Loveland had to explain that he had no big baggage, and under the changing, freezing eyes of Jacobus felt as insignificant as a crushed worm. Until very lately he had not known the meaning of this sensation; now, he was becoming accustomed to it as to a daily worn coat; but never perhaps had his pride been more flatly ironed out than in this brief instant.
"What—no wardrobe?" demanded the manager; his tone of friendly condescension to a new member of his company altered to one of bullying suspicion.
"My wardrobe is here," said Loveland, holding out Bill's present.
"Sorry I forgot to bring a magnifying glass," sneered Jacobus. "But see here, I call this false pertences. How are you going to play a new part every night of the week, some of 'em costoom ones, all out of a grip no bigger than your pocket? You ought to have told me what you didn't have—if it wouldn't have taken you too long."
"You ought to have told me I had to play a new part every night," said Loveland, and the young man and the middle-aged one, looking each other straight in the eyes, conceived for one another an intense dislike. "I was given to understand by a person of experience, that I should have enough to get on with until I could buy something—if necessary."
"Well, that depends on how soon you buy," returned Jacobus, less bitterly. "You knew very well that you'd have me on the leg, once you got out here at this Godforsaken place, with your ticket paid. Our show ain't made of money, especially the past two weeks. Heavens! What a frost! We've been livin' on our gleanings from last month (when we were going like smoke) and countin' on the new juvenile lead to help work up better business. That's why I'm so sore at your cheek, Mr. Gordon, shootin' yourself out West with what you stand up in. But as you are here, we must make the best of a bad business. The girls may like you even with whiskers on your shirtcuffs, and I suppose among us, we'll rig you up somehow, out of our theatre trunks. That's what you were layin' for, eh?"
"Look here, if you're going to insult me much more, I shall turn round and go back, if I have to walk," said Loveland, cold, hungry, tired and miserable, but with just spirit enough left in him to be furious.
Jacobus saw that he had gone too far, if the juvenile lead were not to slip through his fingers. He did not want that to happen, though he already had an uneasy jealousy of P. Gordon. So used was he to bullying the members of his company, male and female, that he had hardly realised what was likely to be the effect of his sarcasm, until he saw the expression of the newcomer's face.
"Pshaw!" he exclaimed, laughing. "Don't you know a joke from an insult in your part of the country? It give me a start to see you land without a wardrobe, and I have a right to be mad; but I've just said we'd make the best of it, and help you out all we can. What can we do more? I suppose you don't grudge me a bit of fun? Come along to the great and glorious city of Modunk, which must have as many as one thousand inhabitants. Hope you don't mind goin' on Shanks's Mare? It's the only kind we'd get in this town—even if we ran to something better; but it ain't far—about a mile and a half; and your grip can't weigh much."
Loveland wished that he had no heavier burden to carry than his bag, but he kept the thought to himself, and trudged off with the arbiter of his destiny. The loungers on the bench, too far away to overhear the conversation, guessed that it was not altogether of a friendly nature, and transferred their quids of tobacco to their cheeks, in order to discuss the situation with a new, if fleeting, animation. As he passed them to descend the platform steps to the muddy country road, Loveland caught the words, "Show folks."