Peggy Little Knew What Was Before Her.
Ah, but a gipsy’s life is not all joys by any manner of means, although
to those so young as Peggy and Johnnie, it is quite the life idyllic.
Fitzroy, the captain of the show, had often enough, like most of us who
are not born with silver spoons in our mouths, to scratch the elbow of
troublesome care. He had to make his caravan tours pay, and the public
is a most insatiable monster. The public, in fact, is the same with its
amusements as it is with its food, the public want to get the biggest
chunk of enjoyment, as well as the biggest hunk of cheese it can
possibly get for its penny, and it likes variety too.
Therefore Captain Fitzroy had to be for ever on the _qui vive_, and
looking far ahead of him; and no sooner was one little play put upon the
boards for probably a month’s run, than he had to be thinking and
planning what he should start next. Some startling innovation, some play
with a daring plot, wild music, scenic effect and plenty of go and
change, with a glorious finale. “That was the thing to draw ’em,” as
Giant Gourmand used to remark.
It was the immortal Dickens who said that giants were all a trifle weak
about the knees. Whether that be so or not we will not pause to
consider, but one thing is certain--Gourmand was not weak about the
head. He was possessed of gigantic intellect, and he generally carried
it about with him.
Fitzroy and he used to have many and many a consultation as to ways and
means.
“What we want, cap’n,” said the giant, “is to keep the pot a-boiling.”
This wise remark was made in the evening of the day after Johnnie had
the grand wrestling match with Charlie Crockett.
“Pot a-boiling, Mr. Gourmand? Yes, and twenty pots, to say nothing of
nosebags. And they must all be filled at the expense of the public, of
course.”
“Well, sir, we give them the worth of their money. We give the beggars
value.”
“That we do, and that we must, else the beggars will soon growl and may
scatter the show.”
“And hitherto,” he added, “we have never known what hunger is. Look how
well filled out our horses are, and how contented, and how their shins
glitter like the back of a boatman beetle. See how contented our dogs
all are and how happy Ralph is. But, Gourmand, my boy, the day might
come when things wouldn’t be so comfy with us all. We might be reduced
to starvation and have to kill and eat our horses.”
Gourmand laughed his gruff “Ho! ho! ho!” and added his half-comical “Ha!
ha! ha.” “Not,” he said, “cap’n, whilst you have that nut on you. ’Xcuse
me for calling it a nut, sir, won’t you?”
Captain Fitzroy sighed a three-to-the-pound sigh and shook his head.
“The nut is maybe all right, friend, but it strikes me we need a change
of----”
“A change of programme, cap’n?”
“No, that isn’t quite what I meant, but a change of audience, a change
of public. This part of England seems getting played out as regards
the--ahem!--legitimate drama, Mr. Gourmand.”
“Too near London, eh?”
“That’s it, I think, and London is a jolly sight too near Paris. Ever
been to Yorkshire?”
“They are rare fine animals up there, sir. But why shouldn’t we make a
proper exodus when we’re about it. For I know that an exodus is in your
noddle, and you’ll ’xcuse me for calling it a noddle, sir, won’t you?”
“Noddle or nut, Gourmand, it’s all the same to me. But what, my friend,
would you think would be the best place to emigrate to?”
“Why not to Scotland, cap’n? It is the land of chivalry and romance, you
know.
“Land of green heath and shaggy wood,
Land of the mountain and the flood.”
“Land of fiddlesticks, Gourmie! Do you think it would pay?”
“Pay? Ay, all to pieces. Ours is just the sort of entertainment, cap’n,
to draw bumper houses on the outskirts of Glasgow to begin with, and so
on to Paisley and Greenock. The Scotch are naturally musical, and they
adore a good play. Needn’t be so much blood and thunder in it either as
for England here.”
“We’d have to throw in the kilts though, wouldn’t we, and make our
company learn Scotch.”
“Nonsense, sir. We’d make fools of ourselves if we did. Believe me,
captain, Scotch spoken by English lips never ends but in one thing.”
“And that is?”
“Ridicule. But the Scotch will hold out the right hand of friendship and
hospitality to their English brothers if we go as English, and nothing
assume. Brave young Johnnie with his Saxon strength will be a favourite
first night. Wee Willie too, with his fiddle, and--well, and the rest of
us.”
“Including Peggy, Gourmand?”
“Ah, there, sir. Peggy’s young English beauty, her sweet voice and
winning ways, will completely take the Scottish heart by storm. There
will be a furore, sir; she’ll win the day for the lot of us.”
There was positively a tear of pride in the honest giant’s eye as he
spoke.
Captain Fitzroy held out his hand.
“Gourmand, we’ll go,” he said, “we’ll start to-morrow morning right away
for Southampton, ship the whole show there to be next heard of in the
second city of the Empire.”
* * * * *
They had been bearing up for the Midland counties, but now the course
was altered, and the bows of the first great caravan were headed away
for the west, or, as a sailor would say, west with a little bit of south
in it.
“Wherever be we off to now, lovie?” said Molly Muldoon, when she met the
giant next morning early. He looked full of business, his great
shoulders well square back and strong enough apparently to have lifted
Peggy’s caravan, wheels and all, hands a little begrimed, no hat, hair
like heather, but a good-natured smile all over his broad and energetic
face.
“Where be we off to? Eh? Why, my dear little roly-poly Molly, we’re
going by sea to bonnie Scotland.”
“Lauk-a-mussy-me!” cried Molly. “Preserve us all from ’arm. To Scotland,
where they all runs wild in short kilts, with red heads and red, bare
legs. To Scotland, where they kills and eats babies, and serves old
folks up in a stoo, where----”
“Ah, Molly, they’ll find you and me pretty tough eating, I’m thinking,
even if they do try us in a stoo.”
“But, lovie, dear, my pet Gourmie, try to perswade Mr. Fitzroy not to
throw his life away, and the life of hall of us. Mussy-me, lovie, it’s
terrible.”
But terrible or not terrible, that very day they had put five-and-twenty
miles of east behind them, and pitched at night in a sweet green field
not far from Midhurst.
There was no entertainment that night. But they did lots of billing,
and, early next morning it was evident from the interest the rustics
were showing round the gate and the fences that a bumper house might be
counted upon.
Nor were they disappointed. “The Forest Maiden” was new to them here,
and so successful was the entertainment, that, when, on the morning
after, the rustics saw the tents being struck, they were very much
disappointed indeed. Just as they were starting, a busy little clergyman
bustled up, and saluting Fitzroy, told him the show was just the sort of
thing he would like to see encouraged, as it kept the people away from
the public houses, and he would like him to promise that if ever he was
anywhere in the neighbourhood again it would not be one night nor even
one week he would stay, to give his (the parson’s) parishioners
pleasure, but a month at the very least.
Fitzroy smiled and replied that he would certainly consider the matter.
* * * * *
It was getting on towards the end of leafy May, May with its glorious
blue spring skies, its green fields and waving woods, its wealth of wild
flowers in meadow-land, and on wayside sward; May with its music of wild
birds, days of dreamy sunshine, and nights of stars. And Peggy sighed a
little, as she looked her last on the rolling trees of England south,
some miles before they rolled into busy bustling, Southampton.
Peggy little knew what was before her.