Chapter X.
THE FIRST ACT.
The noble company of actors stood in breathless expectancy behind the scenes of their theatre, waiting for the sound of tramping feet that should tell of the rush of the public to witness their genius, as shown in this particular line of business. The interest was so great that even Dickey forgot the discomfort of his Macbeth costume, and stood as near a crevice in the boards as possible, to see their patrons as they filed into the hall.
The auditorium was as near a scene of enchantment as tallow-candles could make it. The twelve bottle foot-lights flared and flickered as if they were conscious of the wonderful display of talent they were there to illumine, while the barrel-hoop chandeliers cast even a more brilliant light than one would have supposed. The flower decorations on the wall, forming the word that meant quite as much as if it had been spelled correctly, stood forth in all their beauty, even more prominently than if the light had been stronger.
That Mrs. Green had never acted in the capacity of door-keeper of a theatre before, was shown by the trouble she was having. It had been her purpose to open the street-door, and then go in advance of the crowd to the door of the hall, where she could receive either the money or the tickets of those who entered. But one look at the noisy throng was sufficient to convince her that more than half of them would distance her in the race up-stairs. She therefore changed her plan, and by exerting all her strength she was able to keep the door closed so far as to prevent more than one from entering at a time. By this means she succeeded in collecting tickets from nearly all who entered. As soon as she thought she could do so with safety, she ran up to the attic-door, where she could act the part of door-keeper with more comfort and dignity.
At least fifteen minutes before the advertised time for the performance to begin, every one of Dickey’s board-seats were filled with a noisy, perspiring crowd of boys, who found considerable amusement in swaying back and forth on the not very secure seats, until one of them would go down with a crash. This seemed to afford the greatest amount of amusement to those who were thus thrown to the floor.
Good Mrs. Green was thoroughly astonished by the amount of patronage bestowed that night; for after she thought that the audience was complete, boys of all sizes continued to pour in, until she had quite a pile of five-cent pieces in her apron, besides the tickets, and nearly one-half of those present were obliged to stand.
Although it was not eight o’clock, the audience suddenly came to the conclusion that it was time for the performance to begin, and they announced that fact by piercing whistles, furious stamping of the feet, and such gentle admonitions to the managers as, “Hurry up, Mopsey,” “Give it to us now, Shiner,” as well as other phrases betokening extreme familiarity.
The managers of this theatre were not unmindful of the fact that their audience must be obeyed, even if some of the rules were broken, and Ben and Paul were ordered by the author, who had taken upon himself the position of sole manager, to raise the curtain. Then Nelly came out and sang a melody that all were familiar with, being assisted by the audience in the chorus, until Mrs. Green was obliged to cover her ears with her hands, lest the great volume of music should give her a headache.
This portion of the entertainment was greeted with the wildest applause; and when Master Dowd, after Nelly had left the stage, attempted to appear in all the gorgeousness of his costume, he was plainly told to go back and let Nelly sing again—a command which he obeyed at once, lest some of his audience should take it into their heads to force compliance.
After Nelly had sung the second time the applause died away, as if the audience were willing that the regular business of the evening should proceed. All the actors were standing where they could go on to the stage at a moment’s notice, save Dickey, who was leaning against the wall, holding his sword straight out, at the imminent peril of hitting some one of his partners as they passed.
“Now be all ready, Dickey,” said Mopsey, warningly, as he prepared to go on the stage.
“See here,” whispered Johnny, “be kinder careful when you an’ I fight, ’cause there’s lots of pins in these pants.”
Mopsey nodded his head, as much as to say that he would look out for such things, and in another instant he was before the foot-lights, receiving a storm of applause, although he was at a loss to know whether it was directed to him personally, or to the costume he wore. So great was the enthusiasm manifested by his presence that it was some moments before he could speak, and during that time the few lines he knew of the part of Richard the Third had entirely escaped his memory. It was a trying moment both to him and his brother actors, who were watching him, as he stood there with drawn sword, first on one foot and then on the other, waving his hand and then the weapon, as if he were about to speak, and yet making no sound.
“Go on, Mopsey—say something,” whispered Ben in a hoarse voice; and the audience hearing him, suggested kindly,
“Yes, give us somethin’, old man.”
Thus urged, Mopsey made one mighty effort, and shouted in his loudest tones, as he waved the sword still more frantically than ever,
“I’ve lost my hoss! I’ve lost my hoss, an’ I want some one to tie up my head—but—but—but I’m a match for any feller ’round here, and—and—”
It was not only evident to the audience, but to Mopsey himself, that it was of no use for him to try to remember the words he should have spoken, and he waved his sword frantically for Johnny to come on, hoping to save his good name by the bloody combat, which could be prolonged until their patrons were in good-humor. But just at this moment it was impossible for Johnny to be of any service. He had tried to alter the position of some of the pins in his trousers, so that they would not prick him so badly, and the consequence was that the entire work was undone, while one leg fell down over his foot in a manner that prevented him from stepping, unless at the risk of tumbling flat on his face. Ben did his best to repair the damage, while Mopsey stood waving his sword, whispering very audibly for Johnny not to mind the pins but to come on. Meantime the audience, in the loudest tones, coaxed Johnny to come out and take Mopsey away.
But Ben succeeded finally in getting the ill-costumed Othello arranged so that it was possible for him to walk, and he rushed on to the stage, the gun in one hand and the sword in the other, just as Mopsey was meditating a retreat from the freely-expressed criticism of his audience.
