THE EVENING'S ENTERTAINMENT.
Surely if noise was any proof that the audience was satisfied with the
performance given by Mopsey's company, then all must have been highly
delighted, for such confusion was probably never heard in that house
before as when the curtain fell on the first act of this new edition
of Shakespeare's plays. The actors were in a perfect whirl of delight,
and all save Dickey showed it by dancing and shaking hands, until
there was almost as much confusion behind the curtain as in front.
Mopsey was so delighted at the success that his gigantic brain
conceived a startling idea for the entrance of the ghost, which was
neither more nor less than for Ben to crouch under the stage, in the
very hole where Johnny had come to grief, and at the proper time to
rise up in a ghostly fashion, which must surely be very effective. Ben
was disposed to object to this hiding under the flooring, more
especially since he would be enveloped in the sheet, and would
doubtless be uncomfortably warm; but all his objections were
overruled by the author and company, and he gave a very unwilling
assent to the proposition.
In order that the audience might not be kept waiting until their
patience was exhausted, or their good-humor began to evaporate, the
curtain was raised as soon as the ghost could be tucked away in his
hiding-place, and Paul made his first appearance on any stage. Mopsey
had explained to him the part which he was to assume, and in a
well-thumbed copy of Shakespeare's works belonging to Mrs. Green he
had found the lines which Hamlet is supposed to speak after he sees
the ghost. These he had committed to memory, although he had little
idea of the meaning of them; and when he came upon the stage he
addressed the audience as if in them he saw the ghost of his murdered
father.
Now Ben had seen the play of "Hamlet" several times, and he knew
enough about it to know that the speech Paul was delivering should be
addressed to him. In his anxiety to have the scene played properly, he
marred the effect of his own entrance somewhat by popping his head out
of the hole and whispering, hoarsely,
"Turn 'round this way, Polly; turn 'round to me."
Paul heard the advice, and he turned his back to the audience. Ben,
seeing that his suggestion had been carried out, ducked his head
again, very much to Hamlet's perplexity.
Mopsey had stated particularly that as soon as he saw the ghost he
must run away in alarm, and yet Ben would persist in keeping out of
sight even though he had attracted his attention.
Paul repeated all of the speech he had committed to memory, and then
waited for the ghostly visitant. Ben, who had not anticipated that
there was so much speaking in Hamlet's part, was rather confused, and
did not know whether it was time for him to come out and strike terror
to the heart of his supposed son or not.
He popped out his head two or three times, but Paul was not standing
in such a position as he fancied would be best suited for the
reception of a ghost, and he went back again out of sight, delighting
the audience with his agility, and confusing Hamlet.
Paul knew that it was not the proper thing for him to stand there
silent, and, fearing lest he might not have said enough, he began to
repeat the same speech over again.
Ben realized that it was but a repetition that doomed him still to
remain in hiding, and believing it to be a mistake on Paul's part, he
whispered, loudly,
"You've said that before; say something else."
Paul was perfectly well aware that he had repeated those words before,
and he was doing so for the very good reason that he did not know what
else to say; but the ghost's command confused him, and he stood
silent and motionless, resolved to remain quiet rather than make a
mistake.
By this time Mopsey had discovered that there was something the matter
with the two actors who were supposed to be delighting the audience,
and he found that it was the ghost who was delaying the progress of
the play.
"Come out of there, Ben," he whispered, loudly; and some of the
audience hearing him, they called, in pleasant tones,
"Yes, come out, Ben, and show yourself."
Thus urged, the ghost could do no less than make his appearance, and
he arose from his place of partial concealment as majestically as he
could, considering the fact that the sheet had been caught upon a
nail, and he was obliged to stoop two or three times to unfasten it.
But he did succeed in rising at last, and then, to make himself look
as much like a spectre as possible, he held both arms straight out as
he walked slowly down the stage.
