NOT ON THE PROGRAMME.
Uncle Rutherford stood at the far end of the great schoolroom, awaiting
the admission of his two candidates for its privileges and
opportunities. It was the opening-day after the conclusion of the
Christmas holidays; and half a dozen boys, besides Theodore Yorke and
Jim, had presented themselves as new scholars, and they now stood
before the principal,--Theodore at one end of the line, and Jim at the
other.
"What is your name?" asked the principal of Theodore; to which the boy
responded simply, "Theodore Yorke," and then answered in like manner
the few more questions put to him relative to age and so forth; and the
gentleman passed down the line till he came to Jim.
"What is your name?"
To uncle Rutherford's consternation, Jim, straightening himself up,
answered in a loud, confident tone, "Jim,"--he had meant to say
"James," but the more familiar appellation escaped him,--"Jim Grant
Garfield Rutherford Livingstone Washington;" and then glanced down the
line as if to say, "Beat that if you can!"
A titter ran around the room, speedily checked by the stern eye of the
principal, and one or two of the new boys giggled outright; but Jim,
with head erect, and fearless eyes fixed upon the master, was unmoved,
perhaps did not even guess that the merriment was caused by himself.
The principal found it necessary to caress his whiskers a little, then
said,--
"Good names, my boy, every one of them. Try to prove worthy to bear
them. Your age?"
This and the other needful preliminaries being settled, the new boys
were turned over to the examiners, to have their classes and position
in the school defined; and uncle Rutherford made his exit, only too
thankful that the irrepressible Jim had not added to his list of
high-sounding appellations, "President that is to be of these United
States."
School discipline, of course, had, for the time, restrained the gibes
and sneers, the open laugh, which would have greeted Jim's announcement
of his adopted name or names; but the time was only deferred. The joke
was, to the schoolboy mind, too good to be lost; and when the recess
came, and the boys were for a while at liberty, Jim became the target
for many sorry witticisms, and "Jim Grant Garfield Rutherford
Livingstone Washington" was called from all sides of the playground in
almost as many tones of mockery as there were boys; and Jim speedily
found that he had taken too much upon himself for his own comfort. The
"Grant Garfield" had been an after-thought, and he had been prompted
thereto by hearing another boy give his name--to which he was probably
justly entitled--as "George William Winfield Scott Jones." Jim was not
going to be outdone, or to be satisfied with four names, when here was
a fellow with five; hence the "Grant Garfield" on the spur of the
moment.
Milly had feared that even the "Rutherford Livingstone Washington"
would excite derisive comment; and when she heard uncle Rutherford's
report of Jim's further adoption of great names, she groaned in spirit,
and awaited with sundry apprehensions his return from school, fearing
that his excitable temper might have been provoked into some
manifestation, which would not only affect his creditable entrance into
the school, but also his standing with uncle Rutherford.
But Jim had a check upon himself whereof Milly wot not; namely, that he
knew of the prize to be secured in case he gained the approbation of
uncle Rutherford,--a prize which, as we know, he was more anxious to
win for the sake of defeating Theodore Yorke than for the attainment of
the scholarship itself.
So, although he had to put a strong restraint upon himself, and was
inwardly boiling with wrath and indignation, he bore the gibes and
sneers with the utmost self-command, and apparently unfailing
good-nature, till Theodore Yorke, who had made himself at home among
his new surroundings as readily as Jim had done, joined in the
"chaffing" with a vim and bitterness which could have their source only
in a feeling of personal spite and hatred.
"Jim Grant Garfield Rutherford Livingstone Washington," he repeated;
"and he hasn't a right to _one_ of the names, unless it's Jim. He
hasn't got any name; nobody knows what his name is, or who he is, or
where he came from. He hasn't got any folks, either."
This was wounding poor Jim in the tenderest point, as the amiable
Theodore well knew; and it was more than his victim could well stand.
"And I'd rather have no folks at all than have such as yours," he
shouted, almost beside himself with rage at this exposure of that which
he considered to be his disgrace. Then suddenly recalled to a sense of
his regard for this boy's grandparents, Captain and Mrs. Yorke, and of
all the kindness he had received from them,--for a hearty gratitude for
favors received was one of the strongest features of Jim's
character,--he hastened to set matters in their true light; "at least,
such a father as they tell yours was. If I had a gran'father or
gran'mother like yours, there couldn't be none better; but if I had a
father was such a scallywag as yours, I say a good sight better have
none. And you ain't a bit like the old folks, neither; you're another
such a one as your father. _I_ wouldn't own such a one!"
