"Originality is nothing more than judicious imitation."
—Voltaire.
Next morning when the company appeared they were not a little surprised to find themselves far out to sea. The day was bright and all hands were in a cheerful mood. The first question asked of the energetic manager was "Where next?" He turned toward the inquirer and replied he never discussed business on an empty stomach when he had the opportunity of doing so on a full one.
"Lay her course south by east, cap," was his brief order to the sailing master. "Rather fancy we'll run in somewhere near Oyster Bay—where, I'll tell you later on."
When breakfast was served ample justice was done to the repast. Here, be it said, the company lived well. The best the market afforded was not too good for them. Handy was as capable a judge of a beefsteak as any man on the boards, and he bought the best. His companions knew it, and were willing at all times to go with a commission to the shop.
"Were you ever in the market, governor?" inquired the Little 'Un at the close of the meal.
"Yes, sir. I have frequently been in the market," was the prompt reply, "but like many other willing and anxious individuals somehow or other, no one ever reached my price."
"Oh, I didn't mean that, old man. I simply meant were you ever employed in a meat market, for that was as nice a piece of steak as I ever tackled, it was so tender and juicy. Unless a fellow was a judge he never could have picked out such a choice cut."
"Oh, I did not quite comprehend you! I now catch on. Well, you all, of course, know that I served in the army and——"
"I told you," whispered Smith, in a humorous aside, "he was a butcher."
"And, as I was about to remark, I had much experience in the commissariat depart——"
"Say," interposed the Little 'Un, who had frequently been an unwilling and tired listener to very many of Handy's well-worn war stories, "are you agoing to ring in a war story on us, old pard?"
"Well, I was merely about to explain that in keeping with my army experience that——"
"Nuff sed," remarked the dwarf, rising from his seat. "Good morning!"
"Some other morning" echoed Smith, and he too rose from his seat.
"Me, too. Ta ta! Tra la la!" lilted the light comedy man, as he pushed his empty plate to one side, and one by one the remainder of the Pleiades rose in solemn silence before Handy had time to realize that his war stories were away below par among the members of his company.
Handy remained alone for some time below, probably turning over in his mind the problem of the next venture, and then went on deck. He found his companions taking things easy in free and easy positions aft. It was a forenoon to satisfy every desire of those who love the open air. The wind was light—a nice sailing breeze—and the sun was not too warm. Few words were spoken, save inconsequent remarks now and then on some passing sail. The monotony of the situation was finally broken by the manager, as he proceeded to unburden himself of his intentions for the next entertainment.
"Our next move will be to play Saturday night, that is, to-morrow, in one of these little towns near by on the Long Island shore, and with that performance bring our tour to a close, return to the city, get a few more good people and lay out a new route. We have done fairly well, all things considered, on this trip, and we can afford to strengthen our organization and give the public something better, if not stronger. The pieces we have been presenting are rather ancient,—almost too classic,—though I must admit we offered them in a somewhat original manner. We must, however, keep pace with the times—be up to date. The simple life is all very fine in books, but, my friends, 'tis the strenuous life that produces the stuff. Excuse slang, but it is much employed nowadays, and vigorous emphasis is used even by the most refined. If we don't get new attractions I am afraid we may have to resort to giving away souvenirs. Souvenirs have, in their day, had all the potency of a bargain counter in a popular department store well advertised. Personally, I do not take kindly to the souvenir business. It isn't professional."
"That's all right," conceded Smith, "but an old piece frequently becomes new when you subject it to unique treatment. Now, for example, I don't think anyone has any kick coming at the original manner in which we gave 'Uncle Tom's Cabin' and 'Humpty Dumpty.' No one ever saw them so presented before. Of course, if we had one of these modern Shakespeares, that the commercial managers keep on tap, we could have a piece written for us while we were under way to the next night stand. But that's out of the question. I would like, in common with the rest of the push, to know what is going to be our next offering."
"Let me see. Just a moment's pause," replied Handy thoughtfully. "We might do a bit of a tragedy if we had the props, but we haven't got them. Besides, the trouble with most tragedies, as a rule, is the long cast, and in addition they do not give a compact all-star organization such as ours a chance to show what we really can do. We gave them our version of Uncle Tom nearly two weeks ago; and outside of Brooklyn, I conscientiously believe that once a year is often enough for the remainder of Long Island. On mature consideration, therefore, I have come to the conclusion that our best offering would be a minstrel grand opera concert entertainment. We have made an impression in that direction, and I am in favor of that which will sustain the reputation we have so admirably earned."
