"Every one shall offer according to what he hath."
--DEUT.
All hands, at Handy's request, turned in early, as he was determined to
make an early start down the Sound. He had not yet decided where his
next stand should be. The selection lay between Stonington and New
London. If fortune continued to favor him he felt confident of
accomplishing something worth seeking for in either place. There were
certain reasons, however, why one of them should be steered clear of;
but Handy's memory as to names was somewhat vague, so he resolved to
sleep on the thought before he determined on his course.
Handy was the first man up and stirring next morning. The others,
however, were not far behind. The wind was favorable and the indications
were all that a sailor could wish for. After a hearty breakfast the
anchor was weighed and the _Gem_ was once more under way, with all sails
set. The Little 'Un was somewhat timorous and apprehensive of a
repetition of the trouble that overcame him the night before they played
the Long Island town on the circus man's paper, but he appeared to be
satisfied by Handy's assurance that it never stormed on the Sound in the
daylight. His looks indicated that he had doubts as to the truth of the
assurance.
The run down the Sound was uneventful. There was no one sick on board,
and all were in a cheerful mood when they came to anchor in the Thames
River, off New London, the town in which Handy finally determined next
to try his fortune. The company had been out at this time nearly two
weeks. Though all its members were strong and hearty, their sunburnt
looks and somewhat dilapidated apparel did not contribute to the
elegance of their personal appearance. Most of them looked like
well-seasoned tramps. Handy recognized this. He also knew that though
the Nutmeg State was at that time regarded as a paradise of tramps, the
inhabitants did not, as a rule, take kindly to the knights of the road.
This may be uncharitable and unchristianlike, but people have got to
accept the situation as they find it.
No one went ashore until after nightfall. Then Handy and Smith made a
landing in the small boat, and surveyed the situation. An available
vacant lot was picked out. Ascertaining there was to be an agricultural
fair there the following Thursday, that night was selected for the
Strollers' next effort. On the prospectors' return to the vessel a
council of war was held, at which the plan of operations and course of
action were freely discussed.
"It won't do," said Handy, "to try them on 'Uncle Tom,' and I hardly
think they'd stand for 'Humpty Dumpty' as we give it. I've been here in
the good old summer days before many a time and oft, and I am conversant
with the kind of audience we've got to stack up against. On mature
reflection, I have come to the conclusion that a variety or vaudeville
entertainment this trip will be most likely to appeal to their
sensibilities. Song and dance, imitations of celebrated histrionic
celebrities, coon acts, legerdemain exhibitions, the famous Indian box
trick, and----"
"Easy there," interrupted the dwarf. "Who's goin' to do the box trick?"
"Why, you, of course," replied Handy.
"Not on your life. Count me out on that stunt, Mister Manager. New
London is a seaport town. There are vessels in port and sailors on
shore. My Newport experience has taught me a lesson. The sailor men
there tied me up so darned tight that you'll never get me to undertake
any such job as that again within a hundred miles of seawater."
"But----"
"No buts about it. I know when I've had enough. Skip me."
"Then I'll do the act myself," retorted Handy, with a slight exhibition
of feeling.
"K'rect, old man. You're welcome to the stunt. I pass every time when
there's any rope-tying business in a seawater town."
"Smith, you can give them a banjo solo, do a clog dance, and afterwards
wrestle with your celebrated imitations you know so well, and do so
badly, of John Drew, Dave Warfield, Nat Goodwin, Sarah Bernhardt, and
Sir Henry Irving."
"But I never saw Irving or Bernhardt," interposed Smith.
"Neither did the audience. What's the matter with you? And for a wind-up
you can give them a stump speech, and I'll bill you as Lew Dockstader,
second. We have got to make up our programme, please remember. If you
don't want to take a shy at Dockstader, name someone else equally
prominent. It's all the same to me. When I do that Indian box trick I
propose to bill myself as Hermann XI. Darn it, man, we have to have
names! This company, bear in mind, is made up of an all-star cast."
"All right then, say no more," said Smith.
"Say," continued Handy, addressing the ambitious young man of the
troupe, "don't you think you could manage to take off Billy Crane? And
give them some exhibitions of his genius in scenes from his many-sided
repertory, and we'll star you on the bills."
"Excuse me," replied the comparatively juvenile and promising artist,
"but might I inquire who is going to look after my wife and the kid if
that New London congregation should tumble to the joke? No, sir. Mr.
Crane, permit me to inform you, is a fearless and experienced yachtsman;
every hair in his head, nautically speaking, is a rope yarn. He is, as
well, a good actor, and New London is a yachting port. Not on your life!
Billy Crane is too well known here, so in justice to my physical welfare
I must decline the honor of being so presented."
"Well, gentlemen," returned Handy somewhat dejectedly, "these
unseasonable, frivolous, and unbusinesslike objections are really
disheartening and unworthy of a conscientious member of the histrionic
calling. Let me tell you that you are the first actor I ever heard of
ever having declined the distinction of being elevated to the position
of a star. In the words of the immortal bard, 'Can such things be and
overcome us like a summer's dream without our special wonder?' Go to.
