"Ooooow! So that's it? An' you takes a chance of bustin' me all up!
A lot you care does I crack my neck. Why don't you give Welford
Potts some of them terrible things to do? Why is it always me, me,
me when it comes to gittin' beat up?"
Mr. Clump rose and his voice crackled. "Stop! You quit kickin' an'
listen at me! I craves to make somethin' plain to yo' fat head--once
an' fo' all time. You signed up with this comp'ny to play slapstick
comedy. You is a comedian an' tha's all what you is. But ev'ything
you gits tol' to do, you raises a howl. What do you think you is,
anyhow--a tragedian? Wantin' to play _Hamlick_ or somethin' like
that? Now I'se finished, th'oo and done with you. I has exhausted
my temper an' next time you do any of this yellin' aroun' you gits
fined an' laid off without sal'ry. Git that clear. I has tried to
keep fum havin' trouble with you. I has let you buzz aroun' like a
crazy hawssfly ... but I'se finished. You ain't nothin' but a straw
an' I is a camel's back. I has done broke! Now--git!"
Opus stared intently at his chief. It was the first time he had ever
seen the immaculate little man aroused to a high pitch of ill humor
and instinct warned him that Mr. Clump had been exasperated to the
absolute limit of his endurance. Opus was no fool. He swung around
with what dignity he could muster and crashed away through the
flowers and palms. He assumed a grand manner, but he knew that his
bluff had been called--and he boiled with rage.
Mr. Randall wished to convey the impression that he accepted the
dictum of his director. He wished Mr. Clump to lower his guard in
order that the force of Opus's retaliating blow might be unimpaired.
Mr. Randall vowed vengeance! And, what was more, he knew precisely
how he intended wreaking it.
He moved through the luxurious gardens in search of a particular
person. He found her in a tiny palm grove, sipping tea and eating
little cakes. She was a slender and attractive creature of undoubted
strength of character. Opus bowed low.
"Good evenin', Mis' Clump."
"Evenin', Opus. How is you this evenin'?"
"Tol'able, thank you." He seated himself opposite, and yawned.
"Algiers suttinly bores me. Nothin' to do an' heaps of time to do it
in."
Mrs. Sicily Clump smiled. "Reckon you must be the only bored pusson
in the Midnight troupe, Opus."
"How come? Ain't Cæsar bored?"
"My husban'?" She gestured in negation. "Nossuh, he showly ain't.
He says this is the finest town fo' pitchers we has found since we
come abroad. All day he wuks an' at night he goes out an' gathers
material."
"Oh! he does?" Opus eyed her speculatively and tried to make his
question casual. "Is he goin' out tonight?"
"Showly."
"Where?"
"Down to the water front to watch the ships an' git ideas. Him an'
Florian Slappey is goin'."
Mr. Randall emitted a large and raucous laugh, and Mrs. Clump leaned
forward.
"What at is you laughin', Brother Randall?"
"Nothin', Mis' Clump. Nothin' at all--'cept that a lady which has
been ma'ied to a man as long as you has, should b'lieve such
fumadiddles."
"You mean my husban' ain't gwine to no water front? You mean you
know where him an' Florian is really goin'?"
"Uh-huh." Mr. Randall drummed on the table-top. "Now you mind,
Sicily--I ain't tryin' to start somethin'. But I happen to know that
where Cæsar an' Florian really is goin' is down to a Arab
dancin'-girl place on a li'l alley right off that Rue de la Kasba we
seen the other day."
Sicily smiled. "Tha's where you is wrong, Opus. The place what you
mention, Florian an' my husban' went to las' night with my
permission."
"Aaah! An' they had such a good time with them cullud dancin' ladies
that tonight they goes back without tellin' you they is doin' such."
Opus rose ponderously. "Sicily, what you ain't got in you' haid is
no brains."
He retired in excellent order, leaving Sicily Clump sitting straight
up in her chair, eyes focused upon a tangerine. She knew
instinctively that Opus had spoken the truth, and her wifely wrath
was beginning to mount.
Reviewing the events of the past week, it seemed as though her
husband and Florian had been unnaturally zealous in their hunt for
filmable material. Last night Cæsar had told her frankly that he
wished to visit a hall where Algerian girls performed Arab dances.
His frankness disarmed her, and she gave her permission. But if,
tonight, he was returning to the dance hall and concealing his
intention of doing so--then she felt that it behooved her, as a
lawfully wedded spouse, to do something.
