THE AUDIENCE DISCOVER THE “SLOPE.”
Next day we learned from a young man whom we came across at Wild’s theatre how affairs had developed at Haworth the previous night. He said that for half-an-hour the fiddler went on playing his favourite tune, “Rosin the bow.” By-and-bye, the audience manifested signs of active curiosity as to the position of affairs, and one man said he would go behind the curtain and see for himself, adding, “There must be something wrong.” He went to the front, and pulled the screen on one side to find—nothing! The audience generally bore up with good heart, but one determined-looking individual said, “I’ve paid my two-pence, an’ I’m bahn ta hev a cannel for it, if nowt else.” And with that he stalked up to the front, and possessed himself of one of the candles which had been in use as footlights. Others then made a rush for the remaining candles, and in the disorder the poor fiddler fared rather badly, for he got his fiddle broken. But Spencer and I afterwards visited him, and made good the loss he sustained. I must say that we never intended the affair to be a swindle, and, borrowing one of my friend Squire Leach’s forcible expressions, I may say we “started with good intentions, whatever came out of ’em.” Perhaps I may be excused for introducing the following verses of my own, entitled “Haworth Sharpness,” to close this chapter:—
Says a wag to a porter i’ Haworth one day,
“Yer net ower sharp—ye drones o’t’ railway;
For fra Keighley to Howarth I’ve been oft enough,
But nivver a hawpenny I’ve paid yer, begoff.”
The porter replied, “I varry mich daht it,
But I’ll gie thee a quart ta tell all abaht it;
For it looks plain ta me tha cuddn’t pass t’snicket,
Without tippin’ ta t’ porter thi pass or thi ticket”
“Tha’ll write up ta Derby, an’ then tha’ll deceive me.”
“I willn’t, this time,” said t’porter, “believe me.”
“Then aht wi’ thi brass, an’ let us be knocking.
For I’ve walked it a fooit-back all raand bi t’Bocking.”