“Why, this is tyranny! You are a Frankenstein; an Old-Man-of-the Sea!”
“Give it up,” said the orator, with a smile that singularly illumined his thin, but powerful features. “As I gave it up! Into what dregs of vice, what a sink of iniquity was I plunged! The very cleansing of my soul was an Augean task. Knavery, profligacy, laxity of morals, looseness of principles––that was what the stage did for me; that was the labor of Hercules to be cleared away! Give it up, Mr. Barnes!” And with a last penetrating look, he strode out of the office.
In spite of Barnes’ refusal, the soldier offered to sell his horse to the landlord, but the latter curtly declined, having horses enough to “eat their heads off” during the winter, as he expressed it. His Jeremy Collier aversion to players was probably at the bottom of this point-blank rebuff, however. He was a stubborn man, czar in his own domains, a small principality bounded by four inhospitable walls. His guests––having no other place to go––were his subjects, or prisoners, and distress could not find a more unfitting tribunal before which to lay its case. There was something so malevolent in his vigilance, so unfriendly in his scrutiny, that to the players he seemed an emissary of disaster, inseparable from their cruel plight.
Thus it was that the strollers perforce reached a desperate conclusion when making their way from the theater on the last evening. By remaining longer, they would become the more hopelessly involved; in going––without their host’s permission––they would 199 be taking the shortest route toward an honorable settlement in the near future; a paradoxical flight from the brunt of their troubles, to meet them squarely! This, to Barnes, ample reason for unceremonious departure was heartily approved by the company in council assembled around the town pump.
“Stay and become a county burden, indeed!” exclaimed Mrs. Adams, tragically.
“As well be buried alive as anchored here!” fretfully added Susan.
“The council is dissolved,” said the manager, promptly, “with no one the wiser––except the town pump.”
“An ally of Mr. Gough!” suggested Adonis.
Thus more merrily than could have been expected, with such a distasteful enterprise before them, they resumed their way. It was disagreeable under foot and they presented an odd appearance, each one with a light. Mrs. Adams, old campaigner that she was, led the way for the ladies, elastic and chatty as though promenading down Broadway on a spring morning. With their lanterns and the purpose they had in view, they likened themselves to a band of conspirators. As Barnes marched ahead with his light, Susan playfully called him Guy Fawkes, of gun-powder fame, whereupon his mind almost misgave him concerning the grave adventure upon which they were embarked.