The relief of the author-actor when he saw Othello was greater than could be expressed by words, and he resolved to regain the good opinion of the audience by the ferocity with which he would wage the combat. It is probable that some such thought was expressed in his face when he rushed towards Johnny, for, startled by the furious bearing of his partner, Othello became frightened, and holding both weapons in front of him, he looked ready for instant flight. It seemed as if this very timidity restored to the prototype of the cruel Richard all his assurance, for now, suddenly remembering the words he should have spoken at Johnny’s first appearance, he waved his sword still more furiously, and shouted,
“It looks as if there was more than a dozen of this same feller, for I’ve killed four or five already, an’ here’s a lot more of him.”
HOLDING BOTH WEAPONS IN FRONT OF HIM, HE LOOKED READY FOR INSTANT FLIGHT.
Johnny was a trifle alarmed at the words, and looked almost timidly behind him to see if he was really there in several forms, or if it was only a portion of the play, when Mopsey struck his gun so severe a blow with the edge of his sword that it fell from his not over-strong grasp, striking directly on the toes of the blood-thirsty Richard.
There was a howl of pain as Mopsey dropped his sword with a clang, and appeared trying to gather his feet into his arms, where he could nurse them, while this shock of weapons on the frail stage caused such a motion of the foot-lights that two of them fell to the floor, smashing the bottles. The audience in the reserved seats, anxious to prevent any disturbance of the performance, scrambled for the candles, and the two who succeeded in getting them before they were extinguished kindly held them in their hands during the remainder of the scene.
“Don’t you know enough to fight when the time comes?” cried Mopsey, who, having given up the useless task of nursing his bruised feet, picked up his sword again and advanced once more upon the timid Othello, who was trying to decide whether he should remain there or run away.
These words had the effect of spurring Johnny on to a more perfect acting of his part, more especially since some of his friends in the audience cried out, in a friendly way, “Go for him, Shiner, an’ give him fits.”
Then Johnny did “go for” his adversary almost too strongly, for he refused to die as Mopsey had told him he must, but continued to strike out wildly with his sword, hitting Mopsey’s weapon a portion of the time, and when he failed in that, coming so near Richard’s face that it seemed certain he would slice off one of his ears or his nose.
It was a furious combat, truly, and the audience favored it with the most generous applause, some inciting Mopsey and others Johnny to renewed exertions, until Mrs. Green started up in alarm, fearing that a riot would ensue.
“Why don’t you die?” whispered Mopsey, hoarsely, as he panted from exertion, and believed that in justice to the other performers the battle should end.
But Johnny refused positively to die, and it is probable that he would have continued the fight as long as he had strength or breath left, had he not been the victim of his own architectural shortcomings. He, the one who had built the stage, actually forgot the pitfalls in the form of spaces left uncovered because of lack of lumber; and in the excitement and fury of the battle, minding only the shouts of encouragement from the audience, he fell into one of these yawning pits, and Richard had a chance to become himself once more. With head down and heels up, the unfortunate Othello struggled in the prisoning space until every one of the bottle foot-lights had been displaced, and an even dozen of the audience seated themselves on the floor, holding the candles in their hands obligingly. Ben had taken Dickey from his leaning-place against the wall, and brought him to the side from which he was to make his entrance when Richard and Othello had first begun to fight, so that when Johnny fell he rushed on in a sidelong way, in order to present his sword-arm to the conqueror.
King Richard was so entirely exhausted from his long struggle that he had apparently forgotten the course he had marked out for the rest of his company, and was leaning on his sword, gazing at the supposed-to-be-dead Othello, wondering whether he ought to help him to rise or not, when Ben launched Dickey full at him. He had no time to parry the shock, nor Macbeth to check the force with which Ben had sent him, and the consequence was that Richard and Macbeth fell almost directly on top of the struggling Othello with a thud that threatened to rend asunder each particular board of the frail stage.
Mrs. Green uttered a cry of horror as she realized that the cover of her new wash-boiler must have been injured; but that noise, as well as the terrified squeak from Othello, was drowned in the burst of applause that came from the spectators. Mopsey sprang to his feet as quickly as possible, bowing his acknowledgments to the audience as if he had planned the scene, while poor Dickey lay prone upon the almost suffocated Johnny, unable to rise, or even to move so that Othello might extricate himself.
As the audience continued to applaud, Mopsey felt that he was forced to remain before them, bowing, and almost expecting to be deluged with bouquets, and, of course, he was not aware that two members of his company needed his immediate assistance.
“Help Dickey! Why don’t you help Dickey?” whispered Ben from the wings, thinking that it would not be seemly in the ghost of Hamlet’s father to rush on to the stage before his time. But King Richard paid no attention to this call, if indeed he heard it, and, after waiting some moments, Ben, with his ghostly covering still flung over his arm, was obliged to go to the assistance of the two warriors, thereby causing a fresh burst of applause. He rolled Dickey over and over until Paul could drag him off by the shoulders, and then pulling Johnny out by the feet, he aided him in repairing the damages done to his costume by his descent through the stage.
It was now time that the dead Othello should do his song and dance, and in a very audible whisper he informed Mopsey that he had better get off, and give him the chance. Some of the audience suggested the same thing, and very reluctantly Mopsey left the stage, while Johnny concluded the act in a highly successful manner by a dance that was considerably better executed than was his sword-play.