soon I had not come into it then. As I
looked round the room I could not but feel that, for the performance of
a musical comedy, Mr Spencer had gathered together a truly curious
company. I began to wish that I had had no hand in the collaboration.
Before he had finished the reading that wish took a very much more
definite form.
He was not a good reader; that fact forced itself upon one's attention
before he had got through three lines. But had he been the finest
reader in the world it would not have made a great deal of difference.
A more dreadful set of people to read a musical comedy to one could not
by any possibility imagine. The jokes--especially as he read them!--did
not strike even me as being very good ones, and sometimes they were a
little frivolous. What does one expect in a musical comedy? Had they
been the finest jokes conceivable it would not have mattered. I do not
believe there was a person present who could have seen a joke at all,
even with the aid of a surgical operation. Each time there was a touch
of frivolity the faces of the audience grew graver. And as for the
songs! Everybody knows the kind of songs one does hear in musical
comedies. The words are not suggestive of either Shakespeare or the
musical glasses. I had planned mine on the same lines. There was one
chorus which struck me as rather catchy.
"It tickled me so I had to smile;
I told the girl she was full of guile.
She said, 'What ho!'
I replied, 'Oh, no!
To put salt on my tail you must walk a mile!'"
I do not pretend that that's poetry, or anything but nonsense. You
expect nonsense in a musical comedy. But when Mr Spencer had read two
verses, Mrs Parker, who is the wife of the chairman of our local bench,
rose from her chair with an expression of countenance calculated to
sour all the milk for miles around, and observed--in such a tone of
voice!--
"Excuse me, Mr Spencer. I must go. When I received your invitation I
did not expect this kind of thing."
"What kind of thing?"
Mr Spencer looked up with a start. It was rapidly becoming more and
more obvious to me that he was one of those young men who are incapable
of seeing even as far as the tips of their own noses. He had been
stammering and stumbling on in apparently sublime unconsciousness of
the sort of reception which our masterpiece was receiving. The
singularity of Mrs Parker's bearing seemed to take him entirely by
surprise.
"May I ask, Mr Spencer, what you call the--stuff you have been
reading?"
"Stuff? You mean the piece? It's a musical comedy."
"Indeed. I haven't noticed any music yet, and as for comedy--there is
none. It appears to me to be a mere tissue of meaningless vulgarity.
Where did you get it from?"
"Miss Wilson and I wrote it together--that is, she did the greater part
of it. In fact, Miss Wilson practically wrote it all."
Which was true enough, but he need not have put it quite so
emphatically just at that moment.
"Miss Wilson?" Mrs Parker put up her glasses and she looked at me. How
she looked! "I have not the pleasure of Miss Wilson's acquaintance, but
I cannot help thinking that she might have been better employed."
Then she went. Fancy my sensations!
Mr Spencer must have been pachydermatous. He seemed unable to feel
either on his own account or on mine. Candid criticism of that
ultra-candid sort was to him like water on a duck's back. Directly Mrs
Parker was out of the room he turned to Mrs Lascelles.
"I don't think it's so bad, do you?--considering!"
"Considering." She said this with an accent for which I could have
thrown something at her. That wretched boy only smiled. It seemed to be
his _role_ in life--to smile. Mrs Lascelles was good enough to add a
sort of saving clause. "I daresay it will be better on the stage than
it is off."
Mr Spencer jumped at the opening.
"Of course! On the stage it will be simply ripping! It's meant to be
acted, not read; no good play ever reads well. The better it is the
worse it reads."
"This one doesn't read well, does it? In any case I think you made a
mistake in asking Mrs Parker to take part in a piece of the kind."
"It was a mistake, wasn't it?"
That young man beamed as if he were congratulating himself on having
done something exceedingly clever. In return, Mrs Lascelles observed
him with an air which was not exactly beaming.
"Frankly, Mr Spencer, I don't see much of a part in the piece for me."
As a matter of fact there was no part; there was just a song and a
dance and nothing else. But I, personally, was convinced that that was
too much. That extraordinary young man, however, put the matter in a
way which staggered me.