This tirade was interspersed with other expressions more forcible than
choice, and which are better omitted; and, as may be supposed, it did
not tend to mend matters. Recrimination followed recrimination; insults
from one to another went from bad to worse, Theodore being even more of
an adept in such language than Jim, who had always been considered a
proficient; and one of the teachers came upon the playground just in
time to see Jim deal a furious blow at his opponent, who caught sight
of the master before he had returned it, which he would otherwise
doubtless have done; and who immediately assumed an air of innocent,
injured virtue, too lofty-minded and forgiving to return the blow.
As the rules against fighting within school bounds were particularly
severe, Jim's was a heinous offence. He was sternly called to order and
reprimanded with severity; and although, in consideration of his being
a new boy, he was let off with this, he began his school career
somewhat under a cloud; while Theodore posed as a martyr, and a boy
with a regard for school discipline,--to his teachers,--but the other
boys knew better, and with few exceptions espoused Jim's cause, and at
once pronounced Theodore the "sneak" and "bully" that he was. But that
was small comfort to Jim, who, on coming home, had to report, as he
truthfully did, that he had failed to keep his temper on this the very
first day of his entrance into the school.
Milly consoled and encouraged him as best she might, bidding him to
take heart and to struggle even harder for the future, and being very
sparing of blame for his share in the quarrel.
Fate, as short-sighted and with as dull an eye to expediency as uncle
Rutherford, had decreed not only that the two boys, Jim and Theodore,
should be in the same school, but, their attainments being of about the
same range, that they should be put into the same class, an arrangement
which did not tend to the maintenance of the peace so much to be
desired.
But, in spite of his unlucky beginning, Jim speedily became a favorite
in the school, both with masters and schoolmates. His frank, merry
ways, obliging disposition, ready wit, and quickness at repartee, soon
gained him a host of friends on the playground; while his evident
desire to make progress in his studies,--wherein he had a stimulus
unsuspected by any one but Bill,--his sturdy truthfulness, and general
obedience to rules and regulations, won him golden opinions from those
in authority. Ambition, whether for greater or lesser aims, was Jim's
ruling passion, and now he had so many spurs to urge him on; for, added
to his own personal aspirations and the determination to prove himself
a credit to his benefactors, was the overwhelming desire to outstrip
Theodore, and wrest from him the prize.
Milly noticed, whenever he reported progress to her, that there was a
certain sort of repressed excitability about him, a wistful nervousness
very foreign to his assured independence and self-confidence, and he
several times seemed as if he were going to make some disclosure to
her; all of which made his young mistress think that he had something
on his mind which he was half inclined to impart to her, although he
could not quite resolve to do so. She bided her time, however, being
sure that it would come sooner or later, and only now and then tried to
open the way by asking him if he had any thing further to tell her.
But the only result of this would be a shame-faced embarrassment and a
sheepish denial, followed by an evident desire to cut short the
interview.
When Jim had been at school about a month, making, according to the
reports of his teachers, who were closely questioned by uncle
Rutherford, fair progress with his studies, and showing a self-command
and control over his temper which had not been expected from him after
the fiery outburst of the first day, an incident occurred which would
have afforded him an opportunity for mortifying Theodore, had he not
been restrained by a motive which was stronger than his antagonism to
his rival.
The vagaries and peculiarities of Captain Yorke, with his ignorance and
indifference to city ways and manners, had more than once drawn public
notice upon him; the episode of Daisy as a peanut-vender, with the old
sailor as her aider and abetter, being but a trifling circumstance
compared to some others; and Mrs. Yorke was in constant terror lest he
should in some way make himself more notorious than would prove
agreeable.
About this time, a celebrated actor was performing in the city in the
farce of "Dundreary Married," wherein Lord Dundreary having, as the
title indicates, taken to himself a wife, falls beneath the tyranny of
a domineering mother-in-law, to whom he submits till submission becomes
intolerable, when he turns upon her, asserts himself, and proclaims
himself master in his own house.
Our boys, Norman and Douglas, having seen the farce in company with the
rest of the family, and having been greatly amused by it, conceived the
idea of treating the captain to a sight of the same; and, having
obtained father's permission to do so, they invited the old man to an
evening's entertainment.
"Wa'al," he drawled with his usual deliberation when considering any
matter, "I don' care if I do. When I was a youngster, I was brung up to
think play-actin' was a sin, an' I'd about as soon a thought of shakin'
han's with the evil one hisself, as of goin' to the theayter; but
either I've gotten wiser as I've gotten older, or else maybe the
play-actin' folks has gotten better behaved; but times is changed
somehow, an' I seen some play-actin' in the hotel down to the P'int,
an' they was real ladies an' gentlemen did it, too. I was a peepin' in
at the winders more'n once; an' the hotel-keepers, Mr. Loydd an' Mr.
