XX

The ebb of the company's prosperity dated from Kate's marriage. Somehow

things did not seem to go well after. In the first place the production of

_Olivette_ was not a success. Mortimer was drunk, did not know his

words, and went 'fluffing all over the shop.' Kate, excited with champagne

and compliments, sang the wrong music on one occasion; and to complete

their misfortunes, the Liverpool public did not in the least tumble to Miss

Beaumont's rendering of the part of the heroine. The gallery thought she

was too fat, the papers said she was not sprightly enough, and on Wednesday

night the old _Cloches_ had to be put up. By this failure the

management sustained a heavy loss. They had laid out a lot of money on

dresses, property and scenery, all of which were now useless to them; and

the other two operas were beginning to droop and lose their drawing power,

having been on the road for the last three years. The country, too, was

suffering from a great commercial crisis, and no one cared to go to the

theatre. In many of the towns they visited strikes were on, and the people

were convulsed with discussions, projects for resistance, and hopes of

bettering their condition. Great social problems, the tyranny of capital,

and such-like, occupied the minds of men, and there was naturally little

taste for the laughing nonchalance of _La Fille de Madame Angot_ or

the fooling of the Baillie in the _Cloches_. As forty thousand men had

struck work, our band of travelling actors rolled out of Leeds, and they

left it bearing with them only a reminiscence of empty benches, and

street-corners crowded with idling, sullen-faced men. At Newcastle they

were not more fortunate, at Wigan they fared even worse, and at Hull it was

equally bad. Gaiety seemed to have fled out of the North; the public-house

and the platform drew away the pit and the gallery; the frequenters of the

boxes and dress-circle remained at home, to talk around their firesides of

their jeopardized fortunes. When the workers grow weary of work a hard time

sets in for the sellers of amusement, and the fate of Morton and Cox's

Operatic Company proved no exception to the rule. Money was made nowhere,

and every Friday night a cheque for five-and-twenty pounds had to be sent

down from London to make up the deficit in the salary list. Nevertheless

for two months matters went on very smoothly. The remembrance of large

profits made in preceding years was still fresh in the minds of Messrs.

Morton and Cox, and they had not yet begun to grumble; but an

unintermittent drain of twenty-five to forty pounds a week keeps a man from

his sleep at night, and after a big failure in the city, in which Mr. Cox

was muleted to the extent of a couple of thousand pounds, he wrote to Dick

suggesting that he had better look out for another opera. This was welcome

news to Montgomery; but no sooner had Dick raised him to the seventh heaven

of bliss, than he had to knock him down to earth again: a letter arrived

from Mr. Cox, saying that no opera was to be put up; that it would be

useless to try anything new in such bad times; they had better try to

reduce expenses instead.

'Reduce expenses? How are we to reduce expenses except by cutting down the

salaries?'

'I'm sure I don't know,' said Montgomery; 'and the expense of mounting my

piece would be very slight.'

Without attempting to discuss so vain a question, Dick said, 'I must speak

to Hayes.'

But Hayes only pulled his silky whiskers, blinked his Chinese eyes, drank

three glasses of whisky, and changed the position of his black bag several

times, and the matter was scarcely alluded to again until the following

fortnight, when Dick found himself forced to write to Mr. Cox demanding a

cheque for thirty-five pounds, to meet Saturday's treasury and the current

expenses of the following week. The cheque arrived, but the letter that

came with it read very ominously indeed. It read as follows:

'DEAR MR. LENNOX,--I enclose you the required amount; but of course you

will understand that this cannot go on. I intend running down to see you on

Tuesday evening. Will you have the company assembled to meet me at the

theatre, as I have an important explanation to make to them.'

Dick had too much experience in theatrical speculations not to know that

this must mean either a reduction of salaries or a break-up of the tour;

but as two whole days still stood between him and the evil hour, it did not

occur to him to give the matter another thought, and it was not until they

returned home after the theatre, to prepare for the Sunday journey, that he

spoke to Kate of the letter he had received.

Their portmanteaus were spread out before them, and Kate was counting her

petticoats when Dick said:

'I'll tell you what, Kate, I shouldn't be surprised if the company broke up

shortly, and we all found ourselves obliged to look out for new berths.'

'What do you mean?' she said, with a startled look on her face.

'Well, only that I think that Morton and Cox are beginning to get tired of

losing money. As you know, we've been doing very bad business lately, and I

think they'll give us all the sack.'

'Give us all the sack!' Kate repeated.

'Yes,' said Dick, pursuing his own reflections 'I'm afraid it's so. It's a

deuced bore, for we were very pleasant together. But I don't think I showed

you the letter I got this morning. What's the matter, dear?'

Pale as the petticoat at her feet, Kate stood with raised eyebrows and

hands that twitched at the folds of her dress.

