“Don’t mind him,” Magnolia whispered fearfully to Ravenal. “He’s drunk. He’ll stop. Don’t pay any attention.”
The scene was theirs. They were approaching the big moment in the play when the brave Kentuckian renounces his love that Kentucky Sue may be happy with her villainous bridegroom-to-be (Frank, of course). Show-boat audiences up and down the rivers had known that play for years; had committed the speech word for word, through long familiarity. “Sue,” it ran, “ef he loves yuh and you love him, go with him. Ef he h’ain’t good to yuh, come back where there’s honest hearts under homespun shirts. Back to Kaintucky and home!”
Thus the speech ran. But as they approached it the blurred and mocking voice from the middle of the house kept up its drawling skepticism. “Is ’at so! Is ’at so!”
“Damned drunken lout!” said Ravenal under his breath, looking unutterable love meanwhile at the languishing Kentucky Sue.
“Oh, dear!” said Magnolia, feeling Ravenal’s muscles tightening under the blue shirt sleeves; seeing the telltale white ridge of mounting anger under the grease paint of his jaw line. “Do be careful.”
Ravenal stepped out of his part. He came down to the footlights. The house, restless and irritable, suddenly became quiet. He looked out over the faces of the audience. “See here, pardner, there’s others here want to hear this, even if you don’t.”
The voice subsided. There was a little desultory applause from the audience and some cries of, “That’s right! Make him shut up.” They refused to manhandle one of their own, but they ached to see someone else do it.
The play went on. The voice was silent. The time approached for the big speech of renunciation. It was here. “Sue, ef he loves yuh and you love him, go with him. Ef he——”
“Is ’at so!” drawled the amused voice, with an element of surprise in it now. “Is ’at so!”
Ravenal cast Kentucky Sue from him. “Well, if you will have it,” he threatened, grimly. He sprang over the footlights, down to the piano top, to the keyboard, to the piano stool, all in four swift strides, was up the aisle, had plucked the limp and sprawling figure out of his seat by the collar, clutched him then firmly by this collar hold and the seat of his pants, and was up the aisle again to the doorway, out of the door, across the gangplank, and into the darkness. He was down the aisle then in a moment, spatting his hands briskly as he came; was up on the piano stool, on to the piano keyboard, on the piano top, over the footlights, back in position. There he paused a moment, breathing fast. Nothing had been said. There had actually been no sound other than his footsteps and the discordant jangle of protest that the piano keyboard had emitted when he had stepped on its fingers. Now a little startled expression came into Ravenal’s face.