What should be left out of a chronicle dealing with the actual events
and sayings of real people? This chronicler does not know, and, as a
consequence, omissions from the true and unvarnished record of the
people hereinbefore dealt with are the consequences of guesses rather
than of deliberate and judicious or injudicious selections. Readers
may argue that out for themselves. Nothing has been said, for
instance, of the triumph of Pete Turnpike over the mules owned by his
father, and the day he rode them, circus fashion, with a foot on each
mule, down one of the principal streets; the charge of "obstructing"
that followed; the hearing of the same in the police court, and Pete's
dismissal with a warning on account of his tender years, which latter,
however, did not save him from chastisement by Turnpike pater. Nor has
anything been said of Pete's conversion during a revival meeting; his
exhortations to the family to follow his course, until he almost drove
them insane, and his fall from grace when a new boy at the school
declared he could lick Pete with one hand tied behind his back. He
loudly, and willingly, changed his opinion after Pete got through with
him; nay, he admitted that if Pete had been hobbled and blind of one
eye he would not have stood a chance against him. But, somewhere,
there should be found room to tell of William's encounter and
subsequent relations with a judge of the Common Pleas Division of the
High Court of Justice, because, in after years--well, never mind that
part of it.
In the course of his work William was frequently in the law courts, and
one sultry September afternoon, this was in the first year of his
engagement with Whimple, he got into an argument with the office boy of
another lawyer on the merits of the Toronto baseball team. William
bore himself tolerably well, until he was told that he knew as much
about baseball as a hog's foot, and was, without doubt, the sassiest
"four-flusher" in the city of Toronto. "I may be a four-flusher," said
William, calmly, "but I ain't allowing any pie-face loafer your size to
say it," and he smacked the boy's cheek. A hot encounter followed, the
contestants being so determined to rub each other's head through the
stone flooring of the corridor that they did not notice his lordship,
the judge, with the officials of the court around him, come from the
court room. They noticed nothing, in fact, until a deputy sheriff fell
over them as they rolled on the floor. The deputy sheriff rose
hastily, and angrily, and drew one foot back to plant a kick on the
first part of boyish anatomy that he could reach, when the judge, robes
and all, stooped down, grasped each boy by the neck, and placed him on
his feet. Still retaining his hold, he looked at the boys somewhat
sternly--if the mouth was an index of his thoughts, but if his
eyes--anyway, William saw his eyes first, and smiled.
The judge was a surprisingly young man for a judge. In his day he had
been a champion boxer and football player. It was whispered, indeed,
that no boxing bout of importance since his appointment had been
without his presence as a spectator. He regarded William gravely. "He
smiles," he said solemnly, "smiles in the presence of the august court
whose serenity he has seen fit to disturb." The other boy was
blubbering, and to him the judge said, "This coming man realises the
enormity of his crime. He weeps the bitter tears of one discovered.
He repents his misdeeds. Officer," to the deputy sheriff, "take the
names of these disturbers of the peace. Upon their fitting punishment
I will ponder." He relaxed his hold and passed on.
A day or two later he ran across William in the corridor. This time
his lordship was without the robes, and in street attire looked younger
than ever. His smile of recognition brought an answering smile from
William. The lad would have passed on, but the judge stopped him.
"Still at liberty, I see," he said.
"Yes, sir."
"Um--see that you remain worthy of it: it's a precious thing, liberty."
Then, "And now, in my unofficial capacity, would you mind telling me
the cause of the desperate encounter of the other day?"
The twinkle in the judge's eyes reassured William. "Well, sir," he
said, "that fellow said the Torontos was selling games. He said they
had it all fixed about who was to win the pennant before the season
started."
The judge, himself a baseball fan, looked up and down the corridor, and
thus addressed William. "Did--er--that is to say--did you----" he
paused.
William, one palm outspread, the other falling on it in rhythm to the
words, his eyes sparkling, asserted--"Honest, judge, I walloped him for
fair. When we got outside he starts all over again, so I herds him
into a lane and we had it out. Gee!" reflectively, "he was tough, but
I did him up all right."
His lordship waved a hand deprecatingly. "Enough, enough, boy," he
said, solemnly. Then, in a lighter tone, "Didn't I see you at the game
a week ago Saturday?"