"Who's going to sing the solos, old man?" asked the Little 'Un. "You know, boss, the boys ain't much on the sing. They can work along all right with a good strong chorus when they once get started and warmed up, but when it comes down to the fine single throat work I am afraid we'll get in the soup."
"He's dead right," put in Smith, "the single singing—solos, I believe they call them—in the first part will be a hard nut to crack. We can't give a minstrel show without a first part. They'd never believe we were operatic minstrels without it, even if we didn't black up."
"Hold! Enough!" cried Handy, in his favorite Macbeth voice. "You make me a bit tired with this kind of baby talk. Haven't you fellows got common sense enough to know that it is not absolutely necessary to have a voice to be a singer? Suppose a singer once had a voice and lost it, would that be a good and sufficient reason for him or her to get out of the business? How many of them do it, eh? It is just the same with the singing trade as it is in our overcrowded profession. How many of the so-called actors that inundate the stage quit the boards when they know—if they know anything—they have no talent for it. You fellows give me a pain. Voices and singing! Pshaw! I'll fix all that! I'll give a couple of you good high-sounding Eyetalian names, and I'll announce you as hailing from the Royal Imperial Conservatory of Stockholm, and I'd like to see the Long Island jay that will say you couldn't sing, even if you had as little music in your voice as the acrobatic star of a comic opera company."
"And now will you be good?" playfully chirruped in Smith.
"Now, Nibsy, you will have to tackle a solo; and as you are to be announced as a foreigner, you must treat your audience to something different from anything they have heard before. As you will sing it, of course, none of those present, with, possibly, the exceptions of a few, will undertake to understand what you are driving at. A few will pretend they do—there are know-alls in every audience; the majority will take their cue from them, and that will settle the matter."
"I tumble. But might I ask if you have any choice in the operatic selection."
"No; none in particular, only that you must avoid any of the very familiar airs from 'Faust,' 'Trovatore,' or 'Lohengrin.' These great works have been so hackneyed by frequent repetitions at the Metropolitan Opera House and Hammerstein's, and Sunday sacred concerts, that they have been worn threadbare and become as commonplace as 'Mr. Dooley' or 'Harrigan.' Now let me think. Ah, yes! Have you heard that comparatively new opera by Punch and Ella called 'Golcondo?'"
"Search me. No."
"Well, then, I don't think the audience have either," replied Handy, "so your first solo will be from that delightful composition!"
"And for the encore, what?"
"The last part over again, if you can remember it, and we'll help you out in the chorus."
"Say, can't you let me know the name I am going to honor? And, by the way, there's one thing more I wish to be enlightened on. Will it be necessary for me to speak with a foreign accent before the show, in case I come across any of the inhabitants of the town before I go on?"
"Oh, no! That is not absolutely necessary. Don't you know that many of the Eyetalian opera singers in these days are Irish, some are English, a big bunch are Dutch, Poles or Scandinavians, and quite a sprinkling of them Americans. No, it isn't essential to use the accent in private. You will be announced as Signor Nibsinsky!"
"Is that an Eyetalian name?"
"Oh, Nibs, don't be so specific. Nibsinsky is as valid a name as any artist might select to adopt. I give it the Russian smack because of my Russian proclivities."
"Say no more, old man. Let it go at that."
"So far as the chorus is concerned, we know where we stand and what we can do—and the audience will before the show is over. As for jokes and funny business—they are easy. But, say, we ought to ring in a couple of instrumental solos. The banjo, of course, will do for one. It is new, because it is very old. So that's all right. For the other—now, let me think. By Jove, I've struck it! Little 'Un, you can do a violin solo in great shape."
"What! Me do a violin solo," answered the dwarf. "Why, you know very well I can only play a little bit, and only in an amateur way. Oh, no! Oh, no! Not this trip."
"Easy there, my festive fiddler. Easy there, and loan me your ear. I'll arrange that all right. You will be announced as a pupil of the great Ysaye, and of course, being a pupil of that wonderful magician of the violin, you must start in with a classical selection from one of those old masters. Which of them there's no use wasting time over. They won't be recognized. Then when it comes for you to get in your classic work, all you've got to do is to play as crazy as you can, bend your body, hug your fiddle, make your bow saw wood over the strings, look at times as if you were going into a trance or a fit, do any blame thing that may appear eccentric—for that, you know, is one of the characteristics of genius and originality—and you'll catch the crowd every time."
