IN WHICH THE BOYS GIVE AN ENTERTAINMENT
"Gus, that was the bravest thing you ever did!"
And so speaking, Dave caught the other youth by the hand and shoulder
and held him for a moment.
"Oh, I don't know about that," was the hesitating reply. "I--I should
have smashed it when I received it."
"Where did you get the wine, if I may ask?"
"It was sent to me by Link Merwell."
"What!" Dave's manner showed his great astonishment. "Do you mean to
say he sent you that, knowing that you were trying to give up the
habit?"
"Yes. He says I am a fool to listen to you--said I was tied to your
coat-tail--that I ought to be independent. He says a little drinking
won't hurt anybody."
"Gus, he is trying to--to----" Dave could not finish the sentence, for
he did not want to hurt Plum's feelings.
"Yes, I know. He'd like to see me down and out, as the saying goes. He
hates me because I won't chum with him any longer."
"The less you have to do with him the better, Gus."
"I know that, and just before I came out here to break that bottle I
sent him a note telling him that if he sent me any more such stuff I'd
break the next bottle over his head!" And Plum's face glowed with some
of his old-time assertiveness.
"Well, I shouldn't blame you for that, Gus. I rather think your threat
will keep him in the background for a while."
Dave could realize something of the struggle which the former bully
had had, to throw the bottle of wine away. But he did not know
all--how for three hours the poor lad had wavered between drinking
and abstaining--and that it was only the thoughts of Dave, and of his
mother and home, that had kept him in the right path.
Leading the way to the new boathouse, Dave found a spot where they
would not be interrupted, and here he and Plum went to work on their
dialogue, making such final changes as seemed best.
"I've had my troubles with Merwell, too," said Dave, and told about the
express package. "He seems bound to bring us to grief."
"He's a bad egg--the worst in the school," was Gus Plum's comment.
It must be confessed that all the boys were a little nervous as the
time approached for the entertainment. It was to take place in the
large assembly room of Oak Hall, and the platform had been transformed
into something of a stage, with side curtains and a drop, and a back
scene hired from a distant theater and representing a garden. The
room itself was decorated with flags and bunting, and looked cozy and
inviting.
Promptly on time the visitors began to arrive, some from Oakdale and
others from a distance. The boys to take part in the show were behind
the scenes, while others showed the visitors to seats, so that Dave did
not see any of his friends or relatives until later.
The programme had been divided into two parts, of five numbers each,
including an opening song by all the players, and a closing farce
written merely to bring in all the characters.
"Now, fellows, do your best," said Luke Watson, as the school orchestra
played the overture. "Make it as near like a professional show as
possible."
"Say, that puts me in mind of a story," came from Shadow. "Once some
young ladies---- But, pshaw! I'll save that for the stage," he added,
and broke off suddenly.
The opening number went very well, and then came a playlet by four of
the boys representing four sailors ashore after an ocean trip of five
years. The sailors did not apparently know how to act in a big city and
did so many ridiculous things that the applause was long and loud.
A musical number followed, introducing banjo playing by Luke, a guitar
solo by Henshaw, a cornet solo by a lad named Dixon, and then a trio
by the three. Then came fancy dumbbell exercises and club-swinging by
three members of the gymnasium club, and this too went very well, the
exercisers keeping time to a march played by the orchestra.
The next number was Shadow's monologue, and when that youth came out
everybody had to laugh before he said a word. He was dressed as an
extreme dude, with big checked coat and trousers, fancy colored vest,
a tremendous watch-chain, and paste diamond stud, very pointed patent
leather shoes, a high standing collar, and a highly-polished silk hat.
"Ladies and gentlemen, boys, girls, and fellow-weepers," he commenced
with a profound bow and a flourish of his silk hat, "I have been asked
an important question, namely, What is the difference between a cat
and a shotgun? Well, I don't know, excepting that both can go off, but
it's only the feline that comes back. Now, that puts me in mind of a
story I once heard while traveling in Egypt with Noah, looking for a
typewriter which was lost overboard from the ark. A little boy went
to a hardware store for his dad and hung around waiting to be waited
on. At last a clerk asked, 'Well, little boy, what do you want?' 'Oh,'
says the little boy, 'I want a fire engine, an' a hobby horse, an' a
automobile, an' a lot o' things, but papa he wants a bottle of glue,
an' he says if it don't stick he'll stick you for it!' Now, that's the
same boy who went to the courthouse to get courtplaster for his mother
and then went down to the henhouse to look for egg plants."
There was considerable applause over this opening, and Shadow continued:
"That hand-clapping puts me in mind of another story. A would-be actor
had joined a barn-storming company, and the company opened in a little
place on Staten Island where the mosquitoes are manufactured by the
ton, gross, or hogshead, just as you want 'em. Well, as soon as the
play commenced, the would-be actor thought he heard a lot of applause.
Says he to the scene-shifter: 'We've got 'em a-going, haven't we?' 'I
don't know if you have or not,' answered the scene-shifter. 'I know
the mosquitoes have some of 'em a-going, by the way they're slapping
at 'em!' Well, that company busted up and the would-be actor had to
come home on a trolley-car because he couldn't afford the train. He
had only a nickel, and that he put into his mouth, and all at once it
went down. 'What's the matter?' asked the conductor. 'I--I swallowed my
nickel--the only one I had!' gasped the would-be actor. 'Never mind,
I'll ring it up,' said the conductor, and he did. And then the actor
didn't know if he was a nickel in or a nickel out."