Field, if they didn't come, one one time, an' t'other another, an'
bring me into the hall an' near to the doors where I could see
fust-rate. An' I didn't see no harm onto it. The play-actors was very
pretty behaved, an' I didn't see no breakin' of comman'ments. I never
could see what folks wanted to purtend they was other folks for, and
sometimes to go a-talkin' as if they was come out of by-gone days. But
if you're for takin' me to the theayter, I reckon I won't come to no
harm by it. Enyhow, I know ye've got to come to city ways when ye're to
the city; folks kinder look daggers at ye ef ye don't. There's the
landlady to the house where me and Mis' Yorke puts up; she's the best,
an allers doin' for Mis' Yorke, an' come an' sit with her an' talk--my
talk by the hour she will, straight on, like as she'd been woun' up;
an' she come yesterday, all kin' of fussy like, an' her face red, an'
she says, says she, 'Captain Yorke,' says she, 'ef ye wouldn't mind me
askin' a little favor of ye?'"
"'Sartinly not, ma'am,' says I; an' I was reckonin' she was wantin' to
borrer money. But what do ye s'pose it was, Norman? She goes and she
says, says she, kinder hesitatin' like yet, 'Would ye mind, capt'in,
a-eatin' with yer fork, 'stead of yer knife? Miss Jarvis, what sits
next ye at the table, she's kinder narvous, an' she says it sets her
teeth on edge, an' she says she can't stan' it; an' she's my best
payin' boarder, bein' she has the second-story front an' back; an' it
would obleege me, ef ye don't min'.'
"'Jes' as lief eat off ten forks, ma'am,' says I, 'ef it suits ye an'
Mis' Jarvis. I been a-noticin' she was kinder pernikity like an' fussy,
an' kinder offish with me; but if it's the difference of knives or
forks, the best payin' boarder ain't goin' to be hurt by me.' But,
boys! I didn't know by a long shot what I was a-promisin'. I tell ye,
the knife would keep goin' up the nateral way as it was used to; an'
yesterday I didn't get no kind of a dinner, nor a breakfast this
mornin', thinkin' of that pesky fork. So to-day I was boun' I'd get my
dinner; so I cuts it up an' spoon-victuals it, for fear of hurtin' the
feelin's of the best payin' boarder. City ways is uncommon troublesome,
when ye ain't let eat the way is most handy. But I don't care if I go
to the theayter with ye. I never see the inside of one of them places."
"Oh, a real theatre is nothing like the dining-rooms of the hotels,
where you saw the amateur theatricals," said the posted Norman; "and
father wouldn't let us go if it were any harm. He said we could take
you, captain."
"No; an' I reckon the governor wouldn't be for goin' to no place he
shouldn't go," said the captain reflectively. "An' he was along of you
t'other night, wasn't he?"
Norman and Douglas, anxious to overcome any scruples the old man might
have, assured him that uncle Rutherford went quite often to the
"theayter," and thus quieted any remaining qualms of conscience which
he might have; for Captain Yorke pinned his faith on uncle Rutherford,
and all that the governor did was right in his eyes. So the expedition
to the theatre was arranged to the satisfaction of my brothers, who
anticipated much amusement in watching the impression the play would
make upon the unsophisticated old veteran.
But a shock was in store for them which they had not foreseen; for the
amount of observation which the captain saw fit to draw upon the party
was almost too much for even their well-seasoned boyish nerves.
For the sake of obtaining an uninterrupted view of the stage, the boys
had secured seats which the event proved to be too conspicuous for
their comfort. No sooner were they all seated than the captain began
with his comments and criticisms, his "them's my opinions," in a manner
and tone which they vainly strove to moderate. Fortunately they were in
the main complimentary and approving; and the old seaman's quaint
appearance, his evidently childlike ignorance and inexperience,
diverted those of the audience who were within hearing, and led them to
be indulgent to his rather obtrusive reflections upon men and things.
"Wal," he said, gazing around and above him, up at the lofty frescoed
ceiling, the sparkling crystal chandelier, the rich curtains, and other
adornments of the house,--"wal, it does beat all! It goes ahead of any
meetin'-house I ever see; an', I say, 'tain't fair on the Almighty to
be makin' a better place for to be pleasurin' in, than what we makes
for him to be praised in. Yes, sir; an' them's my opinions, an' I
stands by 'em. What's them folks up in them little cubby-holes fur?"
pointing to the boxes. "Oh," as Douglas explained, "they's high an'
mighty, be they? can't set along of the multitude? Wal, every man, an'
woman too, to her own likin'; I'd as lief be here. Seems kinder
conspicuous like, settin' up thar, an' whiles I ain't ashamed to show
my face afore no man, I don't hanker after settin' up to be stared at."