"But, say, Handy, what about the wig?"
"Oh, that's all serene. We've got it. You don't for a moment imagine I would have you go on as a star fiddler without a bushy head of hair! Not much. As the poet sings—'There's music in the hair.'"
"That settles it. My mind is easier now."
"But that's not all. When you get through with your classical gymnastics on the instrument, I will come down to the front and announce that you will kindly give an imitation of an amateur player wrestling with 'Home, Sweet Home.' There will be your great opportunity. The worse you play it the more successful you will be, for, don't you see, you will be closer to nature. I think that will be a great stunt. Don't you, boys?"
They all thought it would be immense; at least, so they said. The Little 'Un himself fairly chuckled with glee at the prospects of being an amateur virtuoso of the fiddle, even for one night only. The remainder of the programme was quickly made up. One or two brief sketches and a rather rough and tumble arrangement for the close, which the enterprising managers designated as "The Strollers' Melange," completed the night's entertainment.
CHAPTER XI
"All places that the eye of Heaven visits
Are to the wise man ports and happy havens."
—Richard II.
By midday the Gem of the Ocean, aided by a favoring wind, made good time and Handy determined to run in to a convenient little cove near Oyster Bay. He knew the locality and felt satisfied that if he had his usual share of luck he could make good and therefore add something to the company's treasury. By one o'clock the anchor was dropped and he and Smith made a landing and both started to do the usual prospecting. They were successful beyond their expectations. The little town which they proposed to honor with a visit was not far from the water. A small grove and a hill shut it out from a view of the Sound. The main road ran down to a narrow inlet which served as a kind of harbor for fishing boats, oyster sloops and clammers. Handy's well-trained eye lighted on an eligible site for the tent. It was a nice level plot with a fence about it. A good-natured Irishman named McGuiness owned the property, and Handy lost no time in opening negotiations and getting on his right side.
"An' yez want the use of the lot for a concert minstrel entertainment?" inquired the proprietor.
"Yes," replied Handy, "and for to-morrow night."
"An' yez are going to give the show under the cover of a tint?"
"That's about the size of it."
"Have yez got the tint?"
"We have, and the show that goes with it, and what's more, after you have witnessed the performance you'll say it is the best that ever struck the town. Moreover, I want you to bring your whole family with you and have seats in the first row for all of them."
"Well," said McGuiness, "I don't mind lettin' yez have the use of the lot, an' I'll do all I kin, in a quiet way, to help yez along, but there's one thing I want to be afther tellin' yez, an' it is this, that I'm thinkin' there will be the divil to pay whin Mr. Dandelion finds out there's going to be a minstrel entertainment here."
"How's that?" inquired Handy, "and who is Mr. Dandelion?"
"He's a very dacint kind of man, as min run at present," replied McGuiness, "even if he is a Methodist preacher, but he hates showmin like snakes. He don't seem to want the young people to have any fun or amusement at all, at all, shure. That's why I'm afraid he will raise ould Harry when he finds yez here. An' then again, don't yez see, there's a fair goin' on in his church, an' to-morrow is to be the big day, and iv yez are goin' to have your show to-morrow night, don't yez see he may think you would draw off some of his customers? Well, I don't go to his church, God help me, so yez kin have the use of the ground. But looka heer. Whisper, if it's all the same to you, don't put up the tint till after nightfall. I'll see yez again. I'm goin' home now," and Mr. McGuiness walked slowly up the road.
"Smith, me boy," spoke Handy, as soon as Mr. McGuiness was out of hearing, "we have struck a bonanza. Are we in it? Well, this is the best ever! Say, old fellow, when that sky-pilot casts his eyes on that tent of ours to-morrow morning there will be something doing about these diggins, and don't you forget it. Why, the amount of advertising he will give the show will do us more service than if we planted twenty acres of posters all over the fences that adorn the smiling landscape of this peaceful and prosperous community. Let us go aboard at once. The main biz is done. It's a dead sure cinch, Horatio."
No move was made on board until ten o'clock. The place was then as still as a country church-yard, and scarcely a light was to be seen in any of the houses when Handy and his company took possession of the lot and began the preliminaries for the following day's operations.
A few hours of energetic work and the tent was set up, and later on the stage properties, costumes and musical instruments were all safely lodged under the cover of the canvas. Two of the organization remained on guard and the others returned to the Gem.
