THE MASK BALL.
NICKIE the Kid only observed his agreements and kept honourable promises
so long as some material advantage flowed from his complaisance. Within a
month he was again haunting the vicinity of the white mansion. One night
he leaned against the fence and watched a procession of guests alighting
from their vehicles. Splendid motors dashed up, and loads of
gaily-dressed ladies and gentlemen quaintly caparisoned were discharged
at the great iron gates, and went trooping up the path to the flaring
white residence, blazing like a crystal palace in a fairy tale.
Nickie was not exactly envious, but looking through the iron railing at
the gay array of lanterns in the vast garden, and the glowing mansion,
and hearing the hubbub of cheerful voices and the laughter, he had a
dawning sense that respectability, especially well-to-do respectability,
had its compensations after all.
He walked to the gate for a better view, and discovered a strange object
lying on the path. It was a false nose, a large, red, boosy nose, with, a
length of elastic to hold it in its place. One of the guests had dropped
it. Nickie put it on in a waggish humour, and stood moralising as three
pretty Spanish dancers, in charge of a toreador, passed in.
Nickie loved gaiety, waster and rapscallion as he was--sunshine, colour,
flowers, beautiful women, life, music and laughter shook passions loose
within him. Another little kink in his brain might have made a poet of
him, just as the smallest turn of chance might have made a deadbeat of
almost any poet of parts.
Mr. Crips actually sighed over that vision of fair women, and longed to
be that happy toreador.
"Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend,
Before we, too, into the dust descend:
Dust unto dust, and under dust to lie,
Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and--sans End."
The quotation had just escaped our hero lips when a young fellow garbed
as Romeo, alighting from a hansom, dashed into him.
"By Jove, that was dooced awkward of me--yes, I beg your pardon, I'm
sure. Should have looked where I was going--what? said Romeo.
"Not at all," answered Nickie politely. "My fault in blocking the path.
My fault, entirely."
"By Jo-o-ve!" gasped Romeo; "that's a stunnin' make-up, old chap--what?
Nevah saw a bettah, by gad."
"Make-up?" said Nicholas. Mr. Crips had for gotten his false nose.
"Ya-as," said Romeo. "Your character, you know. A fellah 'd think you'd
just come from sleeping in a rubbish bin. Yes. Best Weary Willie I've
seen. But aren't you coming in, dear boy? You're a cart for Dolly's prize
for best-sustained character, eh?"
"Presently--presently." said Nicholas, smitten with a sudden idea.
"Waiting for a friend, you know."
Romeo went up the garden path, and Nickie the Kid retired under the
shadow of the hedge to allow his thoughts to revolve. Romeo's words had
suggested possibilities. Mr. Crips rarely wasted time making up his mind.
Three minutes later he was sauntering jauntily up the garden path on the
heels of a laughing Red Indian set.
It was a fancy dress ball. All the guests were masked or otherwise
disguised. Nickie had never encountered a softer thing. He determined to
make a night of it at the expense of the host of "White-cliff." To avoid
unpleasantness at the door, Nickie boldly climbed up the trellis of a
vine, and entered the noisy crowded ballroom through an open window,
rolling head over heels among the guests.
His appearance provoked a shout of laughter. This was the proper way for
a tramp to enter such a house. It was accepted as a quaint effort of
humour. Weary Willie was applauded, and his appearance, when he rose to
his feet, occasioned fresh merriment.
The "make-up" of Mr. Crips was certainly very effective, but with the
exception of the false nose it was nothing but his ordinary habit. He
wore a pair of old grey trousers, lashed up with one brace, and belted
with a strip of red material; between the fringed legs of this garment
and his broken canvas shoes the tops of socks, one white, the other
plaid, were plainly visible. The fact that they were only tops, and not
whole socks, was not to be missed, as they had worked up, and an inch of
bare ankle protruded. Nickie's coat was an old black Beaufort, from which
two buttons' hung on grey threads, which was split half-way up the back,
and from below the tails of which fluttered strips of torn lining. He
wore no vest, and had on a woman's faded pink print blouse as a shirt. He
had a linen collar that had long since lost all claims to whiteness and
all pretence of dignity, and his hat was a small round boxer, with
scarcely any rim. On one of the buttons of his Beaufort hung a strip of
ordinary sugar bag, on which he had written with a stub of pencil the
word "Program."
