"What strange things we see and what queer things we do."
--'TIS ENGLISH, YOU KNOW.
It was the height of the season. The colony was alive with the wealthy
and fashionable ones of the republic. Thousands of bright lights shone
through the clearness of the purple night, and music filled the summer
air with melodious sound. Life, apparently devoid of care, and pleasures
with youth, beauty and excitement, were blended in harmonious ensemble.
Handy took in the entire situation. He read, and read correctly, too,
the constituency to which he was about to appeal. An ordinary theatrical
company going there and hiring a hall, he concluded, would be nothing
out of the usual run, and the chances are the performance would fall
flat, stale and unprofitable. The possibility for the success of the
tent, on account of its novelty, appealed strongly to his optimistic
imagination. He was determined to carry the place by storm. A vacant lot
close to one of the fashionable drives was secured for the scene of the
thespian operations.
"Here pitch we our tent," said Handy, "and don't you make any bloomin'
error about it. 'Tis the boss place. Elegant surroundings; magnificent
locality, easy to reach, and lots of room for carriages to come and go!"
It may, perhaps, be as well to mention that the date selected for the
entertainment was Saturday, just two nights ahead. For that same night a
grand operatic concert was announced, under the patronage of an aspiring
clique, in another part of the town. Good artists, though somewhat
ancient, were billed to take part in it. The craze for the antique then,
as now, had no such potency as may be positively relied upon.
Well-seasoned age has its disadvantages. Fashion is ever capricious in
the selection of objects for its recognition. So far as Handy was
concerned, the operatic enterprise did not in the least disturb his
mind.
It was rather late when he got aboard. All hands, however, were on the
look-out for him, anxiously awaiting his return. He briefly summed up
the result of his work on shore; explained what he purposed to do, and
concluded by impressing upon the members of his company the necessity of
making all preparations with a view to rapid movements both before and
after the performance.
After all the others had turned in for the night Handy remained on deck
cogitating over his plans and perplexing his brain over approaching
futurities. At length he too stretched himself out for sleep. He was up
with the sun. Like a celebrated statesman of bygone days, he was going
to make the greatest effort of his life.
By noon next day he received from the local printer the proof sheet of a
bill of the play. It was a curiosity in its way, and a copy of it may
interest the reader. It read as follows:
THE INDEPENDENT THEATRE!
The Greatest Show of its Kind on Earth!
FUN UNDER A TENT.
_On this Saturday Evening_
Will be presented for the first and only occasion,
Under the Distinguished Patronage of Everybody,
the Great Spectacular and Classic Pantomime
HUMPTY DUMPTY,
_By a company of well trained star artists._
The Only Show of its Quality in Existence.
Those who see the performance will never forget it.
Secure Your Seats Early.
_By special request of a number of distinguished visitors the
performance will not begin until 8:30._
Carriages may be ordered for any hour.
Box sheet ready at noon Saturday, corner of Vanderbilt and
Astor Avenues.
When Handy read the programme to his company they were so astonished
they scarcely knew what to say. At first they appeared to regard it as a
joke. Handy's manner betokened earnestness. His companions thought it
best to withhold their curiosity and await further developments. Their
manager they knew to be a man of action--a species of Oscar Hammerstein
in embryo, with a blending of Wilkins Micawber and Mulberry Sellers
mixed in.
The company employed the afternoon in folding circulars and programmes.
Handy himself was deep in the study of the elite directory, and under
his direction a large number of envelopes were carefully addressed. The
work went on systematically. Night at last arrived, and all hands
enjoyed a respite from clerical labor. At nine o'clock the company went
ashore, carrying with them their tent, costumes and properties--such as
they were. It was a busy night on land, and their strenuous exertions,
under the cover of darkness, accomplished wonders under Handy's
guidance. It was next door to daylight when they got back to the ship to
take a rest before the arduous work of the eventful day began.
Before noon the canvas showhouse on the corner was the principal subject
of conversation throughout the town. During the night the strollers had
set up their tent, and there was scarcely a house in town in which they
had not placed handbills and circulars announcing the coming
performance. No matter where an inhabitant wandered one of the "Humpty
Dumpty" programmes was sure to be found. The people at first glance
regarded the announcement with some degree of doubt, but the appearance
of the tent, with the flags flying, dispelled that fear. The tent seemed
to have got there by magic. Like the palace of Aladdin, it had sprung
into existence during the night. Its appearance excited curiosity and
provoked gossip, and the announcement of "Humpty Dumpty" was a puzzle.
