"One man in his time plays many parts."
--AS YOU LIKE IT.
If the "boys" of New London looked forward to having a good old summer
time with Handy and his all-star company the following Saturday evening,
they were wofully out in their reckoning. Though "Pinafore" was
announced with due managerial formality, perhaps somewhat ambiguous, for
that particular occasion, when the time for presentation arrived there
was not a vestige of either tent or performers. After the entertainment
on the night of the fair the company went aboard the _Gem of the Ocean_.
Handy alone remained ashore. As he had been manager, advance and press
agent, and principal performer, he concluded to add another to his many
responsibilities and become night watchman. The tent, stage properties,
etc., had to be guarded, and he undertook the duties of guardian.
"Let no one turn in until I get aboard," said he to Smith, "and you row
ashore in an hour's time. Mind, don't be later than that, and you
needn't get here sooner. Tell the boys I have some work for them to do
before they lay down to rest. Take a bite and a sup and join me here in
an hour."
The two men parted; one with his companions for the boat at the end of
the pier and the other to play the part of watchman over his outfit. A
few of the town chaps lingered in the neighborhood of the tent.
In the country, as in the city, it is remarkable what a fascinating
influence players exercise over young fellows who are ambitious to be
regarded as the knowing ones regarding everything appertaining to the
playhouse. How glibly the beardlings of the twenties or thereabouts will
use the names of actors with whom perhaps they have never exchanged a
word, in the silly belief they are raising themselves in the estimation
of their auditors. It is an odd conceit, yet it prevails with the
would-be fast young men of the present day. To hear some of these
mollycoddles prate one who was not acquainted with their weaknesses
would imagine these chaps were on intimate terms with players--who, as a
rule, are slow to cultivate new acquaintances, attend strictly to their
own business, and do not particularly relish that particular class of
hanger-on. No man knew this type better than Handy. However, he never
antagonized them. That he considered would not be wise policy. He
good-naturedly humored them with much superficial gossip that really
meant nothing. His good nature never forsook him, and he always had his
temper well under control. He knew to a nicety the side his bread was
buttered on. That happy-go-lucky disposition of his stood him in good
stead many a time, and his free-and-easy manner of drawing people out
frequently served as an aid to determine his future course of action.
The limited exchange of conversation he had with the loungers satisfied
him that he was right in his estimate that there would be a hot time in
the old town on Saturday night if he remained. Finally the last dallier
had his say, and, after an exchange of cordial good nights, departed.
Smith was at this time about due, and as he was noted for his
promptitude, he was on hand to keep his date when the hour expired.
"What's the lay now, Handy, old man?" inquired Smith, as he joined his
manager.
"Only this, and nothing more," replied the veteran melodramatically.
"There's blood upon the face of the moon, an' blow my buttons, if your
Uncle Rube is going to supply the gore. See!"
The answer was not altogether satisfactory, and Smith apparently was
unable to grapple with the problem. It puzzled him; but then Handy
himself was at all times more or less of a conundrum to him.
"Now then, bear a hand, send the boat back and get the company ashore as
speedily as possible. We have a few good hours' work on hand before we
turn in."
Smith made quick time, and it was not long before the members of the
all-star combination began to materialize out of the obscurity of the
night as noiselessly as shadows.
"Say, boys," began Handy, in a low tone of voice confidentially, "we
move to-night, and I want you to strike tent, pack and get everything
aboard without delay. I'll explain all later on."
"Move to-night!" repeated Smith. "Don't we play here Saturday night?"
"Nary a play," responded the manager.
"But you announced 'Pinafore' from the stage!"
"Of that fact I am well aware," replied Handy, "but don't you know that
'Pinafore' is an opera, and let me further inform you that
disappointments in opera are quite the regular thing. In fact, an
impresario cannot get along legitimately, my boy, in grand opera or in
fact any old kind of opera, without disappointments every now and then.
The public expect operatic disappointments. They come naturally, and
sometimes come as a godsend. You never can tell when a particular opera
is announced what you are going to get."
"Then why don't you substitute something in place of 'Pinafore?'" meekly
suggested the Little 'Un.
"Pardon me, my unthinking friend, but you lose sight of the fact that
substitutions are always unsatisfactory, if not positively dangerous.
Besides, they are strong evidences of weakness. We are nothing if not
strong and resourceful. Suppose I substituted 'Faust,' for instance, and
announced it with Melba as _Marguerite_, and suppose again that the
famous Astralasian prima donna caught an attack of the American grip
that same afternoon, it would hardly do to substitute Marie Cahill or
May Irwin to take her place, that is, provided we could have induced
either of those distinguished artists to become the great diva's
substitute. Oh, no! 'Tis out of the question. But, come, get a move on
you. Let us be just to a public that has treated us well."
The members of Handy's company were under good discipline. They were
satisfied that he had valid reasons for this sudden change of base, and
therefore, went cheerfully to work. Handy himself started for the
water-side, and after a brief absence was once more among them, doing
the work of two men and encouraging his companions by energetic action
and example. Their task was accomplished without the aid of light save
that which was afforded them by the bright stars overhead. It was an
hour before dawn when everything was placed on board and the tired
strollers had gone below to court the rest and repose they both longed
for and needed.
"Let her swing out in the stream away from the dock, captain," ordered
Handy, when they were ready to start. "The tide is nearly flood and we
can drop down the river with the first of the ebb. We can get outside
early and then determine where next we'll make for."
"Aye, aye, sir," replied the skipper.