Happily the occupants of the boxes were beyond the reach of his voice,
or at least of the tenor of his remarks; but the boys were on
tenterhooks lest their garrulous companion should give offence. But
from the moment that the curtain went up, and the mimic scene presented
itself to his gaze, he sat spell-bound and silent, perfectly absorbed
in the vivid portrayal of the chief character in the drama.
The great actor appeared first in the rôle of a celebrated man of his
own profession, an actor of bygone days, whose name will always be
famous; and from the moment that he stepped upon the stage, it was all
reality to Captain Yorke. There was no "pretendin' he was other folks,"
to him, as it had been when he had witnessed the amateur theatricals
and tableaux at the Point; and with a hand upon either knee, he leaned
eagerly forward, his eyes fixed upon the scene before him, and
absolutely speechless in his breathless interest. But when the curtain
came down after the first act, he broke forth again to the edification
and delight of those within hearing. Ladies listened and smiled at the
simple-hearted old man; and gentlemen, who were near enough, encouraged
him to ramble on, evidently considering him a novel species of
entertainment, second only to that which was passing upon the stage. He
was a character as good as any there.
Norman, enchanted with the sensation his charge was making, would put
no check upon him; but the more shrinking Douglas was not so well
pleased. Still, seeing that no offence was given, but rather the
contrary, he possessed his soul in patience, devoutly wishing, however,
that it was time for the close of the performance, which, under these
circumstances, afforded him no pleasure. And as the captain's
excitement grew with each succeeding act, and the encouragement of
those about him, and he grew more and more superior to considerations
of time and place, Douglas would fain have quitted his seat and the
theatre; and was only restrained from doing so, because he thought it
would be mean to leave Norman in the lurch.
At length came the farce "Dundreary Married;" and the captain, who, it
afterwards appeared, had in former years suffered divers things at the
hand of an obnoxious mother-in-law, grew more excited than ever, and
became furiously indignant, not only at the all-assuming lady, but also
at the supine Dundreary, who allowed himself to be thus imposed upon.
He grumbled and muttered, and really seemed as if he would make for the
stage, as he said, "to give the old creetur a piece of his mind." Even
Norman was now uneasy lest he should make more demonstration than was
meet, while Douglas did his best to induce both his companions to come
out; but the captain was immovable, and not to be persuaded. Indeed, he
scarcely seemed to heed Douglas's arguments, so intent was he on the
fortunes of the persecuted husband. His delight when that hero showed
symptoms of some spirit was unbounded; and when at last he roused
himself altogether from the _laisser aller_ which had suffered so long
and patiently, and fairly bade the lady leave his house and his wife to
his own authority and protection, the old man sprang to his feet, and,
waving his hat in the air, exclaimed in a voice which rang in
stentorian tones through the house,--
"Pitch into her, my lad! Give it to her! That's right. Pitch into the
mother-in-law!"
The effect, as may be imagined, was electric. There was a moment's
pause, then a laugh; then, as Norman and Douglas fairly dragged and
hustled the captain into his seat, the inimitable actor bowed and waved
his hand to the old man, who had, as it were, paid such an involuntary
tribute to his powers; and the next moment a storm of applause broke
forth, in compliment to both, it would appear,--to the gratified actor,
who had thrown his spell over the guileless old sailor to such an
extent as to render him insensible to aught else, and to the innocent
spectator who had been thus impressed by his matchless impersonations.
As the performance came to a close, and the audience were leaving the
house, the captain the centre of all eyes around him, an usher made his
way to him, bearing a request from the star that he would step behind
the scenes and shake hands with him.
Nothing loath, the captain readily consented, inviting the boys to go
with him; but this Douglas, much disturbed by the notoriety of the
evening, flatly refused, while bold Norman, who had no fear of man
before his eyes, agreed to accompany him. Indeed, it was not safe to
lose sight of him; there was no knowing of what vagaries the captain
might be guilty if he were left entirely to his own devices. Norman
felt that he was capable of any thing, and that he must keep a secure
hold upon him. Moreover, the old man was not at all familiar with the
city streets, and he must be guided safely to his boarding-house.