Mr. Nicholas Crips looked the part to the life. He had not shaved for a
week, and his lank hair was reaching out in all directions from under his
ridiculous hat, and from various strands dangled fragments of his last
couch under the boat shed. Nickie had nothing of the painted,
unconvincing theatrical accessories of the usual fancy dress tramp; he
looked real, and his success was instantaneous and complete.
I have endeavoured to show that Mr. Crips was not a diffident man; he did
not distress himself with scruples; fear of failure in an enterprise of
this kind never worried him. He walked across the grand ball-room,
swaggering in his rags, lifted his hat to a Watteau shepherdess who was
laughing at him from a settee in a recess, and said:
"Would yer darnce with er poor man, kind lydie?"
Again the crowd laughed. A tall Mary Queen of Scots peered at Nickie
through her lorgnette, and said.
"How very whimsical!" The little shepherdess was a merry spirit, and
bowed willingly. Nickie wrote "Milk Made" on his absurd programme, and
the quaintly assorted pair joined in the waltz. How, where and when
Nickie the Kid had learnt to dance Heaven knows, but he waltzed well, and
after that he danced with Mary Stuart in a set.
He was particularly attracted by Mary Stuart. She was a fine woman and
the rakish Nicholas had a discriminating eye where the sex was concerned.
Mary had a bold eye too, and a breezy manner. She took great joy in the
tramp.
A feature of Nickie's very humorous and original impersonation of the
Yarra-banker was his waggish begging. When he had danced, before leaving
his partner, he assumed a most lugubrious manner, and said:
"Dear lydie, would you kindly assist a pore decayed gent, what's got a
bedridden wife an' nine starvin' children, all twins? Just a copper,
lydie. The bailiffs is in, lydie, an' if I don't take 'orne nine-pence
for the rent they'll seize ther kerosene case, an' ther flour-sack, and
ther rest iv ther drorin-room furniture, kind lydie."
A gay vivandiere led Nickie to a portly Henry VIII. "Sire," she said,
"this poor man claims king's bounty for his three sets of triplets. I
humbly commend him to your majesty."
"Just a trifle to assist a poor man, kind gent," whined Nickie the Kid.
"Not a morsel iv turkey's passed me lips for seven days. Just a few
pence, sir, to buy champagne fer me widders and orphans. I don't care
about meself, kind sir."
King Henry promptly dropped half-a-crown into Nickie's hat. Two, or three
laughing guests standing about contributed silver. There was an
impression in the ballroom that the sum of the quaint tramp's collection
would go to a charity. None but Nickie himself knew the charitable object
to which the money was to be devoted.
Nickie danced with all sorts and conditions of women. Romeo slapped him
on the back.
"Splendid, deah boy!" he said. "We been thrown together, you know. Ran'
into you at the gate--what? By gad, you're doin it well. But I say, who
the devil are you?"
"I'm Willie' the Waster, kind young gentleman, and I'm residin' under No.
3 wharf, fifth plank from the corner. Would yer give er trifle towards me
time-payment furniture, please, sir."
Romeo contributed a shilling. "You're a sport," he said. "They're all on
to you. Dolly herself's delighted. Yes, you're right as rain for the
prize, but you might put me on--what?"
"I'm feather-legged Ned, with ther consumptive corf," said Nickie. "Would
you please give me a shillin' t' pay fer me medicine?"
"No, dash me if I do!" said Romeo, and he went off laughing.
Nickie took champagne with Sir Peter Teazie, Rip Van Winkle, Slender, and
Henry VIII., and under the influence of the good wine became more
audacious. He passed the hat with a characteristic complaint wherever a
few guests were assembled, and in view of the vast amusement he was
giving was allowed any license in reason. The offerings of the charitable
he deposited in the tail pocket of his coat, and presently the weight
dragged at him with a grateful pressure, and the silver clanked as he
walked. Fortune was not actually staring him in the face, but it was
hanging on behind.
