Mr. Owens was of medium height and very brisk in all his movements, walking with a short and quick little step. He had a wide mouth, good teeth, and a funny pair of eyes. The eyeballs were very large and round, and he showed an astonishing amount of their whites, which were of an unusual brilliancy and lustre; this, added to his power of rolling them wildly about in their sockets, made them very funny; indeed, they reminded many people of a pair of large peeled onions.
I think his most marked peculiarity was his almost frantic desire to provoke laughter in the actors about him. He would willingly throw away an entire scene—that is, destroy the illusion of the audience—in order to secure a hearty laugh from some actor or actress whom he knew not to be easily moved to laughter; and what was more astonishing still, if an actress in playing a scene with him fell from tittering into helpless laughter and failed to speak her lines, he made no angry protest, but regarded the situation with dancing eyes and delighted smiles, seeming to accept the breakdown as proof positive that he was irresistible as a fun-maker.
For some reason I never could laugh at "Solon Shingle." Mr. Owens had opened in that part, and as I stood in the entrance watching the performance, my face was as grave as that of the proverbial judge. He noticed it at once, and paused a moment to stare at me. Next morning, just as he entered and crossed to the prompt-table at rehearsal, I, in listening to a funny story, broke out in my biggest laugh. Open flew the star's eyes, up slid his eyebrows.
"Ha! ha!" said he, "ha! ha! there's a laugh for you—by Jove, that's a laugh as is a laugh!"
I turned about and faced him. He recognized me instantly. "Well, blast my cats!" he exclaimed, "say, you young hyena, you're the girl that wouldn't laugh at me last night. I thought you couldn't, and just listen to your roars now over some tomfoolery. What was the matter with me, if you please, mum?"
I stood in helpless, awkward embarrassment, then, drawing in his lip and bulging out his eyes until they threatened to leap from their places, he advanced upon me, exclaiming: "Spare me these protestations and explanations, I beg!" then tapped me on the chest with his forefinger and, added, in a different tone: "My young friend, I'll make you laugh or I'll cut my throat!" next turned on his heel, and called: "Everybody ready for the first act? Come on, come on, let's get at it!"
Rehearsal began and Mr. Owens did not have to cut his throat.
Funny in many things, it was the old farce of "Forty Winks" that utterly undid me, and not only sat me violently and flatly down upon the entrance floor, but set me shrieking with such misguided force that next day all the muscles across and near my diaphragm were too lame and sore for me to catch a breath in comfort. Perhaps that's not the right word, and I may not be locating the lamed muscles properly, but if you will go to see some comedian who will make you laugh until you cry, and cry until you scream, and laugh and cry and scream until you only breathe in gasps and sobs, you will next morning know exactly which muscles I have been referring to—even if you haven't got a diaphragm about you.
But really the mad absurdities Mr. Owens indulged in that night might have made the very Sphinx smile stonily. As a miserly old man, eating his bread-and-cheese supper in his cheap little bedroom, and retiring for the night only to be aroused by officers who are in pursuit of a flying man, and think they have now found him. Not much to go upon, that, but, oh, if you could have seen his ravening hunger; have seen his dog-like snaps at falling crumbs; his slanting of the plate against the light to see if any streak of butter was being left; his scooping up of bread-crumbs from his red-handkerchief lap, and eager licking up of the same; have seen him sorting out his money and laying aside the thin, worn pennies to give the waiter; breaking off the hardened grease that in melting had run down the candle's side, putting it away in his valise, "to grease his boots next winter" (a line he introduced for my especial benefit).
Having gone up-stage and taken off his shoes, he suddenly bethought him that there might be a few crumbs on the floor, and taking his candle, down he came to look, and turning his back to the audience, they screamed with sudden laughter, for two shining bare heels were plainly showing through his ragged black woollen socks. He paid no heed, but sought diligently, and when he found a crumb he put his finger to his lip to moisten it, and pouncing upon the particle, conveyed it to his mouth, and mumbled so luxuriously one almost envied him. Then, remarking that it was too cold to undress, he undressed, and as his coat came off he started toward a chair, saying, querulously: "He couldn't abide a man that wasn't neat and careful about his clothes," and down he pitched the coat in a heap upon the floor in front of the chair. His vest he dumped beside another seat, as he dolorously declared: "He had neat habits ever since his mother had taught him to put his clothes carefully on the chair at night."