"You see, Mrs Lascelles, it's like this: your part at present is simply
outlined--the outline has to be filled in. That's the advantage of a
piece like this, you can do that so easily. What I want is your idea of
what you'd like the part to be, and then I'll write it up. See what I
mean?"
I did not see what he meant. Under the circumstances I think I was to
be congratulated on having been able to hold my peace--till later.
The reading limped to a finish. Then came the chorus. So far as I was
able to gather, not a creature thought anything of the play, and they
thought still less of the parts which had been allotted them. Mr
Spencer scattered promises like leaves in autumn. It made my ears burn
to listen to him. I was not so pliable. For instance, Major Hardy came
up to me to make some truly sensible remarks.
"Candidly, Miss Wilson"--everybody was candid, it was in the air--"my
idea was that we should represent _Hamlet_. I don't know if you are
aware that I am by way of being a Shakespearian scholar. I have formed
my own notion of the Prince of Denmark. I fancy that I might give shape
and substance to that notion if I were allowed to read the part. I
should have to read it. Between ourselves, my memory is so imperfect
that I could never hope to get anything off by heart. You will
therefore see that it is something of a jump to the--eh--kind of thing
we have just been listening to. So far as I understand it is proposed
that I should play a negro minstrel. Now Mrs Hardy would never permit
me to black my face--never! She'd be afraid that it wouldn't come off
again. On some points she is extremely nervous. Could the part not be
transformed into that of a Highland piper? I have the kilts, and I have
the pipes, and I can do some remarkable things with the bagpipes when I
am once fairly started. Sometimes it takes me a little time to get into
my stride, apt to make two or three false starts, don't you know; wind
goes wrong or something, but really, people seem to find that the most
amusing part of it."
I informed him that the character could not be "transformed" into a
Highland piper; that as for bagpipes, they were out of the question. I
had heard of his "pipes." He was fond of playing on them in remote
portions of his grounds; people had mistaken them for foghorns. In
fact, I tried to convey the impression that I was not to be trifled
with. From the look which came on his face I fancy that, to a great
extent, I succeeded.
What does anyone suppose was the first remark which Mr Spencer
addressed to me when at last we were alone together?--with all the
assurance in the world!
"Went off magnificently, didn't it? I told you it would; with a regular
bang!"
My attitude, when confronted by this amazing observation, was one of
polar frigidity.
"I noticed the bang; it was one of those bangs which accompany a final
explosion. Of course, I need scarcely observe that, so far as I am
concerned, the whole affair is at an end."
"Miss Wilson! you're joking! You're not going to let them see that
you're afraid of them?"
"Afraid! Mr Spencer, you use the most extraordinary language. Why
should I be afraid? I beg to inform you that I am afraid of nothing,
and of no one."
"I'm sure of it! All you have to do is to show a bold front and you'll
do as you like with the lot of them."
"So far I've not observed much of the bold front about you. You kowtow
to everyone as if you liked nothing so much as being trampled on."
"That's diplomacy; bound to be diplomatic. This sort of thing always
begins like this."
"Does it? Then I wish you'd told me so at the beginning. I hate
diplomacy."
"Miss Wilson, you have the dramatic instinct--"
"Mr Spencer, I wish you wouldn't talk nonsense. I believe you say that
to everyone. I heard you tell Mrs Lascelles that when she appears on
the stage she'll hold the audience in the hollow of her hand."
"So she will. She's going to appear in short skirts. When they catch
sight of her they'll kill themselves with laughing."
When he said that a dreadful suspicion flashed across my mind that he
was making fun of us all, including me; having a joke at our expense. I
had little doubt, after what I had seen and heard that afternoon, that
he was perfectly capable of such disgraceful conduct. I did not
hesitate to let him know at once what I suspected.
"Mr Spencer, is it your intention that we shall all of us make
laughing-stocks of ourselves for your amusement? Because, if so, I beg
to state that I, for one, decline. I heard what you said to Mrs
Lascelles; I heard you tell her that she would make the hit of the
piece."
"So she will; a hit's made in all kinds of ways."
