Once, when I was performing at Liverpool, I recall that there was a “new chum” there who was doing some sort of show business in a sketch. He was rather stuck-up and touchy, and he was put through it rather unmercifully in consequence. One night, for instance, he would find his boots had been securely nailed to his dressing-room floor. Another time the sleeves of his coat would be sewn together, and so on.
Well, one night he was waiting in the wings for his cue to go on, and was holding a tall hat in his hand, which he used in his performance. Suddenly this was snatched from him from behind, and jammed on his head.
“There you are,” he cried to the manager, without turning round. “These fellows are always playing larks on me before it is my cue to go on. It puts me off my business. I wonder you allow it.”
“That’s all right from your point of view,” replied the manager. “But the culprit in this case is too big for me to tackle. Better have a go at him yourself.”
Whereupon the victimised “pro.” swung round on his heel in order to take stock of the offender. He found himself face to face with one of Lockhart’s elephants. The beast had been trained by its master to do the trick, and seeing the hat held temptingly had taken advantage of the opportunity.
When the dog-muzzling order was previously in force, Dan Lesson, who was one of the best-known practical jokers in the profession, one day fixed a needle to the front of his dog’s muzzle, allowing it to project an eighth of an inch. And—well you know how friendly dogs are. Another “pro.” fixed a similar needle arrangement to the “push” of his electric bell.
Yet another wheeze of his was to address about fifty envelopes to as many of his friends and acquaintances. These he posted, but omitted to put stamps on. Inside was a card, with these words neatly inscribed on it: “Bet you a penny you paid twopence.”
I think that the following incident is about as perfect an example of the “double cross” as it is possible to conceive.
I was playing in a certain town in the Midlands, and amongst the other performers there was a bright, particular “Knut” who was, as he himself expressed it, “dead nuts” on the girls. The rest of us took advantage of this to, as we thought, play a game on him.
One day he received a letter, written in a disguised feminine hand by one of us, which ran as follows: “Dear Mr. Blank,—I have seen your show from the front and I think it’s simply ripping. But not more ripping, I am sure, than you are yourself if one could only get to know you. May I have that pleasure? If so, meet me opposite the fountain in the park to-morrow afternoon at three. I will wear a blue navy costume trimmed white, suède gloves, and a red rose in my bodice. Signed: One of your admirers—Bessie.”