When they arrived behind the scenes, the great actor shook hands
heartily with the old seaman, thanking him for the tribute which he had
paid him. But here the captain's enthusiasm fell flat. Meeting the
object of his sympathy face to face, and as man to man, and finding
that the interesting scenes he had just witnessed were but an
inimitable mimicry, was a great disappointment; and he seemed to feel
wronged and defrauded in some way.
"There warn't nothin' real about it," he said indignantly and in a hurt
tone to the boys, as they took their way homeward. "There warn't
nothin' true at all. There bean't no mother-in-law, nor wife, nor
nothin'; there warn't even any chap with the long whiskers, for it
warn't hisself at all, though he said it was--that t'other one shook
han's with me, and said I'd give him a big compliment. 'Twas all
purtendin' an' makin' b'lieve. It's a shame an' a sin for to go makin'
out so life-like ye are what ye ain't, an' takin' folks in so. It's
kinder cheatin' play, _I_ think; an' Mis' Yorke, she wurn't jes' so
easy in her min' 'bout me goin' to the theayter, an' I reckon I've come
to her way of thinkin'; an' thank ye kindly, boys, but there'll be no
more theayter-goin' fur me. The Scriptur says, 'A fool an' his money is
soon parted,' an'--meanin' no ungratefulness to you, boys--I've faith
to b'lieve it; for it's not good manners, neither good deeds, to make
out that way, an' take folks in. An' them's my opinions, an' I'll stan'
by 'em!"
The last thing the boys heard, as the door of his temporary home closed
upon him, was, "No more theayters for me; they're clean agin'
Scriptur."
This, of course, was great fun for our frolicsome Norman, always ready
for a joke or a good story; and although Douglas had not taken
unalloyed pleasure in the events of the evening, he, too, could see the
droll side of them now that they were over. They were rehearsed with
great glee at the breakfast-table the next morning; and it occurred to
me that here, if he chose to use it, was the opportunity for Jim to
revenge himself for some of the sneers cast upon him by Theodore Yorke.
I was wicked enough, however, not to suggest the idea to any one else,
lest a word of warning or counsel should restrain him; and in the
sequel Jim proved himself far the better Christian of the two, in spite
of the superior advantages which had always been mine.
This happened to be Friday, when he brought home from school his weekly
report, which he always took at once to Milly. The record for this week
proved an unusually favorable one; but he had more to add to this.
"Miss Milly," he said, after she had expressed her pleasure at the
progress he was making and at his standing in "conduct,"--"Miss Milly,
I was real forgivin' an' like livin' up to the mark you sot us for
doin' unto others, in school to-day. But it does come awful hard, when
you get the chance to pay off a feller, to let it slip; an' I don't
know as I could have done it if it hadn't been for thinkin' of the old
captain himself, an' how good he'd been to me, an' that I wouldn't like
to go back on _him_."
Light flashed upon Milly. The boy had been tempted to make use of the
occurrences of the preceding evening to revenge himself upon Theodore
Yorke for his previous slights and insults; and had refrained, chiefly
from loyalty to his old friend, it is true, but, perhaps, partly
prompted by the wish to do right.
It had so happened, that two boys in the class had been at the theatre
also, and had been witnesses of the captain's antics, but without
knowing who he was, or of his connection with Theodore. In recess they
told the story, doubtless with more or less of exaggeration, of the old
countryman who had made himself so conspicuous and--according to their
showing--so ridiculous at last night's entertainment.
Of course Jim at once recognized the hero of the tale; but not so
Theodore, his grandfather having, for a wonder, preserved a discreet
silence on the subject, being totally unaware that he had exhibited
himself in an unusual way on the occasion. Perhaps the poor captain had
felt a little mortified that he had been so carried away by that which
was, after all, "on'y pretendin'," and did not care to rehearse his
experience.
However that may be, Theodore had heard nothing of it, and laughed and
jeered with the other boys at the more than graphic relation of his two
schoolmates.
Strong was the temptation to Jim to expose him, and to draw upon his
enemy the laugh which must follow; but, to his credit be it said, he
refrained, except in so far as to give him a knowing look which
conveyed to that amiable youth the conviction that it was no other than
his grandfather who was furnishing food for merriment to half the
school, and that Jim was aware of it and held this rod over him. The
knowledge that this was so was not calculated to soften Theodore's
animosity toward Jim. Disposed as he was to raise a laugh or a sneer at
the expense of another, he could not endure them himself; and to feel
that he was thus in the power of the boy whom he hated, was intolerable
to him. From this time, however, it gave him a wholesome awe of Jim,
and proved a check upon him; and "Jim Grant Garfield Rutherford
Livingstone Washington" rang less often over the playground, now that
he ceased to lead in the cry upon the claimant of so many names.