"You did, you did, sir, I sat right behind you, and--and----"
"Go on."
"I guess I slapped your back when you got kinder excited in the----"
"Seventh innings, with the score three to nothing for Montreal,
Torontos with two men on bases and nobody out"--the judge was talking
rapidly now--"big Bill Hannigan at the bat, and----"
"What did Hannigan do to the ball," William broke in, "but slam it over
the fence for a home run, bringing in the two on bases and tying the
score! Oh, joy!" A clerk of the court who came out of his office at
this moment snickered audibly at the sight of a boy doing a little war
dance in the corridor and a judge smiling approvingly.
Throughout the years that followed, the judge and William maintained a
friendly relationship. His lordship was eventually admitted into the
secret of William's ambition, though it was not until their
acquaintanceship had lasted three years that he took it seriously, and
then he never failed to urge William to "stick to it." From Whimple,
and later from "Chuck" Epstein, he obtained further light, and, on the
comedian's invitation, attended two or three of the amateur
entertainments in which William had a part.
Epstein was chary in consenting to William appearing in the cast of
such entertainments, and William could not be persuaded to do anything
in this regard unless Epstein favoured it. Afterwards, they would go
over the performance together, Epstein in the rôle of critic, and the
old man's suggestions and advice and William's own observations and
descriptions of his emotions, and his reasons for this or that slight
departure from the lines and action originally mapped out, aided in the
making of the William Adolphus Turnpike so beloved of the theatre-goers
to-day.
The judge enjoyed those performances, and he rather surprised Epstein
and William both by making suggestions in respect to some of them that
were valuable and illuminating. "How did you come to think of that?"
asked Epstein curiously, in regard to one idea advanced by the judge.
"I think," answered his lordship, slowly, "that a court is the best of
dramatic schools. It is so real, too; there is much of tragedy and a
great deal of comedy too--unconscious, a lot of it. I have always been
rather keenly interested in the study of the people who came before me,
particularly in criminal cases. It seems to me that there is still a
wide field for a play."
There was a long pause. Epstein, who was looking keenly at the judge,
broke in. "There is," he said, "there is--and you could write it, your
lordship."
The judge started. "Do you think so?" he asked, somewhat sharply.
Epstein nodded. And now, of course, the reader of this chronicle has
guessed the identity of the author of the play in which William made
his first appearance as a "Star." Yes--a judge--hiding under a
_nom-de-plume_, a judge of the High Court, no less, wrote _Our High
Court_, that most delightful of the comedies of our own times. There
followed, a few days afterwards, a long talk between William and the
judge, in the latter's room in the court house. William had called at
the court house on business, and the judge, who had espied him in the
corridor, had called him in. For a time their conversation was of the
stage and William's prospective future thereon, and then, very quietly,
the judge began to talk about William himself. Presently William began
to lean toward the talker, intent, earnest; no one had spoken to him
before just like this. His father had tried once or twice, but his
evident embarrassment, his halting sentences, and his fear lest William
should misunderstand, had frightened, rather than impressed, the boy.
But the judge was saying the things William knew his father had tried
to say, and he was losing none of them. The sacredness of the body,
his lordship was emphasising this, and dilating upon it: the purity of
the heart and mind; respect of woman; the honour of a man; reverence to
God. William afterwards wrote the words out almost as fully as though
he had taken them all down at the time. Nothing had so moved him as
this talk. When he stood at the door to go, the judge placed one hand
on his shoulder, and said simply, "My boy, it has cost me something to
say these things. I am a husband and a father. God knows how much he
has to forgive in me--God--knows. Those I love best--my wife--my
little girl--they could never dream. But--will you try to remember,
sometimes, some of these things?"
William put out his hand and the judge shook it warmly. The boy was
late getting back to the office, and Whimple was testy. "Where on
earth have you been, William?" he asked, sharply; "there's a good deal
of work to do, and we can hardly catch up to it to-day."
"I'm sorry. I've been listening to a man," said William, quietly.
"Must have been a preacher, and a mighty solemn one at that, judging
from your sober face," said Whimple, more gently.
"Not exactly a preacher, but I never heard a better sermon," answered
William, quietly, "never;" and then he started on his work, and kept at
it to such effect that, when they closed up for the night, Whimple
declared, as he had often done before, "You're certainly a wonder,
William."