It is very likely that he would have made a good impression if it had
not been for that portion of his costume that did not properly belong
to the character he was assuming. The long ends of tape that he had
insisted on allowing to hang down from his ankles persisted in getting
under his feet, and he tripped himself up with a force that gave
Hamlet a genuine fright. The sheet which covered Ben's head prevented
him from rising as quickly as he would have liked, and while he was
trying to disengage himself from it, Paul, realizing that he should
run away, did so by leaping over the prostrate ghost, to the great
delight of the patrons.
The shock of Ben's fall and Paul's leap so shook the frail structure
which Johnny had built that the curtain came down with a thud, tearing
away from its fastenings above, and the poor ghost was made doubly a
prisoner by this additional covering.
"Don't tear it, Ben!" shouted Johnny, fearing lest his artistic labors
in the way of the "Wild Indian" would be ruined, and then he and
Mopsey sprang on the stage, rescuing the curtain from the frantic
clutch of the ghost, and leaving that worthy to get to his feet as
best he might.
Of course the audience enjoyed all this highly; and while they hooted
and shrieked in the excess of their delight, Ben succeeded in escaping
from the rather awkward mantle.
"I can dance, if I don't do the ghost very well!" he shouted, almost
angrily, to the noisy audience; and then he began to prove the truth
of his words with a force that threatened the immediate destruction of
the entire theatrical surroundings.
And the audience seemed to realize that Ben could dance, for they
insisted on his continuing that portion of his duties until he was
bathed in perspiration, and so tired that he could hardly move.
Of course, now that the curtain had been wrecked, there was no
opportunity for dividing the acts, and after the applause which Ben's
efforts had produced died away, Mopsey sent Nelly on to sing again.
The audience greeted her kindly, as before, and not only insisted on
joining in the chorus, but demanded more than she had intended to
give. They were evidently determined to get the full value of their
money, and, suspecting that she would appear no more that evening,
dictated to her such songs as they wanted to hear.
It was of no use for her to refuse, for they insisted upon their
demands being complied with so noisily that the performance could not
proceed until they were ready. She stood there singing until she was
hoarse, while the entire company waited, in battle-array, for the time
to come when they should make their last appearance in the great
combat.
It was nearly half an hour before Nelly was allowed to go; and as soon
as she was clear of the stage the waiting forces rushed on, displaying
the most wonderful skill with their swords.
It would not be exactly correct to say that all of the company rushed
on, for Dickey made his appearance very carefully. Of course he was
obliged to come sideways, and he moved with great caution, lest he
should fall down again, thus working more damage to the covers of Mrs.
Green's wash-boilers. But he got on with the others, even if he was
slower in his movements, and soon was in the very midst of the mimic
battle, apparently the most wounded one there, judging from the blows
that were rained upon his armor.
The combatants had soon found out that their stage was hardly large
enough for the movements of an army of five with such long swords, and
that the greatest caution must be used to prevent serious injury to
some of them. Therefore, when Mopsey hit a resounding blow on the
front-piece of Dickey's armor with the back of his sword, all saw that
the din of battle could be represented in that way much better and
with less danger than by clashing their swords together.
And thus it happened that poor Dickey found himself in the midst of a
blood-thirsty crowd, each one pounding him on the chest or back, while
he was unable to parry the attack, save when some one incautiously
moved towards his sword-arm. He cried for mercy at the full force of
his lungs, while Mrs. Green shouted the same request because of her
tin-ware. The audience were equally divided in opinion as to whether
Macbeth had been punished enough, and still the blows were delivered
with such force and noise that one would have thought an army of
tinsmiths were at work.
How long this unequal combat might have gone on it is impossible to
say; for when Dickey found that he was likely to have no mercy shown
him so long as the audience was so well pleased, he dropped to his
knees, and then tried to roll off the stage. Of course, he could roll
over no more easily than a turtle, but he had stopped the supposed
sanguinary fight, and he was satisfied. Having no one on whom they
could wreak their vengeance without considerable danger to themselves,
the combatants dispersed, and not until then did Mopsey remember that
the very one whom they had been using so roughly was the one upon whom
they depended to close the performance.