"Do you dare to tell me that all the while you were intentionally
leading her on to making a complete idiot of herself?"
No eel that ever lived could compare with that young man for
slipperiness. He always had an explanation handy--the more impossible
the position the readier the explanation was.
"It's like this. If people are bent on making fools of themselves, and
will only bite your nose off if you try to stop them, what are you to
do? I tell you that the burden of the piece will be on your shoulders
and mine before the night comes round, and we'll carry it off. But it's
no good telling people that now, it has to be managed. Let's wait till
they've got themselves into a fine old hole, and all the tickets are
sold. All the country-side will crowd to see them make fools of
themselves. Then, when they've muddled themselves into a state of
semi-idiocy, they'll come and beg us--as a favour--to do what they
wouldn't let us do at any price if we were to propose it now. You leave
it to me. I've perhaps got a funny way of my own of doing things, but
I've a knack of getting where I want at the end. You keep your eyes
wide open and you'll see some sport."
He closed one of his eyes that very moment and winked at me again. It
was clear enough that he was a reprehensible young rascal, and all the
while there was a doubt at the back of my head as to whether he would
not wind up by landing me in a disagreeable situation. But, as I think
I have already said, he had such a way about him, and such a plausible
air, and he really was so good-looking, that he actually succeeded in
persuading me--after all that had already happened--to continue my
connection with that miserable play.
We had the first rehearsal. Oh, dear, it was dreadful! Not only were we
all at sixes and sevens--no one knew anything of his or her part, or
had the faintest notion what to do--but not a creature seemed to have
an idea of how to put matters even a little into shape. As for that
Spencer boy, he was worse than useless. It seemed to me that he took
either an imbecile or a malicious pleasure in making confusion worse
confounded. As for order! Everybody was talking together, and as no one
could get anyone to pay the least attention to what he or she was
saying, by degrees some of them began to sulk.
"You ought," I yelled to Mr Spencer when, for a moment, I succeeded in
catching him by the coat sleeve, "for the first rehearsal to have
called the principal performers only; we shall never get on like this."
Although the piece was only in one act there was a long cast, and a
tremendous chorus, besides no end of people who were just supposed to
dress up and walk on and off. "Get half the parish on the stage, and
the other half is bound to come and laugh at them"--that was Mr
Spencer's idea. The consequence was that that ridiculous little
platform at the "Lion," which was going to be the stage, was so crammed
with people that there was scarcely room to move, so that the
proceedings almost resembled a scrimmage in a game of Rugby football.
Miss Odger, who was standing by, heard what I said, although Mr Spencer
apparently continued oblivious of my presence. Quite uninvited she
answered for him.
"And pray, Miss Wilson, who would you describe as the principal
performers? I suppose you, of course, are one."
She certainly was not another, she was only in the chorus.
"Anyhow, Miss Odger, one would hardly speak of the members of the
chorus as principals, would one?"
"Is that so? I had no idea. In my ignorance I thought we were all
supposed to be equal. Since we are all doing our best I did not know
that some of us were to be treated as inferiors. May, did you?"
She turned to Miss Taylor, who, I was aware, hated the sight of me, as
her answer showed.
"Didn't you know, my dear, that Miss Wilson not only wrote most of the
piece, but proposes to act most of it too? I daresay she will let Mr
Spencer do a little, but the rest of us, I imagine, are only to form a
kind of background."
"If that is the case the sooner it becomes generally known the better.
Miss Wilson will find that she will be at liberty to do it all by
herself, though she may have to do it without the background."
It was no use my attempting to match myself against them at saying
disagreeable things there, even had my dignity permitted it, which it
did not. I simply walked away.
That rehearsal, which really never was a rehearsal at all, ended in
something like a general squabble. Everybody went away on pretty bad
terms with everybody else. I doubt if one single creature left that
room in a good temper, except Frank Spencer. He seemed absolutely
radiant. I should not have been a scrap surprised to learn that,
directly the last of us was out of sight, he had to hold his hands to
his sides to keep himself from bursting with laughter.
