Camping on the St. Lawrence; Or, On the Trail of the Early Discoverers

by Everett T. Tomlinson

But the wailing infant in the front seat was not to be suppressed, and his screams of terror or rage were becoming more and more shrill, and were dividing the attention and sympathy of the audience and even diverting their gaze from the stage.

Apparently human nature could not endure the strain, and suddenly resuming an upright attitude and speaking in tones marvellously like those of an angry man, the Ghost turned to the audience, and said sharply, “Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, but we’ll have to stop the performance till the mother removes that yelling young ’un from this hall.”

Without a protest the young mother rose, and, despite the increased lamentations of her offspring and his vigorous bodily contortions, departed; and at last, when “the infant with no language but a cry,” as Bob afterward described the scene, could no longer be heard, the play was resumed.

No one had appeared to be surprised at the interruption, and Ethan had never once glanced at the boys. Dignified and unmoved he sat watching the stage as if such slight deviations from the words of the “Immortal Shakespeare” were not able to divert his attention, and he had slight sympathy for those who would even look about them to discover whose baby it was that was now creating the disturbance.

“Without a protest the young mother rose.”

Babies were expected to be present on such occasions, and if present they were in duty bound to make themselves heard—that was a matter of course; and which particular baby it was exercising its lungs at the present moment was, in his opinion, too insignificant a matter to interest any one.

The interruption seemed, however, to have wrought havoc once more with Marcellus, for when the play was resumed he began to falter and hesitate, and like all people who hesitate, was speedily lost.

After he had boldly bidden Horatio to question the terror-inspiring visitor, and had declared “it was offended,” he seemed to lose heart.

“’Tis gone, and will not—not—will not—not— ’Tis gone and will—will. ’Tis will and not gone. No,” he added abruptly, apparently as much to the surprise of the Ghost himself, who could be seen peering from behind the curtain, as to that of his audience, “No, ’tisn’t ‘’tis will,’ it’s ‘’tis gone.’ ’Tis gone and—and—and—”