Were it not that my hair is red and I have no suitable wig--and what
would Sweet William be without a wig?--I'd do Crane myself."
After further discussion on minor details the programme was arranged for
Thursday night. The next day posters were in evidence all through the
town. The fair grounds were literally strewn with handbills. Handy was a
great believer in printer's ink, and he used his paper with a lavish
hand. The show was announced for two nights--Thursday and Saturday. The
variety entertainment was billed for Thursday night, and "Pinafore,"
with an all-star cast, was promised for Saturday evening. The company
had no knowledge about the "Pinafore" scheme. When Handy was questioned
about it, he satisfied his questioners with the assurance that it was
all right, and he would explain matters later on. His assurance was
sufficient. The company knew their man.
Wednesday night the tent was put up. That day Handy succeeded, for a
consideration, in inducing the country band that played during the day
at the fair to perform a like office for his show at night, and do the
duty of an orchestra for the performance.
The afternoon of the day of the show an unexpected storm loomed up,
which threatened the enterprise with destruction. It seems that Handy
had visited New London before with a somewhat similar venture, and had
been compelled by financial circumstances which he was unable to control
to depart the town in a hurry, leaving behind him an unpaid printer's
bill. Now a slight omission of that character very easily escaped
Handy's memory. The printer, on the contrary, being a thoughtful man, on
finding that Handy was the manager of the new all-star theatrical
outfit, made his appearance with the sheriff and a writ of attachment.
For a time the aspect of affairs was anything but cheering. The printer
was as mad as the traditional hatter. Fortunately the sheriff, who was
an old Bowery man in days past, and a pretty decent and sympathetic kind
of a fellow, discovered in Handy an old acquaintance, and magnanimously
came to the rescue and volunteered to help him out of his difficulties.
The kind-hearted official guaranteed the payment of the printer's bill,
to be taken out of the first receipts that came in at the box office.
This arrangement being mutually agreed upon, the preliminary work
progressed actively.
The night brought a crowd, composed mainly of the country people who had
attended the fair. It was the biggest, best natured, and most easily
entertained audience a theatrical company ever played to. There were
more bucolic auditors gathered together in the tent than the troupe had
seen previously. Handy had the country band well in hand. He made them
play down the main street and parade up to the tent. Then he got them
inside and astonished his auditors with such a liberal manifestation of
music that those present could not well decide whether they had come to
listen to a concert or have an opportunity to see the real "theayter"
actors. Handy evidently was determined to furnish them with music
sufficient to last them until the next Fair day. The band played so long
that the town element among the audience became somewhat unwelcomely
demonstrative.
The curtain at last arose, and the variety portion of the entertainment
began. The tent was well filled,--the front rows of seats being
unpleasantly near the stage. The minstrel act in the first part was
something unique and original. The country people took it seriously, but
the town contingent, recognizing the fake element, started in to indulge
in guying the performers. This incensed the countrymen. They had paid
their good money to see the show without being subjected to annoyance
from the town fellows. One particularly strenuous young New London dude
had his derby smashed by an excited rustic who determined that his
Phoebe Ann should enjoy the entertainment even if he himself had to make
peace by teaching the city chap the way to behave himself and keep
quiet. He evidently meant business and apparently had many friends who
were not only ready, but willing, to assist him.
All the acts were short--very short--and between each of the acts there
was more music by the band. At length the performance was brought to a
close. Before the curtain fell Handy came forward, and, after thanking
the audience heartily for the magnificent attendance and generous
support, announced that on Saturday evening he would have great pleasure
in presenting, providing negotiations in contemplation were perfected,
for their consideration, the melodious and tuneful grand comic opera,
"Pinafore," in the presentation of which the company would be reinforced
by several valuable additions, who were expected to arrive early on
Saturday from the Metropolitan Grand Opera House.
"Great Scott--'Pinafore!' You don't mean to say," asked a friend a short
time after hearing of Handy's moving adventures by land and water, "you
had the nerve to attempt 'Pinafore' with your small band of strolling
players, eh?"
"Play 'Pinafore'!" replied the irrepressible Handy, with a smile. "Of
course, not. Never intended to. You see this was the situation; and the
man who isn't equal to the position in which he places himself is bound
to come out at the wrong side of the account book, when he is compelled
to settle up. The 'Pinafore' announcement was for the edification of the
New Londoners. I recognized the fact that the country people in their
innocence and goodness of heart would take kindly to the entertainment
we had prepared for them, but for the town chaps it was an altogether
different proposition. When I announced 'Pinafore' I felt satisfied they
would defer their energies and lay low for the 'Merry, Merry Maiden and
the Tar,' determining to have a little fun of their own kind with us on
Saturday; but after the performance we struck tent and by early morning
we were once more out on the Sound for fresh fields and pastures new."