By one o'clock in the morning Nickie was carrying round a champagne
bottle in his left hand, from which he refreshed himself, and he was no
longer able to walk a chalk line as wide as a tram with an certainty, and
had got into the way of clinging to the curtains and hangings; but this
was all accepted as part of an excellent piece of caricature, and earned
our hero some applause.
Just before supper a lady, dressed as Portia, came forward, and pinned a
neat design of gold laurel leaves and emeralds on the breast of Mr.
Nicholas Crips. It was the prize for the best sustained character, which
the host had offered his guests in a frivolous mood. Nickie bowed in
acknowledgment of applause, and then, with the bottle in one hand, and
his hat in the other, he appealed to Portia.
"Could you spare a copper, kind lydie, to assist a poor orphan what's
laid up with lumbago in the feet. I've bin bed-ridden fer ten years,
lydie, and I lost both me legs in th' battle of Waterloo. On'y a penny
for the battered 'ero good, kind lydie."
At supper Nickie declined to unmask. He would not remove his preposterous
false nose. He also excited doubts and misgivings by the depth of his
thirst and his almost miraculous capacity for food. After supper he was
simply impossible.
Nicholas Crips in his sober moments was quiet and unpretentious in his
rascalities, his temperament was naturally mild; but under the influence
of strong drink he always developed tremendous belief in his own
magnificence, strutted about and fondly fancied himself a king. He was
wholly and completely drunk when he charged into the ballroom at two in
the morning, brandishing a full bottle, and singing uproariously. He
staggered into the middle of the dancers, whirling his magnum.
"Room" he cried. "Room, there, for King Solomon in all his glory" He
whirled his bottle again, and the dancers broke before him. A Sir Toby
Belch got the thick end of the bottle in his natural fatness, and
collapsed with a groan. "Remove the body!" ordered Nickie, magnificently.
"D'ye hear me, there, minions? Remove these offensive remain from the
royal presence."
The guests had retreated against the walls, and Nickie held the floor.
Nobody believed this to be an artistic effort to sustain the character.
Weary Willie was as drunk as a lord. He tittered a wild Indian whoop, and
sang the chorus of "at the Old Bull and Bush," beating time with a leg of
turkey. Then he turned to the band.
"Play 'God Shave King'." he said. "If yeh don' play 'Go' Shave King' I'll
have ver heads off 'fore mornin'."
King Henry interposed, he put a restraining hand on Nickie, and spoke
soothingly to him and Nickie the Kid promptly knocked the poor monarch on
the head. Then rude hands seized Nickie: he was rushed from the house; he
was rushed down the path, and hurled into the street.
When all the guests had left the white mansion at Banklands, and daylight
was streaming in, a weary man-servant interviewed the master of
"Whitecliff."
"Please, sir," he said; "the--eh--gentleman who was thrown out last
night."
"Well, what of him?" asked the host, disgustedly.
"He's sleeping in the garden, sir."
The host went out. He found Nickie the Kid sleeping in the Pansy bed, and
Nickie was pulled to his feet.
"Nicholas!" he gasped.
"That'sh me, Willie," answered Nicholas Crips.
"You blackguard, you intrude into my house and insult my guests, and you
promised when I gave you that last £10 never to interfere with me again."
"Now Willie, Little Willie," said Nickie, "when did I ever keep my
promises?"
"Leave my grounds or I'll give you over to the police!"
"Chertainly," said Nickie. "Chertainly, I'll leave the grounds. There's
always room for me outside."
He took the skirt off his coat, heavy with the contributions of the
guests, in his hand, and strolled joyously through the gate.
"Ta-ta," he said. "Good-bye, Billy, dear ole Billy, dear, old,
fat-headed, bumptious Billy!"
Feeling like a king, Nickie the Kid passed down the road, and the morning
sun glittered on the emblem on his breast. He was still sustaining the
character.