Mr. Randall was thoroughly satisfied with the start he had made. He
knew Sicily was no bungler. He realized that she would proceed
carefully--and to the complete eventual discomfiture of the dapper
director who persisted in making Opus's life one misery after
another. Meanwhile he seated himself on the ground with his back
against an orange tree and lost himself in thought. A peaceful smile
played about his lips and until a voice broke upon his ears he was
unaware of another's presence in the vicinity.
"What is you so happy about, Opus?"
Mr. Randall looked up at the trim little figure of Edwin Boscoe Fizz,
Midnight's second director. Mr. Randall frowned. He resented the
imputation that he was happy.
"I'se mis'able!" he snapped. "Entirely an' completely unhappy."
"How come you is smilin', then?"
"Just got to fool people. 'Fraid if I don't smile, folks will stop
thinkin' I'se a comedjin. But my heart ain't smilin', Eddie--it's
bustin'."
Mr. Fizz seated himself beside the portly actor. "Shuh! Opus, that
ain't no way to talk. S'pose you tell me what's wrong?"
Mr. Randall was quite willing to unburden himself. "I showly wisht
you was my director, Eddie--instead of that uppity, strutful Cæsar
Clump. What I think of that feller----"
Eddie Fizz stiffened. "Quit talkin' that away, Opus. Cæsar Clump is
the fondest man I is of."
"Well, I ain't gwine be yo' rival. You is a better man than him an'
a better director. Was you handlin' me, you woul'n't be doin' me the
dirty tricks he is."
"Like what, f'rinstance?"
Opus unfolded his worries and laid them out before the eyes of Eddie
Fizz. But somehow, Eddie failed to agree with him, even though he
was sympathetic. Soft-heartedness was one of Eddie's greatest
shortcomings. "I think you takes things all wrong, Opus," he
volunteered. "Wasn't you such a good actor, you woul'n't git so much
rough stuff to do. An' you is lucky to have such a swell director as
Cæsar----"
"Piffles! That slice of tripe! That----"
"You cain't call him out of his name befo' me!" Eddie had risen and
was confronting the infuriated Opus with aggressive loyalty.
"I reckon I can. I ain't quarrelin' with you, Eddie. I like you
fine. But I has got my 'pinion of Mistuh Julius Cæsar Clump an'
there ain't nobody gwine change me. N'r neither I ain't no pusson to
sit back idle an' git stepped on. Cæsar has insulted me, an' when
I'se insulted I fights! I'se gwine make that feller wish he hadn't
never been bawn. I'se gwine----"
"Is you threatenin' him?"
"Tha's the one thing I ain't doin' nothin' else but!"
Mr. Fizz turned away. "I cain't listen to you no mo' then, Opus. Us
is friends, but Cæsar is mo' friendlier with me than you, so I bids
you a respective good evenin'."
Opus stared after the slim figure. He liked Eddie--couldn't help
liking the modest, inoffensive little man whose genius for comedy had
elevated him to his present important post over the handicap of a
shy, sensitive disposition. But he resented Eddie's loyalty to Cæsar
Clump.
What if Clump had worked with Eddie and taught him all he knew? What
if Eddie had attained directorship through handling Sicily Clump when
her husband failed? Gratitude was one thing, but Opus felt that Mr.
Fizz carried it to the point of insanity.
As for Eddie Fizz, he was considerably worried. He discounted Opus's
threats, of course. Opus was always threatening somebody. He was an
inveterate trouble maker, the single member of the Midnight troupe
possessing a violent case of temperament. But, just the same, it was
well for him to know--as Cæsar's stanch friend--that there was
somebody in the organization who bore him ill-will.
A low whistle was wafted to his ears. He traced it with his eyes and
saw that it came from the lips of the elegant Mr. Florian Slappey.
Florian leaned out of the window and called softly.
"Hey, Eddie--come up to my room a minute."
Mr. Fizz obeyed. He mounted the stairway and entered the bare little
cubicle which Mr. Slappey occupied in solitary state. Then his eyes
fell upon the other occupant of the room.
"Hello, Cæsar."
"Howdye, Eddie."
Florian dropped an affectionate hand on Eddie's shoulder and spoke
beatifically. "Man! where Cæsar an' I was las' night!"
"That dancin'-girl place?"
"Uh-huh!" Florian rolled his eyes. "Hot diggity dawg!"
J. Cæsar Clump chuckled. "How 'bout you goin' back there with us
tonight, Eddie?"