SOMETHING HAPPENS
The charitable boys returned from the Little Sisters early in the
afternoon, aglow with the warmth of their own good deeds, in time to
take a rest and an early supper, and put themselves in good condition
for the play that evening. It was the Seniors' night, and they were to
present "Richelieu" for the first time at St. Cuthbert's in years. The
last performance of that great play, ten years ago, had been a
brilliant success. The present generation of student actors were
nervously anxious to equal, and, if such a thing were possible, to
excel the reputation of the bygone players.
To make the situation more critical, several of the old boys who had
taken part in the play at its former presentation had been invited to
witness its reproduction. Six or seven, stirred by the memories of old
times, had accepted the invitation. They were the welcome guests of
the college for Christmas week. It can, then, be well understood that
this play was to be the great event of the holidays.
The afternoon passed quickly and already the college theater was
lighted. Already the boys had more or less noisily scrambled to secure
the best positions. Suddenly the footlights shot up, sending a thrill
of expectancy through the audience. Amid a rather unmeaning applause,
for as yet it was certainly unearned, the orchestra took their places.
Before the curtain, much expectancy; behind it a much larger amount of
suppressed excitement. Some of the actors were busy scanning over
their lines for the last time, and with regretful haste, sorry now
that they had not taken more to heart the advice of the trainer and
committed them to memory better. Others were thronging around the busy
make-up man, getting into his way, and--as always happens--upsetting
the spirit-gum used to fasten on artificial mustaches and beards.
Roy Henning, in the scarlet robe and white fur tippet of _Richelieu_,
nervously tugged at a blue silk ribbon which was around his neck, and
patiently waited his turn for his make-up.
Shealey was _De Mauprat_ and looked well in a black velvet suit.
Ambrose Bracebridge had a decidedly comical appearance in a Capuchin's
brown habit and cord, with fleshlings and sandals, as the monk,
_Joseph_. Ernest Winters, who this year had been promoted to the large
yard, was to impersonate _Richelieu's_ page, _Francois_, and certainly
his brother Claude would have been proud of him could he have seen at
this moment how fine he looked in his handsome doublet and trunks.
The play had been slightly modified to allow of its presentation by
college students. The _Julie de Mortemar_ had been for this occasion
metamorphosed in _Julius de Mortemar_, and was consequently nephew
instead of niece of the great cardinal. The adaptation of the lines
had been cleverly done, so the transposition of this character did not
greatly injure the play.
Behind the curtain the actors could hear faintly the squeakings and
tunings of the orchestra violins. Presently the first overture began,
and the actors knew their time had come. The manager, with a
commendable horror of delays and stage waits, and knowing that
anything of that kind would ruin the very best production, had
everything arranged for the opening scene when the music ceased.
The manager's little bell rings once, twice, and up rises the curtain
on the drinking scene in _Marion de Lorme's_ house. The great play of
the year had begun. Is it not strange that so many really good plays
open with a drinking or carousing scene? At best, there is nothing
elevating in them, and it takes the finest kind of professionalism to
make them even tolerable. The St. Cuthbert's college boys were not
professionals. The consequence was that the first scene went but
slowly.
It was not until Henning, magnificently costumed as _Richelieu_,
entered, in the second scene, that any of the players appeared at
their ease. The round of applause which greeted his entrance with
_Joseph_ seemed to steady the actors and give them confidence.
There now occurred a strange thing during this scene, which led to
much talk and fruitless speculation for many subsequent days. Henning
made a good entrance. He began his lines in a rich baritone:
_Richelieu_--"And so you think this new conspiracy
The craftiest trap yet laid for the old fox?--
Fox!--Well, I like the nickname! What did Plutarch
Say of the Greek Lysander?"
_Joseph_--"I forget."
_Richelieu_--"That where the lion's skin fell short he eked it
Out with the fox's. A great statesman, Joseph,
That same Lysander."
Just as Henning had finished the rendering of the sentence, "That
where the lion's skin fell short he eked it out with the fox's," there
was heard from the far right-hand corner of the hall a loud, distinct
sound--one word. Clear and resonant, every one in the hall and the
actors on the stage heard it distinctly. As nearly as letters will
represent the sound it was "UGH!" The intonation of the one syllable
was such as to convey without doubt to the hearers that the
perpetrator regarded the words of the cardinal as practically
applicable to the actor himself.
Many heads were momentarily turned in the direction whence the sound
had come. Henning himself gave a rapid glance to the corner of the
hall. As he did so, he saw his cousin Garrett drop his head and look
fixedly at the floor.
Boys at a Christmas play do not usually fix their gaze on the floor.
Henning felt that, for some reason or other, his cousin had made the
interruption. For what purpose? Roy could not imagine. That it was
Garrett there was no shadow of a doubt, for the actor plainly
recognized the blue sweater his cousin wore constantly. Perhaps after
all this time, thought Roy, his cousin was now trying to "get even"
with him, as he had promised, for refusing to accompany Garrett to
that carpet dance during the summer. Roy loyally put this thought out
of his mind, but in doing this he was more mystified than ever, as it
left him without a motive which could explain the curious action.