With the most unparalleled nerve messenger boys were dispatched to the
fashionable cottages with circulars soliciting patronage and inviting
attendance, and a considerable number of the cottagers, attracted by the
novelty of the undertaking, concluded it would be a good joke to go to
see the extraordinary show.
"We'll paralyze 'em," said Handy to his fellow-players, as they were
grouped together on the stage preparing red lights, which he proposed to
use as a species of illumination. "Wait until I let the band loose in
the streets, and if it don't fetch 'em, well, I'll quit the business."
"Handy, methinks we made a bloomin' blunder," remarked the Little 'Un.
"We ought to have billed the town for a week."
"A week?" queried the property man in some surprise. "Why so, may I ask,
my noble critic?"
"Well, to be frank with you, because if we did, methinks after once or
twice having made acquaintance with our band, 'tis dollars to doughnuts
they would have substantially staked us to leave town."
Handy looked at the speaker with a glance of mingled cynicism and humor,
and turning to the treasurer inquired, "How is the advance sale?"
"Ninety-seven and a half dollars," replied the secretary of the
treasury.
"Good enough! We're away ahead of expenses now."
At eight o'clock there was some excitement noticeable down near the
water convenient to one of the avenues. A few minutes later and the
band, led by Handy, came forth. As the musicians marched the crowd
increased. Up the principal street the strollers paraded, preceded and
accompanied by a crowd of urchins and curiosity seekers. People came to
the doors to look and hear, and many windows had their occupants. The
streets were crowded, and by the time the band reached the tent it was
fairly well filled. It might be as well to say that the majority of
those who went to witness "Humpty Dumpty" did so for the pure fun of the
thing, and determined to have the lark out. There was no orchestra, for
the orchestra was the band, and the band had to do the acting.
The curtain went up somewhere about the hour announced. Had poor dead
and gone G. L. Fox, the original _Humpty_, and the greatest pantomimist
of the American stage, been living and among the audience, he could not
have failed to enjoy the performance. It is impossible to describe it in
detail.
After a brief period the most friendly relations were established
between the people before and beyond the footlights. Remarks full of fun
and humor were freely exchanged. Handy played _Humpty_, and introduced
by way of variety a breakdown that, in the manipulation of his legs,
would have made Francis Wilson grow green with envy. Smith was the
_Pantaloon_, and obligingly entertained the audience, by special
request, with the song of "Mr. Dooley," in the chorus of which the
audience joined with vigor. The song is not new, but Smith's particular
version, as well as his vocal rendition, was. The dwarf, who posed
somewhat as a magician and sleight-of-hand man, undertook for some
reason or other to attempt the great Indian box trick. Two gentlemen
from the audience were invited to come on the stage to tie the performer
with a rope. This was a most unfortunate move. Two well-known yachtsmen,
and good sailors to boot, saw the chance for additional fun, and
accepted the invitation with alacrity. They set to work and knotted the
little man so tightly that he yelled to them, for heaven's sake, to let
up. The audience could restrain itself no longer with laughter. It was
plainly to be recognized that the show was fast drawing to a close.
"Stand him on his head," spoke some one at the rear of the tent.
"Pass him along this way, my hearties, and we'll take a reef in his dry
goods," cried out someone else.
"We won't do a thing to him," chipped in a third humorist in the center
of the tent.
The tent was convulsed with laughter and merriment had full swing. It
was indeed a most remarkable performance, and the best of good nature
prevailed. At the moment when the hilarity was at its height a commotion
was heard outside of the tent. The band, or a portion of it, burst forth
once more in the street with the most discordant sounds mortal ears ever
heard. This brought the performance on the stage to a close.
"I would never have been able to get them out of the tent," explained
Handy afterwards, "only for my letting the band--that is, the worst
portion of it--loose on the outside."
To make a long story short, as the saying goes, the poor players cleared
over three hundred dollars by the night's show, while the distinguished
artists who gave grand opera in homeopathic doses in another end of the
town sang to almost empty benches. Handy told no untruth when he
announced on the bills that "those who witnessed the performance will
never forget it."
Years have rolled by since this company of poor strolling players
attempted "Humpty Dumpty" in Newport, but the memory of that night still
remains green in the minds of many.