The next day, as regards my share in the proposed entertainment, there
came the final straw in the shape of a visit from his mother. Such a
visit! Mrs Spencer was an individual to whom I never had felt drawn. A
little, fussy woman, with a fidgety manner, who was always tangling
herself up in her own sentences. When she was announced, what she
wanted with me I could not guess. It was with indescribable sensations
that I gradually learnt.
"Miss Wilson," she began, "you are an orphan." I admitted it. From the
way in which she was regarding me she might have been expecting me to
deny it. "Therefore, much should be excused you. Providence does not
wish us to press hardly on the motherless." I did not know what she
meant, or why she was nodding her head as if it were hung on springs.
"My dear young lady, I would ask you to excuse me if, on this occasion,
I speak in a manner calculated to show you that I appreciate your
situation, if I ask you to regard me as if I were your mother." I
stared. I could not at all fancy Mrs Spencer as my mother. But that was
only the beginning. What she proceeded to say next took my breath away.
"I know my boy. I know his faults. I know his virtues. He has many fine
qualities." Had he? I could only say I had not noticed them. "But it
has not been always altogether fortunate for him that he is such a
universal favourite--especially with young women." She looked at me in
a style which made me go both hot and cold. "He has generous instincts;
noble impulses; a natural inclination to do only what is right and
proper. But--alas!--he is of a pliant disposition, as clay in the hands
of the modeller; easily led astray."
"Is that so? I am bound to admit that your son has not struck me as
being a very vertebrate creature, but I don't see what his
peculiarities have to do with me."
"Miss Wilson, I don't like to hear you talk like that. I don't like
it."
"Mrs Spencer!"
"It shows a callous disposition, especially in one who is, apparently,
so young."
"What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean perfectly well. Your own conscience is telling
you, as you sit there, that you have taken advantage of his simplicity
to induce my boy to do what he never would have done if he had been
left alone."
"Mrs Spencer! This is monstrous!"
"It is no use your jumping up from your chair in that excitable manner
and raising your voice. I am here to do my duty as a mother, and as the
wife of the rector of this parish. Already your machinations have
created a scandal, and you have set the whole place by the ears. Can
you deny that you have entangled my son in a dreadful business, the end
and aim of which is to perform in public a stage play for which you are
responsible?"
"I presume that you are aware that you are alluding to Mr Frank
Spencer's own musical comedy."
"It is not straightforward of you to attempt to take up such an
attitude, Miss Wilson. Is it not a fact that for the play--which Mrs
Parker informs me is of an absolutely impossible kind--"
"Oh, Mrs Parker was your informant, was she?"
"Certainly. She was never more shocked in her life. To think that she
should have been invited--actually invited!--to listen to such dreadful
stuff!"
"It was your son who invited her; it was he who read the dreadful
stuff, of which he is part author."
"Miss Wilson, it is unworthy of you to try to put the blame upon my
boy, who is a mere lad."
"He's older than I am."
"In years, but we do not count by years only. I insist upon your
telling me if for that dreadful play you are not principally, and
practically, solely responsible?"
"I certainly have tried to make sense of your son's nonsense."
"And you really propose to perform it in public?"
"For the benefit of the parochial charities."
"For the benefit of the parochial charities!" You should have seen the
expression which was on her funny little face as she repeated my words.
"Miss Wilson, you dare to say such a thing! When you are perfectly well
aware that neither the rector nor I would ever permit a farthing of any
money obtained by such means to be devoted to such a purpose!"
"This is the most extraordinary thing I ever heard. Don't you know that
the inception of the whole affair is your son's? He came and begged me
to take part in an entertainment in aid of the parochial charities; he
forced me to read his wretched play--"
"Oh, Miss Wilson! Miss Wilson! How can you talk to me in such a
manner!" She actually wrung her hands, or seemed to. "Your painful
behaviour compels me to ask if it is a fact that you are engaged to be
married?"
"I am, though I do not see what that has to do with the matter under
discussion."
"Then, under such circumstances, do you think it right and proper to
encourage my poor boy?"
"Encourage your poor boy! I!"