"Do. A real heart to heart talk," urged Lillie. "Tell him we mean sharing terms, of course. If it really can be fixed up, it's pretty sure the landlord'll keep us all on spec."
Loveland, who was now the only able-bodied young man of the party, and whose idea it had been to get up the entertainment, went out at once, luckily catching the local manager of the grandiloquently named Opera House, just as he was virtuously setting forth to church.
Jacobus, it seemed, had "settled up all right" with him the night before, and he was surprised to hear of the flight. But he had his bride—a third bride—with him, and feared that she would not consider it decorous to discuss theatrical business in the street, on Sunday, on the way to church. He would have sent the "show man" away rather cavalierly without any definite answer if the bride, who, like an intelligent baby, was already beginning to "take notice," had not put in a word for the handsome young Englishman.
"I don't care if we are five minutes late," said she, conscious of a hat which would receive the more appreciation if all the other hats were already in their pews.
So the manager relented, and admitted to Loveland that the "house" was "open" for three nights. After that, the Dandy Lady Minstrels were coming to finish out the week. Their advance agent would arrive on Monday, without doubt, and "bill the town," so that a makeshift show wouldn't stand much chance. As the Opera House was free, however, the marooned actors might have their chance, but it was a "spec" for him—the manager—and ordinary sharing terms weren't good enough. He stipulated for two thirds of the profits, if any, above expenses, and would not unbend, though the bride motioned her compassion for the actors, with lifted eyebrows.
All the rest of the day, Loveland was busy. He finished copying the parts, which must be learned and rehearsed, so that the play might be produced tomorrow night.
There was a newspaper in Ashville, which came out once a week; and the company decided, after a stormy debate, to spend one of the six dollars in buying from the office large sheets or rolls of the coarse white paper on which this weekly publication was printed. Having secured a good supply, and obtained black paint and a big brush from a sympathetic sign-painter, who was a customer of the hotel, Loveland set to work, with Binney's aid and direction, to manufacture some crude posters.
He announced in black letters, so gigantic as to be almost convincing, that the principal members of the Little Human Flower's All Star Company had been persuaded to remain for a special three nights' engagement, in order to produce the sparkling comedy, "Lord Bob," New York's Latest and Biggest Success, by the popular playwright, Sidney Cremer.
At least a dozen duplicates of this announcement he produced, after hours of painstaking labour, which cost him a cramp in his right hand, if not in his temper.
It really was nervous work for an amateur, drawing out and spacing the huge letters with pencil, then filling them in with thick splashes of black paint—especially as the paper was thin, sometimes letting the big brush break through, and costing another sheet, another hour's toil. But it was extraordinary how much interest Loveland took in his self-appointed task, how easily controlled was his impulse to be cross when Ed Binney or "Pa" Winter interrupted him with a suggestion.