A man may be defeated
Half a score of times or more,
His prospects may be darkened
And his heart be bruised and sore;
But let him smile triumphantly--
And call Misfortune's bluff.
For no man's ever conquered
Till he says: "I've got enough?"
Hans Christian Andersen, the famous Danish poet, says: "The life of
every man is a fairy tale written by God's finger." Carlyle says: "No
life of a man faithfully recorded but is a heroic poem."
With all the advice and experience one can acquire or have thrust upon
him it is passing strange how easy it is to go wrong in this world. It
forces one almost to the belief of him who wrote: "The aim is the man's,
the end is none of his own." Someone has said that the only guide a man
requires in this world is to side-step wrong doing. But like many prize
fighters, some of us are deficient in foot work.
If life is a mission and any other definition of it is false and
misleading, fate has certainly picked out some men as the hammer and
others as the anvil, some men for door-mats and others for those who
walk thereon.
Alfred claimed to have an aim in life but his entire family and a
township of relatives differed with him. Alfred's most ardent apologist
was compelled to admit that even though he was exerting himself greatly
to hold his course he was drifting.
The minstrels were back in the old quarters, Frank McKernan's shoe-shop,
rehearsing nightly.
At this time there came a proposition from a man of the town who had
recently failed in business. It is a peculiarity of human nature or the
fore ordination of fate that when a man fails in a commercial business
he engages in show business or life insurance. If he be not mentally
equipped to carry to success the business in which he failed, he
generally engages in a business that requires ability of a higher order
than that in which he was unsuccessful.
And so it was of the man who entered into an agreement to finance the
minstrels. He possessed a little money and a mother who was well
supplied with it. He spent money liberally in equipping the minstrels
for their first road venture. All preparations were quietly consummated
by order of Mr. Eli, as that gentleman had numerous creditors whose
feelings would have been terribly lacerated had they known that he was
soon to take himself away from them. Alfred soon had every arrangement
completed. He was very happy he was to realize the ambitions of his
life's dream. He had been relieved of all financial responsibility.
There would be wood cuts, printed bills, an agent and all that goes to
make for a real show.
The three-sheet bill depicting Alfred as a plantation negro dancing "The
Essence of Ole Virginia," was his especial pride. Many times daily he
unrolled this bill and secretly admired it. Alfred learned to dance "The
Essence of Ole Virginia." Although Billy Hyatt or Tom White danced "The
Essence" much more cleverly, Alfred argued that, owing to the bill
bearing his name, consistency demanded he execute the dance.
The stock bill was from the Jordan Printing Company of Boston, wood cuts
in two colors, red and yellow. The imprint "Boston" on the bills, it was
argued, would give the company prestige, that is, after they reached
Greene County and other far away points on their proposed itinerary. All
were instructed to spread the impression that the troupe was from
Boston.
It was rumored that the minstrels were to travel afar, visiting
Baltimore, Washington and other cities. The mother was very greatly
disturbed, she questioned Alfred frequently as to the rumors.
Lin, in some way known only to herself, had fathomed Alfred's plans; she
even knew the backer's name. Alfred begged her to keep it secret, that
it would ruin everything to have it known. To Alfred's surprise she
advised that he leave home surreptitiously if he must, with the consent
of the mother if he could obtain it. Lin argued that he would never do
any good at home with "them yar show notions flyin' through yer head.
Durned ef I wouldn't go an' show 'em I cud be sumthin'."
This was the first time Lin had ever advised Alfred to disobey his
mother and, while her advice was pleasing to him insofar as furthering
his ambitions was concerned, it was displeasing in other ways, and
lowered Lin in his estimation.
The mother objected strongly to the boy's connection with the minstrels,
arguing that the father was absent; that Alfred should not leave home
until the return of the father.
Alfred argued with the mother that he had accepted money from Eli and
was in honor bound to work it out.
Uncle Thomas was called into conference. Uncle Ned came in without being
called. Grandpap threatened legal proceedings to restrain the boy if he
attempted to leave the town.
Consternation reigned in the minstrel camp. Eli was frantic. Without
Alfred the show could not hope to succeed; so declared all. Alfred grew
desperate, declaring, since his mother so strongly opposed his going,
that he would remain until his father arrived, explain the matter; then,
come weal or woe, he would join the show.