This brought forth more applause, and Shadow continued to tell one
story or joke after another, in rapid succession, until the entire
audience was roaring. When he made his bow and disappeared behind a
side curtain his monologue was voted by all one of the hits of the
evening.
"It was all right," said Dave. "I only hope our playlet goes as well."
The playlet came in the middle of Part Two, and the stage was set with
a table, two chairs, and several other things. The table was a small
one stored in a side room, and the chairs were common kitchen chairs.
They were brought out by Chip Macklin and Frank Bond, who had been
chosen to do all kinds of errands.
"I just met Link Merwell in the side room," said Chip, when he came out
with the table. "He looks as sour as can be. I guess he wishes the show
would be a failure--because he wasn't asked to take part."
"Yes, he'd like to make it a failure," answered Dave; and then, for
the time being, turned his whole attention to the play and gave his
enemy no further thought.
Dave and Plum had gotten themselves up with great care, as a German
immigrant and a darky, and when one shuffled on the stage after the
other there was a good deal of laughing. The playlet revolved around
the question of getting situations as a butler and a footman in a
fashionable residence, and the lines were humorous in the extreme, and
both Dave and Gus got about all the fun possible from them.
"Oh, how very, very funny!" cried Laura, and could hardly control her
laughter.
"It certainly is funny," answered Jessie, and then she glanced over
to where Vera Rockwell was sitting with some friends. She saw Vera
applauding vigorously and it piqued her just a little. She clapped her
hands, too, but her heart was not as light as it might have been had
Vera not been there.
In the course of the playlet, Dave had to stand on one of the chairs
and then mount to the table, to show how he would play the part of a
footman. As he got up on a chair there was an unexpected crack, and
down went the back part, letting him fall most unexpectedly.
It takes a quick-witted person to do just the right thing in a case of
emergency. Dave had not looked for this fall, and the play did not
call for it. Like a flash he felt that this was some trick of Link
Merwell. But just as quickly as the accident came he resolved to make
the best of it. In a very comical way he rolled over twice, stood
partly on his head and then sat up with a dazed expression.
"Oxcuse me!" he said, in a German tone of voice. "I tidn't know dot
chair vos so tired owid he tidn't vont to hold me alretty." Then he
picked up the broken chair. "Vell, of you ton't vont to sthand up,
chust lay down," and he flung the broken article behind him.
This brought forth an extra round of applause and in the midst of
this Dave began to climb up the second chair. That too he felt to be
"doctored," and he went up with care and thus managed to stand on top
without breaking off the legs which had been nearly cracked through.
Then from the chair he went to the table. He knew what to expect now
and began to prepare for it.
"Dis coach vos got von palky horse," he said. "Chust you hold der
animile alretty, yah!"
"Dat wot I will, brudder Carl," answered Plum, in negro dialect, and
wondering what was to come next, for those lines were not in the
playlet.
"Now, dot is der vay I goes me riding py der Park," went on Dave,
beginning to wabble on the shaky table. "Whoa mit dot hoss! Tidn't I
told you he vos balky?" For the table was growing weaker and weaker.
[Illustration:DOWN WENT THE BACK PART, LETTING HIM FALL MOST
UNEXPECTEDLY.]
"Say, dun yo' know dat hoss has got de dumb ager?" demanded Plum. "Wot
yo' want to give him is a dose of Plaster of Paris Pills fo' Peevish
People. If dat hoss should----"
"He's running avay! Call der fire engines and der hoss-pistol vagons!"
bawled Dave, and made a movement as if on a runaway coach. Then, as the
table settled with a final crash, he whispered to Plum: "Make believe
stop the horse and quarrel over it." Then he leaped forward, caught an
imaginary horse by the tail and struggled to hold back. Gus was equally
quick-witted and leaped to the head of the same imaginary horse and
stretched up and down, as if he had hold of the bridle. Then the two
boys backed and "shied" all over the stage, overturning the second
chair, at which Dave yelled, "Dere goes dot peanut stand alretty!" Then
of a sudden the two young actors faced each other.
"Wot's de mattah wid you? Da ain't no hoss heah!"
"Yah, dot's so--he runt avay alretty!"
"Yo' is a fine footman, getting scared at a hoss wot ain't no hoss."
"Vell, of he vosn't no hoss vy you cotch him py der headt, hey?"
"Dat's because yo' was a fool an' I had to follow yo'---- I mean at
yo'----"
"I know vot you mean. You mean you vos der fool und der hoss----"
"Look heah now, Mr. Dutchy, I wants yo' to understand dat I ain't no
fool."
"Vell, Mr. Vight, I dake your vord for dot, hey? Now, vot you do ven
you vos a putler, hey?"
And from that point the playlet went on as originally intended; the two
finally winding up when a postman's whistle was heard and each got a
letter from the same man, stating the one to arrive first at a certain
house could have a job. Both started at the same time and each tripped
the other up. Then both left the stage on hands and knees, each trying
to keep the other back. It was a truly comical wind-up, and when the
curtain went down there was a thunder of applause.
"Dave, it was great!" cried Roger. "You acted the Dutchman to
perfection, and Plum was the darky to a T!"
"That's true," added Phil. "But say, didn't you change that coach scene
some?"
"Well, rather," put in Gus. "We had to do it on account of----"
"Link Merwell," finished Dave. "That's another black mark I am going to
put down to his account."