When the self-elected manager thought of this, he called to Ben to
help him set the vanquished Macbeth on his feet, and to get him in
dancing condition. It was quite an easy matter to get the tin-encased
hero on his feet, but quite another matter to bolster him up so that
he could dance. Dickey was wearied with long standing, sore from the
effects of the pounding, and so thoroughly cured of his desire to wear
an armor, that all he thought of or wanted was to get where he could
take off the trappings of war, and become a humble boot-blacking
citizen once more. In fact he utterly refused to dance, which would
really have been an impossibility, unless he had been relieved from
the embarrassment of the boiler covers, and Ben and Johnny went on in
a double clog to give a proper finish to the performance.
[Illustration: DICKEY FOUND HIMSELF IN THE MIDST OF A BLOOD-THIRSTY
CROWD.]
Inasmuch as there was no curtain, it was found necessary for Mopsey to
go forward and announce that the evening's entertainment was
finished--an announcement which the audience was not inclined to
accept as a fact. They utterly refused to leave their seats, and it
was not until Nelly had appeared and sung three more songs that they
left the theatre. Then, although they drew some comparisons between
that theatre and others which they had attended, which were certainly
not very favorable to Mopsey, they departed, apparently very well
satisfied that they had received the full worth of their money.
The entertainment had lasted fully two hours, and every one of the
performers, but more especially Dickey, was greatly pleased when the
last one of the audience passed out of the door. It would be stating
it all too mildly to say that Mrs. Green was relieved when they had
gone. The good woman had been in a deplorable condition of fear since
the time the first hearty applause was raised, and she had been
seriously afraid that they would go through the floor of her attic in
some of their more vigorous manifestations of pleasure.
Before the last one of their patrons had left the hall Dickey had
asked Paul to help him cast aside the uncomfortable costume of
Macbeth. When that was done, Master Spry stated most emphatically that
if he ever acted again it would be in some part where the use of armor
was entirely forbidden.
As a matter of course, the first thing the partners were anxious
about, after their patrons had departed, was to know how large their
profits were from that evening's excessive labor. Without waiting to
change their costumes, save as has been related in the case of Dickey,
they gathered around Mrs. Green, who was beginning to recover some of
the senses that had been frightened from her. She and Paul counted the
money she had in her apron, and the amount was found to be three
dollars and five cents. There was already in Treasurer Paul's hands
eight dollars and sixty cents, and when it was announced that the
evening's performance had netted them the very handsome amount of
eleven dollars and sixty-five cents, the joy of the partners showed
itself in many extravagant ways.
Ben proposed, and the boys agreed to it willingly, that one dollar of
that amount be paid to Mrs. Green for the use of the attic. This being
so much more than she had expected, caused her to look upon the
theatrical enterprise as a gigantic success.
Then quite a discussion arose as to what should be done with the funds
on hand. Mopsey was in favor of making an immediate division; but such
a plan was thought by the others to be most unwise. Dickey proposed
that a certain sum be set aside as working capital, and the balance
divided among them all, including Nelly, of course, since she had
contributed in no slight degree to the success of the entertainment.
This appeared satisfactory to the majority of the party, and would
probably have been done if Ben, who had taken no part in the
discussion, but appeared to be thinking deeply of something, had not
said,
"I've got a plan that I reckon you'll all agree to; but I don't want
to tell what it is yet awhile. Now I say, let's let Paul keep it till
Monday night; it won't spoil if we don't divide it till then."
Since there was no good reason why this request should not be granted,
and since Ben seemed so anxious to have it left that way, the rest of
the partners agreed quite willingly. Then the tired company of actors
crept off to bed, proud in the belief that their venture had been a
success, but anxious to rest.