'Oh, Dick! what shall we do? We shall starve; we shan't have any place to

go to!'

'Starve!' said Dick in astonishment. 'Not if I know it. We shall easily

find something else to do. Besides, I don't care if he does break up the

tour. I believe there's a good bit of coin to be made out of the pier

theatre at Blackpool. I've been thinking of it for some time--with a good

entertainment, you know; and then there's the drama Harding did for me--a

version of Wilkie Collins's story--_The Yellow Mask_--devilish good it

is, too. I was reading it the other day. We might take a company out with

it. Let me see, whom could we get to play in it?' And, sitting over his

portmanteau, the actor proceeded to cast the piece, commenting as he went

along on the qualifications of the artists, and giving verbal sketches of

the characters in the play. 'Beaumont would play Virginie first rate, you

know--a strong, determined, wicked woman, who stops at nothing. I'd like to

play the father; Mortimer would be very funny as the uncle. We'll have to

write in something for you. You couldn't take the sympathetic little girl

yet; you haven't had enough experience.'

The expenses of scenery, properties, and posting were gone into, and while

listening to the different estimates Kate looked at her husband vaguely,

and plunged in a sort of painful wonderment, asking herself how standing on

the brink of ruin he could calmly make plans for the future. But to the

actor, whose life had never run for a year without getting entangled in

some difficult knot or other, the present hitch did not give the slightest

uneasiness. A strange town to face and half a crown in his pocket might

cause him some temporary embarrassment, but a hundred pounds at the bank,

and the notoriety of having been for two years the manager of a travelling

company, was to Dick an exceptionally brilliant start in life, and it did

not occur to him to doubt that he would hop into another shop as good as

the one he had left. But as the woman had been engaged in none of these

anxious battles for existence, the news of a threatened break-up of her

world fell with a cruel shock upon her, and she experienced in an

aggravated form the same dull nervous terror from which she had suffered in

the early days when she had first joined the company, but then the full

tide of love and prosperity bore their bark along, and quieted her fears.

But now in the first puff of the first squall she saw herself like one

wrecked and floating on a spar in a wide and unknown sea of trouble.

Sitting on the bed where she would never sleep again, she watched Dick

counting on his fingers and looking dreamily into the spaces of some

impossible future, and asked herself what was to become of them. For the

twentieth time since she had donned them the robes of the Bohemian fell

from her, and she became again in instincts and tastes a middle-class woman

longing for a home, a fixed and tangible fireside where she might sit in

the evening by her husband's side, mending his shirts, after the work of

the day. A bitter detestation of her wandering life rose to her head, and

she longed to beg of her husband to give up theatricals, and try to find

some other employment; and the next day it appeared to her more than

usually sinful to drive to the station as the church bells were chiming,

spending the hours, that should have been passed in praying, in playing

'nap,' smoking cigarettes, and talking of wigs, make-ups, choruses, and

such-like. But apparently there was no help for it, and on Monday night, in

her excitement, increased by the arrival of Mr. Cox, she could not help

getting out of bed to beseech God to be merciful to them; her husband's

heavy breathing often interrupted her, but it told her that he was her

husband, and that was her only consolation.

It astonished her that he could sleep as he did, having in front of him the

terrible to-morrow, when perhaps Mr. Cox would cast them adrift; and she

trembled in every fibre when she stood on the stairs leading to the

manager's room. There was a great crowd: the chorus-girls wedged themselves

into a solid mass, and murmured good-mornings to each other; Mortimer told

a long story from the top step; Dubois tried to talk of Balzac to

Montgomery, who listened, puzzled and interested, fancying it was a

question of a libretto; whilst Bret, till now silent as the dead, suddenly

woke up to the conclusion that it would probably all end in a reduction of

salaries. At last Dick appeared and called them into the presence of Mr.

Cox. Whisky and water was on the table, and with the silky whiskers plunged

in the black bag, Mr. Hayes fumbled aimlessly with many papers. The 'boss'

looked very grave and twitched at a heavy moustache; and when they were all

grouped about him, in his deepest and most earnest tones, he explained his

misfortunes. For the last four months he had been forced to send down a

weekly cheque of not less than five-and-twenty pounds; sometimes, indeed,

the amount had run up to forty pounds. This, of course, could not go on for

ever, he had not the Bank of England behind him. But talking of banks,

although there was no reason why he should inflict on them an account of

his bad luck, he could not refrain from saying that had it not been for a

certain bank he should be forced to ask them to accept half salaries. The

words brought a flush of indignation to Beaumont's cheeks. She made a

slight movement, as if she were going to repudiate the suggestion

violently, but the silence of those around calmed her, and she contented

herself with murmuring to Dolly:

'This is an old dodge.'