The unexpected appearance of the tent next morning took the inhabitants completely by surprise. No one could tell how it got there. Like a mushroom it came up overnight. The farm-hands on their way to work halted to look it over; the oystermen and clammers on the way to their boats loitered near the spot to inspect it, and by nine o'clock most of the boys and girls within a mile of the place spread the news broadcast that there was an actors' show in town. About ten o'clock the news had reached the dominie, and half an hour later he was in consultation with the leading lights of his congregation. The consensus of views induced them to call upon Mr. McGuiness. The tent was on his property, and he, they concluded, when appealed to would no doubt order the trespassers off. They considered it an abomination, from their standpoint, for him to permit show-actors to offer an entertainment, and more especially on the last day of the church fair, when a numerous gathering was expected. A committee was accordingly appointed to wait on Mr. McGuiness, but unfortunately that gentleman was nowhere to be found.
At two o'clock in the afternoon Handy gave a free concert in front of the tent. The audience, it is needless to say, was not a critical one and was easily pleased. When it was over and the energetic manager announced a display of fireworks in the evening, both before and after the performance, there wasn't a youngster within the sound of his voice who did not spread the cheering information far and wide. Those who came to attend the fair in the little church performed that duty early in the afternoon and afterward arranged to visit the tent show of the actors later on in the evening. The display of fireworks was not what one might expect to witness at Manhattan Beach in the height of the season, when that popular resort was swept by ocean breezes and when the renowned Pain was there, but there was sufficient red fire burned to light up the surrounding country. There was a crowd outside and when the doors were opened there was a rush for seats.
The house or tent was filled in a short time, and the audience was treated to a polyglot entertainment of the most remarkable character. Nibsinsky's Eyetalian selections were listened to with some degree of attention and a considerable measure of perplexity. He could not be considered a success and no inducements could compel him to repeat the performance. But these things will occasionally happen even with some of the latest edition of stars! Ysaye's musical prodigy made some extraordinary exhibitions with his classical contortions, but his imitations of an amateur violinist with "Home, Sweet Home" won the approval of all present and brought down the house. It was voted the best thing of the whole show. The familiar choruses too pleased the young folks, so much so that they all joined in and had a jolly time. The grown people laughed heartily over all the threadbare jokes that were given, and which have been passing current in every minstrel show and country circus from the days of Dan Rice down to Lew Dockstader.
"It was, I have an idea, the worst show we ever gave," declared Handy a few days after while speaking of it, "but the people seemed to like it. Just as it is in New York, it is a difficult matter to strike public taste. That's what makes the manager's life like unto that of a policeman's—not a happy one. The people who paid to see the show made no complaint, and I don't think that I should."
"Do you think the dominie's opposition hurt your entertainment much?"
"Hurt it! Not in the slightest. On the contrary, I believe it benefited it. His opposition advertised the entertainment, and, by the way, advertising is another of these vexed problems most difficult of solution. I felt I owed his reverence something for what he unintentionally accomplished in our behalf, so how do you think I got square with him?"
"That's too much for me, old chap," answered his friend. "How?"
"Well, the next day was Sunday, and before we got away I called on Mr. McGuiness, to return him thanks for the way he treated us. 'Mr. McGuiness,' said I, 'you have been kind and generous to my little company of players, who are doing their best to make an honest living in their own peculiar way. I now come again to you to ask that you do me one more favor.' 'What is it?' said he. 'It is this,' said I. 'Will you accompany me to call on the dominie? He helped me with his opposition last night, and I want to get square with him if I can.' McGuiness hesitated. 'Oh, don't fear,' I assured him. 'I mean no harm. The fair at the little church, I learned, was to swell the fund that's being raised to help the widow and orphan. I want you to go with me to ask the dominie to accept the offering of a few poor strolling players to increase the fund.' McGuiness thrust his hand toward me, but said nothing. I could see he was affected, for there was a watery look in his eyes. We walked together in silence down the road until we reached the little church."
"And the dominie?"
"He met us like a man. And when I explained my errand, and handed him our little dole, and turned as if to leave, big, good-hearted McGuiness, his voice somewhat affected by his feelings, said, 'Howld on a minnit; I don't know, dominie, what he's givin' you, and what's more I don't care, but you can count on me, dominie, for double the amount.'
"I don't know when I felt so happy, as I walked down to the shore, between the dominie and McGuiness, for I felt we had done an act that men might well feel an honest pride in, while we made two men friends in that little village who might otherwise have remained estranged."