Thus matters stood. Eli endeavored to drown his disappointment; he was
not visible for a day or two. Meanwhile Uncle Ned was a frequent visitor
"to keep an eye on Mr. Alfred that he did not run away," as he expressed
it. Alfred boldly declared that Uncle Ned was interfering and further
that they could not hold him; even if they did estop him from going with
the minstrels, he would run off to the oil regions.
Another visit from Uncle Ned precipitated a war of words. As the
meetings between Alfred and the uncle became more frequent Alfred "grew
more tantalizing and impudent," so the uncle asserted. Finally, Alfred
informed the uncle that he was meddling and that his meddling was not
appreciated. A quarrel followed. Alfred's powers of vituperation were a
surprise to the mother and uncle and a delight to Lin, who informed Mrs.
Todd: "Lor! I expektid tu see Alfurd mount him enny minnit; he shook his
fingur under Ned's nose an' mos' spit in his face. I hed the rollin' pin
redy, I'd bin in h'it ef h'tit hed kum to a klinch. I tell ye Alfurd's
lurned somethin' since they shaved his kurls off. He combed Ned es he'd
nevur been combed afore, an' Mary jes stood an' luked 'til Ned got her
riled up then twixt her an' Alfurd's bumburdment, he mighty nur forgot
his religion an' his hat."
The uncle in reply to one of Alfred's keenest thrusts permitted his
anger to get the better of his judgment. He reflected strongly upon
Alfred's father and the manner in which he had reared Alfred and
concluded by declaring that he, Alfred, had been a disgrace to the
entire family and that if his parents were powerless to control him
"we'll take a hand in it."
The entrance of the mother into the verbal battle at this juncture was
so sudden, so earnest, so swift, that Uncle Ned left the house, almost
forgetting his hat. The mother ended the scene by turning on Alfred:
"You have almost broken my heart, you are a constant source of trouble
and worry to me and as if that were not sufficient, your father's people
must force themselves into our affairs as they always have done since I
married into the family. Now if you have promised this man to go with
him, if you have accepted money from him, you keep your word, you go and
I will stand between your father and you insofar as any of his family
are concerned. You go with this man until the money you owe him is paid;
then you come straight home. If you do not it will only be the worse for
you, I will send Rease Lynch, the Constable, and have him bring you
home."
Alfred's elation by the victory over the uncle was not lowered in the
least by the fact that the mother's consent was given only to emphasize
her displeasure at the interference of the father's folks.
Eli was positively informed that Alfred would be compelled to return
home if the mother sent for him; that he was only permitted to leave
home that he might discharge the debt.
Eli suddenly recalled the fact that he had advanced Alfred one dollar
and seventy-five cents. He realized that it would not require many days
of labor ere the debt would be cancelled. He therefore suddenly decided
to make a further advance of money on behalf of Alfred's services and,
to make it more binding, pay the money to the mother.
Cousin Charley interfered with this plan by calling Alfred aside and
whispering: "If Eli goes over to your house and gives Aunt Mary any
money, and she sees he's been drunk, she'll hist him higher then
Gilroy's kite. You better let him gin it tu Lin." And so it was
arranged.
Eli went to Lin, saying: "Mrs. Linn, I owe Alfred thirty dollars. He's a
minor. I do not want to pay him the money as I know it is not legal, so
I told him I'd give it to his mother, she can do as she likes about it.
But if I wus her, I'd keep it; he will git enough to do him, he's a good
boy, he don't drink, smoke or chew. I wouldn't have a drinkin' man in my
troupe. I didn't know his mother was out. When will she be back? Well,
Mrs. Linn, you jus sign this receipt, it will be all the same. Now
there's thirty dollars and here's a dollar for you to buy yourself some
sugar kisses. No, no, sign his mother's name, not yours. Now, good-bye,
Mrs. Linn. I forgot to ask, are you any relation to the Linns out on
Redstone. Well, I thought not, you're too good lookin'. If I wern't
married I'd be after you."
Lin opened the door, she jerked her head toward the opening, as she
said: "Now, say, does yer muther know yere' out? Run along sonny. Don't
git mushy."
Lin reckoned: "The reason Eli wouldn't tulerate drinkin' peepul in his
trupe is bekus he is afeared the supply will run out."
Alfred calling on Mr. Steele to pay the note, produced a roll of bills.
Mr. Steele smiled approvingly. Counting out three ten dollar greenbacks,
the boy requested the tanner to figure up the interest on the note.
"There's no interest to pay and there's no note to pay; here is the
cancelled note paid in full." As the man pushed the note toward the boy
he was written in red ink across the face, "Paid", and also the date.
Alfred demurred. "No, Mr. Steele, I never paid the note, I won't have it
that way."
"Well," replied the tanner, "I am not in the habit of taking that which
is not coming to me. A friend of yours called sometime ago and informed
me that he owed you money and that you was desirous of paying off the
note."
"Joe Thornton!" guessed Alfred, without a moment's hesitation.
"Yes, he was the man. How did Mr. Thornton know that I held your note?"
"Well, that's where I broke my word with you, but I couldn't very well
get around it. I did Mr. Thornton a favor, he told me he wanted to
reward me. I told him I was in trouble, I owed money and I had no way to
pay it and I would apply whatever he gave me on the note. He gave me an
order for a suit of clothes but he never mentioned the note. I am as
much surprised as you; I never dreamed he would pay the note for me."
"Then you did not borrow the money from Thornton?"
"No sir, I did not."
"Well, I would not contract the borrowing habit. The borrower is always
a servant to the lender."
The mother was troubled. "How did it come that Eli paid for services in
advance? Others never paid their employes until they performed their
labor."
Alfred airily informed her that it was the custom in the show business
to pay in advance, that is, the good actors always drew their pay in
advance. In fact, he assured the mother that it was the only way to keep
good actors, keep them in debt to you; even then, sometimes, they'll run
off with another troupe.
"Well, what do you purpose doing with this money Mr. Eli left here for
you?" enquired the mother.
"Oh, I want you to keep it for me. I'm going to send you all my money;
you use whatever you please, use it all if you want to."
"I will keep this money for you," she said, "something seems to tell me
you will need it later on."
Lin allowed that Alfred would never need money thereafter. "Ef ye git a
good start ye'll jes hev cords of greenbacks, an' I believe yere on the
right road. I jes tol' yer muther, I ses, 'Mary,' ses I, 'Alfurd ain't
fit fer nuthin' only minstrel showin', he's gittin' more un more like a
nigger every day.'"
The mother did not relish the compliment. Lin advised that Alfred keep
up his clownish pranks, "then ye kin nigger hit in winter an' clown hit
in summer."
Alfred declared that if he attained his hopes and ambitions, inside of
ten years he would be the possessor of a farm and live on it the
remainder of his days. In his boyish buoyancy he grew enthusiastic; he
pictured how Mother and Pap would enjoy country life.
Alfred knew the mother had confidence in him, no matter how strongly she
opposed his ways. He knew she had faith in him and it has been the
saddest regret of his life that she was not permitted to remain on earth
until his boyish dreams were fully realized.
A few days later Alfred was seated on all his earthly possessions, a
hair trunk with big brass tack heads as ornaments, in a big heavy wagon,
waving a last good-bye to mother, Lizzie, Joe, the baby and Lin.
Lin shouted as the wagon moved off: "Good luck! Good-bye! I know ye'll
bring the koon skin hum."
It was twelve miles to Bealsville on the pike. The big wagon, the small
trunks and big boys were too much of a load for the two ordinary horses.
The minstrels walked up the hills to lighten the load.
"Handy Andy," Alfred's favorite farce, in which he impersonated the
character of the awkward negro who breaks the dishes, was the closing
number on the program. Alfred, always a stickler for natural effects,
prevailed upon one of the boys to borrow his mother's china tea set. For
safety these dishes were carried in a large carpet-sack.
[Illustration: "And Ask Fer Licker," Added the Old Stage Driver]
When the edge of town was reached the team was urged into a smart trot
that the advent of the troupe might appear business-like. The minstrels
were instructed as to the proper manner in which to conduct themselves
that they might appear experienced in traveling--jump out of the wagon,
carry their belongings, entering the tavern briskly, "and ask fer
licker," added the old stage driver who had been an attentive listener
to the instructions.
At the edge of town the team was halted to freshen them up for the
finish. The minstrels perched themselves picturesquely on the trunks,
posing as if for a photograph. The old horses were urged into a trot by
jerking and slapping the lines and wielding the whip. The pace was kept
up until the tavern was reached.
Charley Guttery, the landlord, was there to greet the minstrels. Mrs.
Guttery was a Davis before marriage, the sister of Uncle Bill's wife.
Therefore, Alfred was welcomed by the entire family.
All jumped out of the wagon except Tom White; he began unloading the
parcels, tossing them on the sidewalk. Out came the carpet-sack loaded
with chinaware. It struck the ground with a crash.
"There goes mother's china teapot smashed all to h--ll," piteously
whimpered the boy who furnished the dishes. He began to climb into the
wagon, vowing he would throw Tom White out quicker than he threw his
mother's teapot out. Tom was ready for fight and Eli had all he could do
to keep the boys apart.
All this was great amusement for the natives. "Let 'em go," one shouted,
"Let 'em fight; we'd ruther see the fight then yer show."
The large room of the tavern was filled with minstrels and town folks.
"Purty long ride ye hed fur such a big load," remarked one towner. Ere
Alfred could reply, a big gawk chimed in with: "By the dust on their
britches laigs I callerate they didn't ride much." Then all the crowd
laughed.
The pike was very dusty and the minstrels showed the effects of their
contact with it. "Well, ef they haint got a good show we'll gin 'em a
ride they won't furgit. Yes, an' the rail'll be three cornered. How many
monkeys has they?" yelled another. Then came quickly, "I dunno, I haint
counted 'em yit." This sally brought the biggest laugh yet heard.
Alfred's blood was boiling; he could stand it no longer. His fist shot
out and immediately there were legs and arms sprawling all over the
floor; the crowd trampled each other as they stampeded, all endeavoring
to exit through the one door at the same time. Once outside, several of
them, more bold than the others, began making threats and movements to
re-enter and bring Alfred out. At this juncture the old stage driver and
Eli waded into them and soon there was not one of the rowdies to be
seen.
Alfred was hustled upstairs and into a room and ordered to remain quiet
until further developments. The constable was soon on the scene with
warrants for Eli and the old driver. They were taken before a justice of
the peace and, by the advice of Mr. Guttery, they requested a
continuance of the case until the following morning. This was granted.
A few moments later, three or four of the minstrels were arrested. Not
one of them had engaged in the disturbance; they demanded an immediate
trial, feeling certain of acquittal. No evidence was offered as to their
participation in the fight. Several residents of the town swore
positively that none of the accused had engaged in the row in any way.
One witness testified that they had just stood around doing nothing.
This he emphasized by repeating at intervals in his testimony, "They
just stood around doing nothing."
The evidence all in, the justice of the peace addressed them somewhat as
follows: "You have been arrested charged with disturbing the peace. The
evidence goes to show that you are not guilty of that crime; therefore,
on that count I will discharge you, the borough to pay the costs. But it
appears by the testimony of one of your own witnesses, one of our most
reliable citizens that you were standing around doing nothing.
Therefore, I will fine you two dollars each and costs for loitering."
By the advice of the landlord the costs were paid by Mr. Eli and the
fines were to be paid the next morning when the other cases were called.
The minstrels that night were slimly attended.
In the middle of the night Alfred was rudely disturbed by someone
awakening him. "Git up, git up, quick! We've got to git out of this town
or it'll take all the money I've got to square the fight you started
yesterday. Git up quick!"
It was Eli's voice and he was very thick tongued; he had been up all
night. The team was harnessed and hitched to the wagon. The landlord was
there to see the sleepy minstrels off. The last good-byes were scarcely
spoken ere the door of the big room was closed by the landlord and the
lights put out. It was inky dark to Alfred as he sat on the high seat by
the driver and heartily wished himself home.
It came out later that the landlord and one or two others advised Eli to
get the minstrels into Greene County ere the eyes of the law opened the
next morning. Hence the 3 a. m. exodus.
Arriving at Carmichael's Town after a long and tiresome ride, the
minstrels found Tom Kerr, the jolly landlord of the tavern, with a
dinner ready that changed their minds from gloom to gayety.
The minstrels were well advertised. Winn Kerr, Lias and Dee Flannigan
had witnessed their entertainment previously, hence the town turned out
to welcome them. Wealth flowed in upon Eli and all went merry as a
dinner bell. But Eli had great difficulty in tearing himself away from
old and new found friends.
The regular minstrel wagon was not large enough to carry Eli the next
morning, consequently Jim Kerr carried Alfred and Eli to Waynesburg in a
private rig. Again the crowd was too large for the courthouse; again
Eli made friends who detained him after the departure of the troupe.
Alfred refused to remain behind with Eli but left with the minstrel
boys.
Eli failed to arrive in the next town in time to open the doors. The
crowd was more than ample to fill the hall. Alfred took the door and
made settlement of bills. Eli arrived during the night. The next morning
Alfred and two others advised Mr. Eli that they had received word from
home that their engagement with the minstrels must end.
When Eli came to his senses he appealed to Alfred to explain why they
had decided to quit. Alfred said: "Because you have been drunk ever
since the show left Brownsville and the boys are afraid you will not pay
them."
That night Eli invited all the company to meet him in his room at the
tavern. By the time the boys arrived Eli was so saturated he forgot that
which he desired to say to them. Instead he insisted on drinking with
each one individually, he scorned to drink with the company as a whole.
"I want you all to know me. If you want money, I've got slathers of it."
All wanted money and they got it. And they spent it. Gaudy bows and
ties, striped shirts, congress shoes and other dependables never
possessed by the wearers previously, began to make their appearance. Eli
was voted the best ever. Those who had threatened to leave because Eli
imbibed too freely were termed Methodists and back-biters.
Fairmount reached, the old stage driver and his team left for home. From
this point the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad was to be the mode of travel, a
change hailed with delight. Some began figuring on how many days it
would be until the minstrels invaded Baltimore.
Two nights were played at Fairmount; the first night a large, well
pleased audience attended. More invitations to Eli's room, more liquor
ladled out and more money handed around to the company. On the second
night there was a very light attendance; a long hunt to find Eli ere
bills could be paid and the company could move on to Grafton. Eli had
decided to remain in Fairmount until the next train.
Morgan, the advance agent, accompanied the minstrels to Grafton. Morgan
took the night's receipts. The next morning he could not be located nor
did Eli make his appearance. The minstrels watched and waited; the day
wore along. Finally, it was decided that the performance would be
repeated that night.
A man walked over the town, ringing a bell as he went. Halting at short
intervals he loudly announced the second exhibition of the minstrels at
early candle light. The landlord of the tavern volunteered to look after
the financial end of the enterprise. After the exhibition he called the
boys together and advised that after his bill and other expenses were
deducted, there would be enough left to pay their railroad fare to
Fairmount and that they would probably find Eli there.
Arriving at Fairmount it was learned that Eli had left for Baltimore the
night before. It came to light that Morgan had left on the same train,
boarding it as it passed through Grafton. Some members of the company
contended that Eli had gone on to Baltimore to arrange for their coming
and that they would hear from him or see him soon. Others, that he had
left for good.
The four musicians, men who had seen more of the world than the
ambitious amateurs, boarded a train for Wheeling. Alfred decided that he
and his followers would make their way to New Geneva and there board the
boat for home. Loading their few belongings, including Alfred's hair
trunk with the brass tack ornaments, into a farm wagon drawn by two big
bay mules, the homeward journey was begun. Not in dejection, as one
might imagine, the boys were too full of spirit to be cast down greatly.
One or two began to fret but the jibes of the others soon had all in
good humor.
The roads through the hilly, muddy country were not as firm as those
previously traversed, a contingency the boys had not taken into
consideration. At times the mules were unable to move the wagon, even
though all the minstrels were pushing or prying to the extent of their
muscular power. Instead of dust, as on the first day out, the minstrels
were covered with mud, from shoes to hats.
Arriving at New Geneva, mud bespattered, tired and hungry, they
congregated on the old wharf boat until the steamer was heard coming
below the bend. When the boat hove in sight, her prow cutting the water,
it was the most welcome sight Alfred ever remembered witnessing. Safely
aboard, it was found that not in the whole party was there enough money
to pay the fares to Brownsville. Therefore deck passage had to be taken
and without meals.
George Warner, the colored steward, knew every one of the boys. One by
one they were smuggled into the pantry and a meal that was never
excelled given each one.
It was two o'clock in the morning when the boat touched at Brownsville.
Alfred determined to carry his trunk home with him. Hoisting it on his
broad shoulders he began the walk up the hill homewards; every little
ways lowering the burden to the ground, he would seat himself upon it
pondering as to the tale to tell of the ignominious ending of his dream
of prosperity. He thought of Lin's parting words: "I hope ye bring the
koon skin hum," and he could not suppress his laughter.
He brought the big iron knocker down rather lightly, hoping only Lin
would hear it. He did not care to face his father or mother until he got
a little more courage. Again the knocker was raised and lowered, a
little louder than before. The window sash above was raised and the
father's voice, gruffer than Alfred had heard it in a long time,
demanded, "Who's there?"
Alfred hesitated to give his name.
"Who's there?" louder and more gruffly than before, impelled the boy to
answer: "It's me."
"Who's me?" came from the window quickly.
"Oh, come on down, Pap, let me in. It's me, Pap, don't you know me?"
Alfred was so crestfallen and ashamed that he could not bear to speak
his own name. "In a minute, Alfred," came in a more kindly tone as the
father's head was withdrawn from the window. Then the father's voice was
heard informing the mother, "The boy's back."
It flashed through the boy's mind that the conditions that brought him
home so unexpectedly were known only to himself and he could stave off
unpleasant explanations for a time at least.
The door opened, the father shook his hand heartily. "How are you? How
have you been? We've been expecting you. How did you get out of the
trouble in Bealsville? The _Clipper_ says you were all jerked up and
slid out between two days."
The mother and all the children were up. Lin insisted on setting out a
pie and making a hot cup of coffee. Alfred was highly complimented that
he had kept his promise to return. Alfred accepted the praises with a
conscience stricken feeling that kept him miserable under his assumed
gaiety.
The first time Lin and Alfred were alone in the kitchen, she turned full
on him as she asked in a deeply interested way: "How much did ye make
outen yere trip?"
The question was so direct and without warning that Alfred dropped his
gaze and began stammering. Lin continued: "There's somethin' ded about
yer; I smelled a mice the minnit I seen yer face. Jes let hit out, ye'll
feel better. I'll help ye. Where's Eli? Where's the other boys?"
Alfred gave Lin the whole miserable story, neither adding to it nor
concealing anything. Lin summed up the matter thus: "Ef ye're out
enything ye kin sue Eli. His muther'll settle."
They figured it up, Alfred was a little in Eli's debt. "Then what ye
palaverin' 'bout, ye've done all right?"
"But it's the disappointment of the thing, the way it wound up and it
looked so promising," whined Alfred.
"Well, ef ye never git hit harder then Eli hit ye, ye'll need no
poultices," consoled Lin. "Why don't ye gin Redstone Skule-house another
try? Charley Wagner an' everybody else sed ef ye'd go back that ye'd
make all back ye wus shy afore."
Alfred was on his way in less time than it takes to record it, notifying
the boys that they would go to Redstone School-house next Saturday
night. The school-house secured, the music was the next important
matter. Charley Wagner had a sore throat, so he informed Alfred. All
others approached were affected in the same way. It looked very much as
if the exhibition would have to be given up.
Cousin Charley suggested that Alfred go to Merrittstown and hire the
blind Hostetler family. All were blind excepting John, who had one eye.
There were three brothers and a sister--two violins, a double bass
violin, the girl sang and in time with the music manipulated two large
corn-cobs, much in the manner of a minstrel's cracking the bones. A
contract was entered into with the family whereby they were to receive
ten dollars for the night, and their suppers.
The school-house was packed, there was some thirty-seven dollars in all.
When the performance was nearing the end, Cousin Charley made his way
behind the curtain and in a whisper informed Alfred that the constable
had seized all the money and properties of the minstrels and that he,
Alfred, was to be arrested and put in jail. Alfred's acting was not so
spirited as in the opening. Those who were aware of the load that
oppressed him, sympathized and condoned with him until he was nearly
unmanned.
The suit came up before a justice of the peace. Eli's creditors had an
attorney, Alfred and the minstrels had none. The plea that Eli was not
interested in the venture, that it was Alfred's show, was offset by the
fact that Alfred, in his dealings, informed every one that the show
belonged to Eli. And there was the advertising matter. Did not all bear
the words, "Eli, Owner and Manager." Alfred had designedly and against
his pride ordered Eli's name placed on the bills to relieve himself of
all responsibility and worry.
The evidence was conclusive. At least that's what the lawyer, Isaac
Bailey, said. Lin said: "It was boun' to go agin Alfurd. Limpy Bailey
cud make black white an' Squire Wilkinson's agin' evurythin' but the
Methudis' Church."
There were numerous little bills unpaid, including five dollars to the
blind family. Chapters of truths and unfounded rumors, were in the
mouths of the gossips as to how the troupe stranded in West Virginia,
compelled to walk home, traveling as deck passengers on the steamboat.
It even went the rounds that they would have starved if George Warner
had not fed them surreptitiously on their way home.
Alfred was crestfallen. He was ashamed to visit his old haunts in the
town. He evolved plan after plan only to be persuaded by Lin to abandon
them as soon as they were broached to her. The father rubbed salt into
his wounded feelings at every reference he made to the minstrel business
and the lowness of those connected with it, holding Eli up as a terrible
example of what minstrel life would bring a man to.
Berated, brow-beaten, driven to the wall, Alfred answered his father in
kind following one of his most bitter arraignments of show people:
"Father, what are you talking about? Something you know nothing of. Eli
was not a showman, not a minstrel man. He was only with an amateur
minstrel show eight days. Nothing in his associations made him lower
than he was before he left."
"Then why did you go with him?" sternly demanded the parent.
"I wanted to make money."
"Yes, you wanted to make trouble and disgrace for your poor mother and
myself," was the father's rejoinder.
"How sorry I am I did not do differently. How sorry I am that this ever
happened and I planned it all so differently. I felt I was protecting
myself and I'm into it deeper than before." Thus would Alfred reason
with himself.
But the judgment of regret is a silent witness of the heart to the
conviction that some things are inevitable. With Alfred it was a
confession hard to make--another battle lost that seemed won. The words,
"disgrace to the family, to your mother and myself," kept ringing in his
ears and he resolved to leave the town, go to the oil regions, go west,
go anywhere, get rich, come back and make his people retract all their
cruel reflections.
Lin adjured him to "furgit the sore spot; es long es ye pick hit, it'll
never heal. Why, ye cud go to Capt. Abrams, Sammy Steele ur Joe Thornton
an' borry enuf to pay every durn cent ye owe; though ye don't owe
nuthin', everybody ses so thet knows enythin' bout hit. Thet Eli's in
fur hit all. He ought to pay hit. Thur's thet blin' family, he'll nefer
hev no luck ef he don't pay 'em."
This allusion to the blind family was the last stone. Alfred felt that
he and he alone was responsible for the amount due the blind family.
This obligation brought him more regrets than all his troubles. He crept
upstairs, he fell on his knees and prayed, yes, prayed fervently,
earnestly. No penitent, no prisoner, no saint, no sinner ever beseeched
guidance and assistance with a more contrite heart.
It was announced that Uncle Thomas was to preach to the young people of
his congregation. Alfred went early. He was ill at ease. He imagined all
the congregation gazing at him and when two or more bent their heads and
whispered, he imagined that it was he who was under discussion.
The song services ended, the minister arose, opened the Bible and very
slowly read the text selected--"Honor thy father and thy mother."
Raising his eyes from the book, looking over the congregation as if to
select some one to whom to direct his words, he repeated, "Honor thy
father and mother, which is the first commandment with promise. Honor
thy father and mother, that it may be well with thee, and that thou
mayest live long on earth."
Then followed a lengthy discourse as to the duties of children to their
parents.
As the sermon progressed, the preacher said: "Rebuke not an elder but
entreat him as a father. Rebuke not an elder but treat all your elders
with that respect you would others should exhibit toward your parents.
Show me the young man who is disrespectful to his parents or elders,
disregards their admonitions and I will show you a boy who is without
the pale of content."
Uncle Tom seemed to look straight at Alfred as he let fall the words.
Alfred felt sure that he referred to the quarrel between himself and
Uncle Ned.
In the next quotation Alfred was slightly reassured: "An angry man
stirreth up strife and aboundeth in transgressions, for he that is slow
to anger is better than the mighty and he that ruleth his spirit than he
that taketh a city."
Alfred said to himself, he is touching up Uncle Ned. He wanted to turn
his head around to see how the Uncle took his medicine, but the preacher
had his attention. Alfred was sitting erect, looking straight at the
speaker. His attitude seemed to say: "If you are going to hit them all I
can stand it but don't hold me up as a lone example of all that's sinful
in this congregation."