'I will leave you now,' said Mr. Cox, 'to consult among yourselves as to

whether you will accept my proposal, or if you would prefer me to break up

the tour at the end of the week, and pay you your fares back to London.'

As Mr. Cox left the room there was a murmur of inquiry from the chorus

ladies, and one or two voices were heard above the rest saying that they

did not know how they could manage on less than five-and-twenty shillings a

week. These objections were soon silenced by Dick, who in a persuasive

little speech explained that the reduction of salaries applied to the

principals only.

'Then why derange these ladies and gentlemen by asking them to attend at

this meeting?' said Mortimer.

To this question Dick made answer by telling the ladies and gentlemen of

the chorus they might withdraw, and the discussion was resumed by those

whom it concerned. Beaumont objected to everything. Bret spoke of going

back to Liverpool. Dubois explained his opinions on the management of

theatres in general, until Dick summoned him back to the point. Were they

or were they not going to accept half salaries? At length the matter was

decided by Mortimer getting upon a chair and shouting through his nose as

through a pipe:

'I don't know if you're all fond of hot weather, but if you are you'll find

it to your taste in London; all the theatres are closed, and the cats are

baking on the tiles.'

This brought the argument to a pause, during which Beaumont remembered that

grouse were shot in August, and settling her diamonds in her ears, she

agreed that the tour was to be continued. A few more remarks were made, and

then the party adjourned to a neighbouring 'pub.' to talk of _opéra

bouffes_ and bad business.

The next places they visited were Huddersfield and Bradford, but the houses

they played to were so poor that Mr. Cox summoned a general meeting on the

Sunday morning, and told them frankly that he could not go on losing money

any longer; he would, however, lend them the dresses, and they might start

a commonwealth if they liked. After much discussion it was decided to

accept his offer, and the afternoon was spent in striving to decide how the

business was to be carried on. A committee was at last formed consisting of

Dick, Mortimer, Dubois, Montgomery, Bret, and Mr. Hayes, and they settled,

as they went on to Halifax by an evening train, that the chorus was, hit or

miss, to be paid in full, and the takings then divided among the principals

proportionately to the salary previously received.

In the face of the bad times it was a risky experiment, and Williams, the

agent in advance, was anxiously looked out for at the station. What did he

think? Was there a chance of their doing a bit of business in the town?

Were there bills up in all the public-houses? Williams did not at first

understand this unusual display of eagerness, but when the commonwealth was

explained to him, his face assumed as grey an expression as the pimples

would allow it. He shoved his dust-eaten pot-hat on one side, scratched his

thin hair, and after some pressing, admitted that he didn't think that they

would do much good in the place; as far as he could see, everybody's ideas

were on striking and politics; the general election especially was playing

the devil with managers; at least that was what the company that had just

left said.

This was chilling news, and, alas! each subsequent evening proved only the

correctness of Mr. Williams's anticipations. Seven-pound houses were the

rule. On Friday and Saturday they had two very fair pits, but this could

not compensate for previous losses, and in the end, when all expenses were

paid, only five-and-thirty shillings remained to be divided among the

principals. Their next try was at Oldham, but matters grew worse instead of

better, and on Saturday night five-and-twenty shillings was sorrowfully

portioned out in equal shares. It did not amount to much more than half a

crown apiece. Rochdale, however, was not far distant, and, still hoping

that times would mend, Morton and Cox's band of travelling actors sped on

their way, dreaming of how they could infuse new life into their mumming,

and whip up the jaded pleasure-tastes of the miners. But for the moment

comic songs proved weak implements in the search for ore, and the committee

sitting in the green-room, used likewise as a dressing-room by the two

ladies, counted out a miserable four-and-ninepence as the result of a

week's hard labour.

Beaumont fumed before the small glass, arranging her earrings as if she

anticipated losing them; Kate trembled and clung to her husband's arm,

Montgomery cast sentimental glances of admiration at her, and Mortimer

tried to think of something funny, while Dubois came to the point by

asking:

'Well, what are you going to do with that four-and-ninepence? It isn't

worth dividing. I suppose we'd better drink it.'

At the mention of drinks Mr. Hayes blinked and shifted the black bag from

the chair to the ground.

'Yes, that's easily arranged,' said Dick, 'but what about the tour? I for

one am not going on at four-and-ninepence a week.'

'Sp-pend--it--in drinks,' stuttered Mr. Hayes, awakening to a partial sense

of the situation.

Everybody laughed, but in the pause that ensued, each returned to the idea

that there was no use going on at four-and-ninepence a week.

'For we can't live on drink, although Beaumont can upon love,' said

Mortimer, determined to say something.

But the joke amused no one, and for some time only short and irrelevant

sentences broke the long silences. At last Dick said:

'Well, then, I suppose we'd better break up the tour.'

