By the way, "the house" is a theatrical term, meaning, on an actor's lips, "the audience." "The house did thus or so," "the house is behaving beautifully," "it's the most refined house you ever saw," "what a cold house"; and so on. I have but rarely heard either actor or actress refer to the "audience"—and after steadily using any term for years it is very hard to lay it aside, and I shall long remember the grim moment that followed on my remarking to my rector, "What a good house you had yesterday—it must have been a pleasure to pla—to, to—er, er, to address such an audi—er, that is, I mean congregation!" There was a moment of icy silence, then, being a human being as well as a wearer of the priestly collar, he set back his head and laughed a laugh that was good to hear.
Anyway, being continually pushed back into second place and compelled to listen to the unearned applause bestowed upon the beautiful black seemed to rob old Bob of all ambition professionally, and he simply became a gourmet and a glutton. He lived to eat. A woman in his eyes was a sort of perambulating store-house of cake, crackers, apples, sugar, etc.; only his love for children was disinterested. The moment he was loose he went off in search for children, no matter whose, so long as he found some; then down he would go on his knees, and wait to be pulled and patted. His silvery tail provided hundreds of horse-hair rings—and his habit of gathering very small people up by their back breadths and carrying them a little way before dropping them, only filled the air with wild shrieks of laughter. In the theatre he walked sedately about before rehearsal began, and though we knew his attentions were entirely selfish, he was so urbane, so complaisant in his manner of going through us, that we could not resist his advances, and each day and night we packed our pockets and our muffs with such provender as women seldom carry about in their clothes. All our gloves smelled as though we worked at a cider-mill. While the play was going on old Bob spent a great part of his time standing on the first of those railed platforms, and as he was on the same side of the stage that the ladies' dressing-rooms were on, everyone of us had to pass him on our way to dress, and he demanded toll of all. Fruits, domestic or foreign, were received with gentle eagerness. Cake, crackers, and sugar, the velvety nose snuffed at them approvingly, and if a girl, believing herself late, tried to pass him swiftly by, his look of amazement was comical to behold, and in an instant his iron-shod foot was playing a veritable devil's tattoo on the resounding board platform, and if that failed to win attention, following her with his eyes, he lifted up his voice in a full-chested "neigh—hay—hay—ha-ay!" that brought her back in a hurry with her toll of sugar. And that pie-bald hypocrite would scrunch it with such a piteously ravenous air that the girl quite forgot the basilisk glare and satirical words the landlady directed against her recently-acquired sweet-tooth. My own landlady had, as early as Wednesday, covered the sugar-bowl and locked the pantry, but she left the salt-bag open, and I took on a full cargo of it twice a day, and old Bob showed such an absolute carnality of enjoyment in the eating of it that Mr. Miles became convinced that it had long been denied to him at the stables.
Then, late in the week, there came that dreadful night of disaster. I don't recall the name of the play, but in that one piece the beautiful, high-spirited black mare had to carry double up the runs. John Carroll and Miss Lucy Cutler were the riders. Mr. Carroll claimed he could ride a little, and though he was afraid he was ashamed to say so. Mr. Miles said in the morning: "Now, if you are the least bit timid, Mr. Carroll, say so, and I will fasten the bridle-reins to the saddle-pommel and the Queen will carry you up as true as a die and as safe as a rock of her own accord; but if you are going to hold the bridle, for God's sake be careful! If it was old Bob, you could saw him as much as you liked and he would pay no attention, and hug the run for dear life; but the Queen, who has a tender mouth, is besides half mad with excitement at night, and a very slight pressure on the wrong rein will mean a forty or fifty-foot fall for you all!"
Miss Cutler expressed great fear, when Mr. Miles, surprisedly, said: "Why, you have ridden with me twice this week without a sign of fear?" "Oh, yes," she answered, "but you know what you are doing—you are a horseman."
It was an unfortunate speech, and in face of it Mr. Carroll's vanity would not allow him to admit his anxiety. "He could ride well enough—and he would handle the reins himself," he declared.
During the day his fears grew upon him. Foolishly and wickedly he resorted to spirits to try to build up some Dutch courage; and then, when the scene came on, half blind with fear and the liquor, which he was not used to, as he felt the fierce creature beneath them rushing furiously up the steep incline, a sort of madness came upon him. Without rhyme or reason he pulled desperately at the nigh rein and in the same breath their three bodies were hurling downward, like thunderbolts.
It was an awful sight! I looked at them as they descended, and for the fraction of a second they seemed to be suspended in the air. They were all upside down. They all, without turning or twisting, fell straight as plummets—the horse, the same as the man and woman, had its feet straight in the air. Ugh! the striking—ugh!—never mind details! The curtain had been rushed down. Miss Cutler had been picked up, dazed, stunned, but without a mark. Mr. Carroll had crept away unaided amid the confusion, the sorrow, and tears, for the splendid Queen was doomed and done for! Though Mr. Miles had risked his own life in an awful leap to save her from falling through a trap, he could not save her life, and the almost human groan with which she dropped her lovely head upon her master's shoulder, and his streaming eyes as he tenderly wiped the blood from her velvety nostrils, made even the scene-shifters rub their eyes upon the backs of their hands. While the Queen was half carried and half crept to the fire-engine house next door (her stable was so far away), someone was going before the curtain, assuring the audience that the accident was very slight, and the lady and gentleman would both be before them presently, and the audience applauded in a rather doubtful manner, for several ladies had fainted, and the carrying out of a helpless person from a place of amusement always has a depressing effect upon the lookers-on. Meantime Mr. Carroll was getting his wrist bandaged and a cut on his face strapped up, while a basket of sawdust was hurriedly procured that certain cruel stains might be concealed. The orchestra played briskly and the play went on. That's the one thing we can be sure of in this world—that the play will go on. That night, late, the beautiful Queen died with her head resting on her master's knee.
Now "Mazeppa" was billed for the next night, and there were many consultations held in the office and on the stage. "The wild horse of Tartary" was gone. It was impossible to find a new horse in one day.
"Change the bill!" said Mr. Miles.
"And have an empty house," answered Mr. Ellsler.