Fortunately for the success of the play the intended interruption, and
probably intended insult, did not sufficiently distract Henning to the
extent of spoiling the scene. There was a pause but for a moment. "A
great statesman, Joseph, that same Lysander," he repeated, and thus
recovering himself, the play went on without further interruption to a
most successful finish.
The next day the attempted spoiling of the scene was the general
subject of conversation. Many boys were uncertain who made the
attempt. Henning did not refer to the matter when Garrett approached
him. He accepted the many congratulations without evidence of either
pleasure or displeasure, merely politely bowing. He appeared
indifferent to praise or blame from his cousin. When, however, among
his own special coterie of friends he was by no means passive.
After breakfast the Philosophers met in their own classroom, which, as
we have before stated, was a sort of clubroom for them. Everybody
crowded around Roy. Some shook his hand vigorously, others patted him
patronizingly on the shoulders, assuring him that he was "the stuff"
without deigning to explain their use of that word; others, in their
enthusiasm, thumped him on the back, and Ernest Winters, who because
he had taken part in the play, had been allowed to come up to the
classroom, presented him, amid the profoundest salaams, with a bouquet
of paper flowers surrounded by cabbage leaves which he had purloined
from the kitchen.
"Ye done rale good, an' this is fer yees," said the young rascal.
"He did that," said Jack Beecham, and turning to Roy he continued: "If
I knew who it was who tried to rattle you, I would----"
"What?" asked Roy.
"I would--would punch his head!" replied Jack, and manner, look, and
gesture showed how pugilistic were his inclinations at that moment.
"Who was it, Roy?" he continued, "I wasn't on the stage just at that
time, you know."
"I do not know," replied Henning slowly.
"Mental reservation," said Bracebridge laughing.
"I do not know," repeated Roy, and his friends could get no more out
of him.
"By the way," said George McLeod, "are you going to finish taking the
subscriptions for the pitcher's cage to-day, Roy?"
"Yes," answered Roy. "The boys seem to have plenty of money now, and
we want only about twenty-six dollars more."
"That's splendid," said George, "we must have that cage ready by the
time classes begin again after the Christmas holidays."
"That reminds me," said Henning, aside to Ambrose Bracebridge, "that I
forgot to take that money out of the table-drawer and place it with
the treasurer. I intended to do it every day for several days past,
but every time I put more money in I forget all about it."
A shade of vexation passed over Bracebridge's bright features. He
said:
"I am sorry you forgot. It would be much safer with the treasurer of
the college. But I suppose it's all right, anyway."
"I have seven dollars in my pocket now belonging to the fund. Let us
go over to the playroom, boys, and I will unlock the drawer and take
the money to the treasurer for safe-keeping."
The group of boys left the classroom and went diagonally across the
yard to the playroom, which was situated under a large study-hall, and
was a half-basement room.
There were about two dozen boys in the playroom when our friends
entered it. As Roy passed up the long room, first one and then another
complimented the _Richelieu_ of the previous evening on his fine
acting. Roy's cheeks flushed with pleasure. There was some of that
semiconscious gentleness of perfect success about him. He was
experiencing some of the pleasantest moments he had ever spent at St.
Cuthbert's.
Jack Beecham took the key from Roy and unlocked the door of the
sports-committee room. The group that had recently left the classroom
entered, those in the playroom paying little attention to them. Boys
were accustomed to see various groups enter the small room for the
purpose of discussing various sporting events and conditions of the
college games.
"How much have you collected, Roy?" asked Tom Shealey.
"About seventy-two dollars--seventy-nine with this in my pocket. Wait;
we'll see in a minute."
He felt in his pocket for a small bunch of keys, but could not find
them.
"There! I have left my keys in my desk. Wait a moment, boys, and I'll
be back," and he started for the classroom.
"What a dastardly thing that attempt last night was," said one of the
company.
"I guess Roy knows who it was well enough," remarked Tom Shealey, "but
cousin or no cousin, if he did such a thing to me, I would have to get
a very satisfactory explanation, or by the nine gods he would pay
dearly for it."
"But Henning is too generous to take any further notice of it," said a
boy named White, "but I wonder whether Mr. Shalford will move in the
matter at all."
"Haven't the least idea," said Shealey. "I do not see what he could do
exactly. It seems to me it were better to let the matter drop, and I
am sure that is Roy's wish too. Treat it with the silent contempt it
deserves."
Which speech shows that Shealey was not always consistent.
Ambrose agreed with him, although at the time he was furiously angry.
As _Joseph_ in the play he was close to Richelieu, and beneath the
disguising grease-paint on Henning's face he saw the hot flushes of
passion rise, for a moment. Ambrose thought that Roy was going to
address the interrupter, but he saw him check himself in time to save
a scene that would indeed have been memorable.
"Go on, Roy," Ambrose had whispered. "A great statesman, Joseph, that
same Lysander."
Henning took the cue from Ambrose, and although trembling with
suppressed indignation his friend knew the play was saved.
"Where on earth is that Roy all this time?" asked Beecham.
Just at that moment that young man reappeared, red, and out of breath.
"Oh! I say, fellows, forgive me for keeping you waiting so long, but
Mr. Shalford caught me in the yard, and--and, really, he was very
complimentary."
"Is he going to find out who attempted the interruption last night?"
asked young McLeod.
"Not if I can help it, George," replied Roy.