To this proposal no one made much objection. Murmurs came from different

sides that it was a great pity they should have to part company in this way

after having been so long together. Montgomery and Dubois contributed

largely to this part of the conversation, and through an atmosphere of

whisky and soap-suds arose a soft penetrating poetry concerning the

delights of friendship. It was very charming to think and speak in this

way, but all hoped, with perhaps the exception of Montgomery, that no one

would insist too strongly on this point, for in the minds of all new

thoughts and schemes had already begun to germinate. Mortimer remembered a

letter he had received from a London manager; Dubois saw himself hobnobbing

again with the old 'pals' in the Strand; Bret silently dreamed of Miss

Leslie's dyed hair and blue eyes, and of his chances of getting into the

same company.

'Then, if it is decided to break up the tour, we must make a subscription

to send the chorus back to London,' said Dick after a long silence.

Nobody till now had thought of these unfortunate people and their

twenty-five shillings a week, but always ready to help a lame dog over a

stile, Dick planked down two 'quid' and called on the others to do what

they could in the same way. Mr. Hayes strewed the table instantly with the

money he had in his pocket. Mortimer spoke about his wife and mentioned

details of an intimate nature to show how hard up he was; he nevertheless

stumped up a 'thin 'un.' Beaumont, rampant at the idea of 'parting,'

contributed the same; indignant looks were levelled at her, and Dick

continued to exhort his friends to be generous. 'The poor girls,' he

declared, 'must be got home; it would never do to leave them starving in

Lancashire.' Kate gave a sovereign of her savings, and in this way

something over ten pounds was made up; with that Dick said he thought he

could manage.

The trouble he took to manage everything was touching. On Sunday, when Kate

was at church, he was down at the railway station trying to find out what

were the best arrangements he could make. And on Monday morning when they

were all assembled on the platform to bid good-bye to their fellow-workers,

it was curious to see this huge man, who at a first impression would be

taken for a mere mass of sensuality, rushing about putting buns and

sandwiches in paper bags for his poor chorus-girls, encouraging them with

kind words, and when the train began to move, waving them large and

unctuous farewells with his big hat.

Since the first shock of the threatened break-up of the tour Kate had

gradually grown accustomed to the idea and now wept in silence. Without

precisely suffering from any pangs of fear for the future, an immense

sadness seemed to ache within her very bones. All things were passing away.

The flock of girls in whose midst she had lived was gone; a later train

would take Mortimer to London; Bret was bidding them good-bye; Beaumont was

consulting a Bradshaw. How sad it seemed! The theatre and artists were

vanishing into darkness like a dream. Not a day, nor an hour, could she see

in front of her.

'What shall we do now?' she whispered to Dick, as she trotted along by his

side.

'Well, I haven't quite made up my mind. I was thinking last night that it

wouldn't be a bad idea to make up a little entertainment--four or five of

us--and see what we could do in the manufacturing towns. Lancashire is, you

know, honeycombed with them. Our travelling expenses would amount to a mere

nothing. We must have someone to operate on the piano. I wonder if

Montgomery would care about coming with us.'

Kate thought that he would, and as she happened at that moment to catch

sight of the long tails of the Newmarket coat at the other side of the

station, she begged Dick to call to the erratic musician. No sooner was the

proposition put forward than it was accepted, and in five minutes they were

at luncheon in a 'pub,' arranging the details of the entertainment.

'We shall want an agent-in-advance, a bill-poster, or something of that

kind,' said Montgomery.

'I've thought of that,' replied Dick; 'Williams is our man, he'll see to

all that; and I don't know if you know, but he can sing a good song on his

own account.'

'Can he? Well, then, we can't have anyone better--and what shall we take

out?'

'Well, we must have a little operetta, and I don't think we can do better

than Offenbach's _Breaking the Spell_.'

'Right you are,' said Montgomery, pulling out his pocket-book. '_Breaking

the Spell_, so far so good; now we must have a song or a character

sketch to follow, and I don't think it would be a bad idea if we rehearsed

a comedietta. What do you say to _The Happy Pair_?'

'Right you are, pencil it down, can't do better, it always goes well; and

then I can sing between "The Men of Harlech."'

Montgomery looked a little awry at the idea of having to listen to 'The Men

of Harlech,' sung by Dick, but in the discussion that followed as to what

Kate was to do, 'The Men of Harlech' was forgotten.

As Dick anticipated, Williams declared himself delighted to accompany them

in the double capacity of bill-poster and occasional singer; and after a

fortnight's rehearsal at Rochdale, the Constellation Company started on its

wanderings. Many drinks had been consumed in seeking for the name; many

strange combinations of sound and sense had been rejected, and it was not

until Dick began to draw lines on a piece of paper, affixing names to the

end of each, that the word suggested itself. What joy! What rapture! A rush

was made to the printers, and in a few hours the following bill was

produced: