Mr Asplin, smiling across the table at that young lady, who tried to
look modest and unconcerned, but was plainly aglow with satisfaction.
"For Shylock, as the character seems so much in demand, we had better
draw lots. I will write the names on slips of paper, and you must all
agree to take what comes, and make the best of it. I will fill in the
gaps, and I am sure mother will help all she can--"
"Lemonade in the intervals, and coffee for those who prefer it, with
some of my very best company cake," said Mrs Asplin briskly. "It will
be quite an excitement. I should rather like to be Shylock myself, and
defy Peggy and her decree; but I'll give it up to the boys, and make
myself generally useful. Why couldn't we begin to-night?"
"Oh, Mrs Asplin, no! It will take me days to get up my part! And the
costumes--consider the costumes!" cried Peggy anxiously. And her
hostess raised her hands in surprise.
"The costumes! Are you going to dress up? I never thought of that!"
"Surely that is unnecessary, Peggy! You can read the play without
changing your clothes!" echoed the vicar; but, from the chorus of
disclaimer which greeted his words, it appeared that the young people
could do nothing of the sort.
Max wanted to know how a fellow could possibly "talk Shylock" in a white
tie and an evening jacket. Oswald thought it equally ridiculous to pose
as an Italian lover in English clothing; and Peggy turned up her eyes
and said she could not really abandon herself to her part if her costume
were inappropriate. Even Esther, the sober-minded, sided with the rest,
so the vicar laughed and gave way, only too pleased to sanction anything
which helped the object which he had at heart.
"Dress up by all means, if it pleases you. It will be interesting to
see the result. But, of course, I must be absolved from any experiments
of the kind."
"Oh, of course! And mother, too, if she likes, though I should love to
see her made-up as Shylock! You must not see or ask about our dresses
until the night arrives. They must be a secret. You will lend us all
your fineries, mother--won't you?"
"Bless your heart, yes! But I haven't got any!" said Mrs Asplin, in
her funny Irish way. "They were all worn out long, long ago." She gave
a little sigh for the memory of the days when she had a wardrobe full of
pretty things and a dozen shimmery silk dresses hanging on the pegs, and
then flashed a loving smile at her husband, in case he might think that
she regretted their loss. "If there is anything about the rooms that
would do, you are welcome to use it," she added, glancing vaguely at the
sideboard and dumb waiter, while the boys laughed loudly at the idea of
finding any "properties" in the shabby old dining-room.
Peggy, however, returned thanks in the most gracious manner, and sat
wrapt in thought for the rest of the evening, gazing darkly around from
time to time, and scribbling notes on sheets of note-paper.
Short of playing Shylock, which in the end fell to Maxwell's share, it
seemed as if all the responsibility of the performance fell on Peggy's
shoulders. She was stage manager, selecting appropriate pieces of
furniture from the different rooms and piling them together behind the
screen in the study, whence they could be produced at a moment's notice,
to give some idea of the different scenes. She coached Esther and
Mellicent in their parts, designed and superintended the making of the
costumes, and gave the finishing touches to each actor in turn when the
night of the "Dramatic Reading" arrived.
"Taking one consideration with another," as Max remarked, "the costumes
were really masterpieces of art."
To attire two young gentlemen as Italian cavaliers, and a third as a
bearded Jew, with no materials at hand beyond the ordinary furnishings
of a house, is a task which calls for no small amount of ingenuity, yet
this is exactly what Peggy had done.
Antonio and Bassanio looked really uncommonly fine specimens, with
cycling knickerbockers, opera cloaks slung over their shoulders, and
flannel shirts pouched loosely over silk sashes, and ornamented with
frills of lace at wrists and neck. Darkened eyebrows gave them a
handsome and distinguished air, and old straw hats and feathers sat
jauntily on their tow wigs.
The vicar sat in the arm-chair by the fire, Shakespeare in hand, waiting
to fill in the odd parts with his wife's help, and simultaneous cries of
astonishment and admiration greeted the appearance of the two actors at
the beginning of the first scene.
"It's wonderful! Did I ever see such children? What in the world have
they got on their heads? Milly's old leghorn, I declare, and my pink
feathers. My old pink feathers! Deary me! I'd forgotten all about
them. I've never worn them since the year that--"
"`In sooth, I know not why I am so sad,'" quoth the wearer of the
feathers, scowling darkly at the frivolous prattler, who straightway hid
her head behind her book, and read Salanio's first speech in a tone of
meek apology.
There was a great deal of confusion about the first scene, for four
people had to read the parts of six, and one of the number was so much
occupied with gazing at the costumes of the actors that she invariably
lost her place, and had to be called to order by significant coughs and
glances. By this time it generally happened that the vicar had made up
his mind to come to the rescue, and both husband and wife would begin to
read at the same moment, to their own amusement, and to the disgust of
the two lads, who felt uncomfortable in their borrowed plumes, and
keenly sensitive about their precious dignity. Antonio mumbled his last
speech in undignified haste, and followed Bassanio out of the room,
prepared to echo his statement that this sort of thing was "tomfoolery,"
and that he wasn't going to make an idiot of himself any longer to
please Peggy Saville, or any other girl in the world. But the words
died on his lips, for outside, in the hall, stood Peggy herself, or
rather Portia, and such a Portia as made him fairly blink with
amazement! Amidst the bustle of the last few days Portia's own costume
had been kept a secret, so that the details came as a surprise to the
other members of the party. Nerissa stood by her side, clad in a
flowing costume, the component parts of which included a dressing-gown,
an antimacassar, and a flowered chintz curtain; but, despite the nature
of the materials, the colouring was charming, and frizzled hair, flushed
cheeks, and sparkling eyes, transformed the sober Esther into a very
personable attendant on the lady of Belmont. There was nothing of the
dressing-gown character about Portia's own attire, however. Its
magnificence took away the breath of the beholders. The little witch
had combed her hair to the top of her head, and arranged it in a coil,
which gave height and dignity to her figure. A string of pearls was
twisted in and out among the dark tresses; her white silk frock was
mysteriously lengthened and ornamented by two large diamond-shaped
pieces of satin encrusted with gold, one placed at the bottom of the
skirt, and the other hanging loosely from the square-cut neck of the
bodice. Long yellow silk sleeves fell over the bare arms and reached
the ground; and from the shoulders hung a train of golden-hued plush,
lined with a paler shade of yellow. Bassanio and Gratiano stood aghast,
and Portia simpered at them sweetly in the intervals between dispensing
stage directions to the boot boy, who was clad in his best suit for the
occasion, and sent to and fro to change the arrangement of the scenery.
He wheeled the sofa into the centre of the room, piled it up with blue
cushions, and retired to make way for the two ladies, who were already
edging in at the door.
A gasp of astonishment greeted their appearance, but when Peggy dragged
her heavy train across the room, threw herself against the cushions in
an attitude calculated to show off all the splendour of her attire, when
she leant her pearl-decked head upon her hand, turned her eyes to the
ceiling, and said, with a sigh as natural and easy as if they were her
own words which she was using, and not those of the immortal Shakespeare
himself, "`By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is a-weary of this great
world!'"--then the vicar broke into a loud "Hear! hear!" of delight, and
Mrs Asplin seized the poker and banged uproarious applause upon the
fender. For the first few minutes amazement and admiration held her
dumb; but as the girls moved to and fro, and the details of their
costumes became more apparent, she began to utter spasmodic cries of
recognition, somewhat trying to the composure of the actors.
Portia's description of her lovers was interrupted by a cry of, "My
table centres! The Turkish squares I bought at the Exhibition, and have
never used! Wherever did they find them?" while a little later came
another cry, as the identity of the plush train made itself known, "My
_portiere_ from the drawing-room door! My beautiful _portiere_--with
the nice new lining! Oh dear, dear! it's dragging about all over the
dirty carpet! Don't sit on it, dear! For pity's sake, don't git on
it!"
"Mother!" cried Esther, in a deep tone of remonstrance; but Portia was
unconscious of interruption. The other actors held their books in their
hands, and, for the most part, read their speeches; but Peggy trusted
entirely to memory, and sighed and yawned over the denunciation of her
lovers, with evident satisfaction to herself as well as to the
beholders. Nerissa read her part "conscientiously," as the newspapers
would say, punctuating her sentences in exemplary fashion, and laying
the emphasis upon the right words as directed by the stage manageress;
but, such is the contrariness of things, that, with all her efforts, the
effect was stiff and stifled, while Peggy drawled through her sentences,
or gabbled them over at break-neck speed, used no emphasis at all, or
half a dozen running, at her own sweet will, and was so truly Portia
that the vicar wondered dreamily if he should have to interview the Duke
of Morocco in his study, and Mrs Asplin sighed unconsciously, and told
herself that the child was too young to be troubled with lovers. She
must not dream of accepting any one of them for years to come!
At the end of the scene, however, anxiety about her beloved _portiere_
overpowered everything else in the mind of the vicar's wife, and she
rushed after the actors to call out eager instructions. "Hang it up at
once--there's good children. If you put it down on a chair, Peggy will
sit on it as sure as fate! And oh! my table centres! Put them back in
the drawer if you love me! Wrap them up in the tissue paper as you
found them!"
"Mother, you are a terrible person! Go back, there's a dear, and do
keep quiet!" cried a muffled voice from behind the dining-room door, as
Shylock dodged back to escape observation; and Mrs Asplin retreated
hastily, aghast at the sight of a hairy monster, in whom she failed to
recognise a trace of her beloved son and heir. Shylock's make-up was,
in truth, the triumph of the evening. The handsome lad had been
transformed into a bent, misshapen old man, and anything more ugly,
frowsy, and generally unattractive than he now appeared it would be
impossible to imagine. A cushion gave a hump to his shoulders, and over
this he wore an aged purple dressing-gown, which had once belonged to
the vicar. The dressing-gown was an obvious refuge; but who but Peggy
Saville would have thought of the trimming, which was the making of the
shaggy, unkempt look so much desired? Peggy had sat with her hands
clasped on her lap, and her head on one side, staring at the gown when
it was held out for her approval two days before, then had suddenly
risen, and rushed two steps at a time upstairs to the topmost landing, a
wide, scantily furnished space which served for a playground on wet
afternoons. An oilcloth covered the floor, a table stood in a corner,
and before each of the six doors was an aged wool rug, maroon as to
colouring, with piebald patches here and there where the skin of the
lining showed through the scanty tufts. Peggy gave a whoop of triumph,
tucked one after the other beneath her arm, and went flying down again,
dropping a mat here and there, tripping over it, and nearly falling from
top to bottom of the stairs. Hairbreadth escapes were, however, so much
a part of her daily existence that she went on her way unperturbed, and
carried her bundle into the study, where the girls sniffed derisively,
and the boys begged to know what she intended to do with all that
rubbish.
"`They that have no invention should be hanged,'" quoted Peggy,
unperturbed. "Give me a packet of pins, and I'll soon show you what I
am going to do. Dear, dear, dear, I don't know what you would do
without me! You are singularly bereft of imagination."
She tossed her pigtail over her shoulder, armed herself with the largest
pins she could find, and set to work to fasten the mats down the front
of the gown, and round the hem at the bottom, so that the wool hung in
shaggy ends over the feet. The skins were thick, the heads of the pins
pressed painfully into her fingers, but she groaned and worked away
until the border was arranged for stitching, and could be tried on to
show the effect.
"Perfectly splendid!" was the verdict of the beholders. And so the
matter of Shylock's gown was settled; but his beard still remained to be
provided, and was by no means an easy problem to solve.
"Tow!" suggested Mellicent; but the idea was hooted by all the others.
The idea of Shylock as a blonde was too ridiculous to be tolerated.
False hair was not to be bought in a small village, and Maxwell's
youthful face boasted as yet only the faintest shadow of a moustache.
The question was left over for consideration, and an inspiration came
the same afternoon, when Robert hurled one of the roller-like cushions
of the sofa at Oswald's head, and Oswald, in catching it, tore loose a
portion of the covering.
"Now you've done it!" he cried. "The room will be covered with
feathers, and then you will say it was my fault! We shall have to
fasten the stupid thing up somehow or other!" He peered through the
opening as he spoke, and his face changed. "It's not feathers--it's
horsehair! Here's a find! What about that wig for Shylock?"
Esther was dubious.
"It would take a great deal of horsehair to make a wig. It would spoil
the cushion if the horsehair were taken away; it would spoil the sofa if
the cushion were small; it would spoil the room if the sofa--"
Peggy interrupted with a shriek of laughter. "Oh, oh, oh! It's like
the `House that Jack built'! How long do you intend to go on like that?
Nonsense, my dear! It would be perfectly easy to take out what we
want, and put it back afterwards. I'll promise to do it myself and sew
it up tightly, though, if you desire my opinion, I think the cushion
would be improved by letting in a little air. You might as well lean
your head on a brick. Max, you are a made man! You shall have a
beautiful, crinkly black wig, and a beard to match! We will sew them to
your turban, and fasten them with black elastic. It will never show,
and I'll finish off the joins after you are dressed. You'll see?"
"You can do as you like! I'm in your hands!" said Max easily; and when
the night of the reading arrived, and he was attired in wig and gown,
Peggy seated him in a chair and tucked a towel under his chin with an
air of business. She had a number of small accessories on a table near
at hand, and Max was first instructed to stick pieces of black plaster
over alternate teeth, so that he might appear to possess only a few
isolated fangs, and then made to lie back in his chair, while his
dresser stood over him with a glue-brush in one hand and a bunch of
loose horsehair in the other.
"Shut your eyes!" she cried loudly. And before he could say "Jack
Robinson" a tuft of the wiry stuff covered his eyebrow. "Keep your face
still!" And, to his horror, the gum was daubed from the borders of the
beard, halfway up to his eyes, and little prickly ends of hair were held
in Peggy's palm and pressed against his cheeks until they were firmly
attached.
This, indeed, was more than he had bargained for! He jerked back his
head, and began a loud-voiced protest, only to be interrupted by shrieks
of excitement.
"Oh, oh, oh! It's beautiful--beautiful! What a fright! What a
delicious fright! No one would know you! You look an old hairy monster
who would gobble up half a dozen Christians. Do look at yourself!"
Peggy felt the pride of an artist in the result of her efforts, and Max
was hardly less delighted than herself as he stood before the glass,
gazing at his hairy cheeks and leering horribly, to admire his toothless
gums. If the result were so hideous as to astonish even those who had
watched the process of his make-up, what wonder that the effect upon
Shylock's fond parents was of a stupefying nature!
Horror kept Mrs Asplin silent until the middle of the scene between
Shylock and Antonio when the bond is signed, and then her agitation
could no longer be controlled, and Shylock's little speeches were
interrupted by entreaties to take that horrid stuff off his teeth, to
use plenty of hot water in washing his face, and to be sure to anoint it
plentifully with cold cream after doing so.
An ordinary lad would have lost his temper at these interruptions; but
Max adored his mother, and could never take anything she did in a wrong
spirit. Anger being therefore impossible, the only other resource was
to laugh, which, in Peggy's opinion, was even worse than the former. A
Shylock who chuckled between his speeches, and gave a good-humoured "Ha!
ha!" just before uttering his bitterest invective, was a ridiculous
parody of the character, with whom it would be impossible to act. It
would be hard indeed if all her carefully rehearsed speeches lost their
effect, and the famous trial scene were made into a farce through these
untimely interruptions!
The second part of the play went more smoothly, however, as the audience
settled down to a more attentive hearing, and the actors became less
self-conscious and embarrassed. If four out of the six were sticks, who
never for a moment approached the verge of the natural, Portia and
Shylock did nobly, and, when the reading was over and the young people
gathered round the fire in the drawing-room, it was unanimously agreed
that they had acquired a more intimate knowledge of the play by this one
evening's representation than by weeks of ordinary study.
"I feel so much more intimate with it!" said Esther. "It seems to have
made it alive, instead of just something I have read in a book. It was
a delightful thought, father, and I am grateful to you for proposing it.
I wish I could do all my lessons in the same way."
"I've not enjoyed myself so much for ages. You just did beautifully,
all of you, and the dresses were a sight to behold. As for Peggy, she's
a witch, and could make up costumes on a desert island, if she were put
to it! But I don't know what is going to happen to my poor, dear boy's
face. Oswald, what is he doing? Isn't he coming to have some lemonade
and cake?" asked Mrs Asplin anxiously. And Oswald chuckled in a
heartless fashion.
"Pride must abide. He would be Shylock, whether we liked it or not, so
let him take the consequences. He is fighting it out with cold cream in
the bathroom, and some of the horsehair sticks like fun. I'll go up and
tell him we have eaten all the cake. He was getting savage when I came
down, and it will sweeten his temper!"
CHAPTER TWELVE.
PEGGY IN TROUBLE.
As Peggy sat writing in the study one afternoon, a shaggy head came
peering round the door, and Robert's voice said eagerly--"Mariquita! A
word in your ear! Could you come out and take a turn round the garden
for half an hour before tea, or are you too busy?"
"Not at all. I am entirely at your disposal," said Peggy elegantly; and
the young people made their way to the cloak-room, swung on coats and
sailor hats, and sallied out into the fresh autumn air.
"Mariquita," said Robert then, using once more the name by which he
chose to address Peggy in their confidential confabs, "Mariquita, I am
in difficulties! There is a microscope advertised in _Science_ this
week, that is the very thing I have been pining for for the last six
years. I must _get_ it, or die; but the question is--_how_? You see
before you a penniless man." He looked at Peggy as he spoke, and met
her small, demure smile.
"My dear and honourable sir--"
"Yes, yes, I know; drop that, Mariquita! Don't take for granted, like
Mellicent, that because a man has a title he must necessarily be a
millionaire. Everything is comparative! My father is rich compared to
the vicar, but he is really hard-up for a man in his position. He gets
almost no rent for his land nowadays, and I am the third son. I haven't
as much pocket-money in a month as Oswald gets through in a week. Now
that microscope costs twenty pounds, and if I were to ask the governor
for it, he wouldn't give it to me, but he would sigh and look wretched
at being obliged to refuse. He's a kind-hearted fellow, you know, who
doesn't like to say `No,' and I hate to worry him. Still--that
microscope! I must have it. By hook or by crook, I must have it. I've
set my mind on that."
"I'm sure I hope you will, though for my part you must not expect me to
look through it. I like things to be pretty, and when you see them
through a microscope they generally look hideous. I saw my own hand
once--ugh!" Peggy shuddered. "Twenty pounds! Well, I can only say
that my whole worldly wealth is at your disposal. Draw on me for
anything you like--up to seven-and-six! That's all the money I have
till the beginning of the month."
"Thanks!--I didn't intend to borrow; I have a better idea than that. I
was reading a magazine the other day, and came upon a list of prize
competitions. The first prize offered was thirty pounds, and I'm going
to win that prize! The microscope costs only twenty pounds, but the
extra ten would come in usefully for--I'll tell you about that later on!
The _Piccadilly Magazine_ is very respectable and all that sort of
thing; but the governor is one of the good, old-fashioned, conservative
fellows, who would be horrified if he saw my name figuring in it. I'm
bound to consider his feelings, but all the same I'm going to win that
prize. It says in the rules--I've read them through carefully--that you
can ask your friends to help you, so that there would be nothing unfair
about going into partnership with someone else. What I was going to
suggest was that you and I should collaborate. I'd rather work with you
than with any of the others, and I think we could manage it rather well
between us. Our contribution should be sent in in your name; that is to
say, if you wouldn't object to seeing yourself in print."
"I should love it. I'm proud of my name; and it would be a new
sensation." But Peggy spoke in absent-minded fashion, as if her
thoughts were running on another subject. Rob had used a word which was
unfamiliar in her ears, a big word, a word with a delightful
intellectual roll, and she had not the remotest idea of its meaning.
Collaborate! Beautiful! Not for worlds would she confess her
ignorance, yet the opportunity could not be thrown away. She must
secure the treasure, and add it to her mental store. She put her head
on one side, and said pensively--
"I shall be most happy to er--er--In what other words can I express
`collaborate,' Rob? I object to repetition?"
"Go shags!" returned Robert briefly. "I would do the biggest part of
the work, of course--that's only fair, because I want two-thirds of the
money--but you could do what you liked, and have ten pounds for your
share. Ten pounds would come in very usefully for Christmas."
"Rather! I'd get mother and father lovely presents, and Mrs Asplin
too; and buy books for Esther, and a little gold ring for Mellicent--
it's her idea of happiness to have a gold ring. I'll help you with
pleasure, Rob, and I'm sure we shall get the prize. What have we to do?
Compose some poetry?"