Then the speaker waded into the popular frivolities of the times; cards,
dice, gambling, drinking, dancing and other pastimes. As Alfred was
immune from all of the above sins he sat up still more straight and even
ventured to look around at some of the society young folks of the
congregation. He began to feel that Uncle Tom was a very good preacher.
After a moment's pause as if to pull himself together for the final
onslaught upon all that was sinful, the preacher resumed: "I do not
hesitate for a moment to condemn show life and all who are aware of its
iniquity that engage in it. The circus, the theatre, the actors therein,
the proprietors, those who, for sordid gain, place these terrible
temptations before our young people." Alfred felt himself sinking in the
pew. "I do not hesitate to condemn the theatre as one of the broadest
roads that leads to destruction. Fascinating no doubt to the young of
susceptible and impressionable feelings, on that account all the more
dangerous. Show life is a delusion. It holds out hopes never realized;
it poisons the mind and diseases the soul; it takes innocence and
happiness and repays with suffering and misery. It separates families;
it desolates homes; it makes wanderers on the face of the earth of those
who are allured to it. Once let a young man acquire a taste for show
life and yield himself up to its wicked gratifications; that young man
is in great danger of losing his reputation. He is rushing headlong to
certain ruin."
Alfred was sitting straight up. His cheeks burned like fire but there
was no shame in his face, he even looked about him; he met the gaze of
those who stared and held it until the eyes of the others dropped.
The preacher continued: "All the evils that can blight a young life,
waste his property, corrupt his morals, blast his hopes, impair his
health and wreck his soul, lurk in the purlieus of this abominated show
life that is threatening some of the best beloved and most talented of
our young people. Folly consists in drawing false conclusions from just
principles; and that is what the theatre does. Men may live fools but
fools they cannot die. The instruction of fools is folly; therefore, the
actor cannot teach wisdom or morality. He that refuseth instruction
despiseth his own soul; but he that heareth reproof getteth
understanding."
The parting admonition, delivered to the young people in general and,
Alfred felt, to himself in particular, was: "Choose a good name; a good
name is rather to be chosen than great riches and loving favor rather
than silver and gold."
Alfred felt that the latter part of the sermon was directed at his
ambitions to become a clown, get rich and buy a farm. He wondered who
had informed the preacher of his ambitions.
When the congregation stood up and sang, Alfred's voice could be heard
above those around him. When the plate was passed he placed his last
dollar on the coppers and dimes on it.
When the minister requested that all the young people who desired the
prayers of the congregation for their future guidance, stand up, Alfred
remained seated. There was no contriteness in his heart; no impression
had been made upon him. He forgot his surroundings; he felt no
embarrassment that all stared at him, their looks seeming to say: "Well,
how did you like it? Hit you pretty hard, did it not?"
Alfred forgot the sermon, forgot the surroundings; other thoughts swayed
his mind. "I'll make Uncle Tom, I'll make this congregation, I'll make
this whole town acknowledge my worth. I've not done anything I'm ashamed
of." Then the five dollars he owed the blind family flashed upon his
mind. "I'll pay them, I'll pay every cent I owe."
He passed out of the church unconscious of the gaze of a half hundred
young men lined up on either side of the door waiting for the girls to
run the gauntlet, each one offering an arm to the girl he fancied; if
rejected he was termed "sacked" and the rejected one felt the ridicule
of his fellows for many days thereafter. Lucy Fowler "sacked" John
Albright that night. Lin was so full of this affair that she seemed to
forget the sermon in her eagerness to recount the other incident. Alfred
interrupted her by sneakingly inquiring as to how she liked the sermon.
Lin forthwith straightened up: "Well, ef I wanted tu tell jes what I
thot, I'd say he gin ye particular fits, but preachin' is preachin',
nobody takes hit to tharselves, they jes think hit's fur everybody. Now
I reckon ye think the hull blast wus fer ye. S'posen he'd preached on
dram drinkin'. I reckon the fellur thet guzzles wud take hit all tu
hisself. No, sonny, religun's fur everybody an' ye kan't thro preachin'
bricks ye don't hit somebody. So don't take a foolish powder kase a
preacher workin' at his trade handed ye a few. Hit done ye good, ye
never looked so purty in yer life, yer cheeks wus red es cherries an' ye
sung like a exorter."