Chapter XVIII
The Big Show
On the February day appointed for the Morning Glory theatricals, the sun shone brightly—all nature was the same, but in Manville the day seemed different. Expectancy was in the air, and suppressed excitement in the heads of those possessing a bit of yellow pasteboard that entitled them to admission to the "Big Show." The men paused often at their work to talk of the event, and the women, especially the members of the club, forgot their families, their housework—everything except the approaching event.
Early in the morning a half-dozen of the club-women were at the hall superintending the unloading and disposition of a load of furniture which had been collected from the homes of particularly enthusiastic members. This unavoidable inconvenience, which usually accompanies other preparations for amateur theatricals, was especially necessary in this case in order that the barren stage might be properly dressed, and the shabby scenery saved from loneliness. The whole club turned out in the afternoon, and the hall and stage became a scene of bustling, chattering confusion. As the crisis approached Miss Sawyer, as stage directress, failed in her attempts to control the situation, and Mrs. Tweedie, "the powerful," as she was now called by many, assumed command, and became more dignified and dictatorial than ever.
At six o'clock the stage was set for the first scene, and some of the ladies were nervously pacing the creaking boards, book in hand, muttering their lines, and gesticulating ridiculously in a final spasmodic effort. In a corner of the hall Miss Sawyer was murmuring to a bunch of withered flowers; in an anteroom Mrs. Stout was being coached by Mrs. Jones in the pronunciation of some difficult words, and in a corridor Mrs. Thornton was trying to console Mrs. Darling, whose costume had not arrived.
The doors were opened to the public at seven o'clock, with Ezra Tweedie on guard to take tickets, and his son Tommy to distribute programmes. Ezra was smilingly happy because it was the first time for years that he had been permitted to do anything in public. He would have missed this chance if Mrs. Tweedie could have arranged in any other way to keep in touch with the box office. The public was ready when the doors were opened, and charged unceremoniously upon Ezra, Tommy, and the lady ushers, with pinks in their hair, all of whom had more than they could properly do during the next hour. At eight o'clock the hall was filled with the "best" people in Manville, and some of the worst—worst, perhaps, only because they did not have the price of a seat in the front rows. The last person to enter was Sam Billings, who acted as though he did not care to have his presence known. Ezra scowled harmlessly as he took his ticket. Sam peeked cautiously into the hall, then turned to Ezra with a triumphant look and whispered: "Advertisin' pays, don't it?"
Twenty minutes after the time advertised for the performance to begin the audience was suddenly hushed to a funereal stillness by Mrs. Tweedie's two bells—she would have things shipshape, and succeeded, barring the orchestra, which had been found to be too expensive. The curtain was encouraged on its ascent by the strains of "My Old Kentucky Home," played on the piano by a Miss Bean, a member of Mr. Flint's church, who, in a spirit of fashionable recklessness in regard to her pastor's opinion, had consented to play. Despite the music, perhaps because of it, the curtain balked when half-way up, then stuck fast. While the cause of the trouble was being investigated, accompanied by the sound of hurrying footsteps and loud whispers from "behind the scenes," Miss Bean continued to play "My Old Kentucky Home." When she was approaching the end of the piece for the sixth time, the curtain was yanked up sufficiently for the audience to get a two-thirds view of the stage.
The curtain certainly acted badly, but it was a star in comparison with the majority of the performers. It was fully three minutes after the curtain was raised before Mrs. Stout, as the Duke in the trial scene from the "Merchant of Venice," entered, followed by her "soot" in single file. Ten minutes later everybody knew that those who had said that the people of Manville would not, or could not, appreciate Shakespeare, did not know what they were talking about.
The scene was a decided hit, and was talked about for years afterward as the funniest thing that ever happened in Manville.
The balcony scene, from "Romeo and Juliet," which followed, performed by Fanny Tweedie as Juliet, and Mrs. Darling, in a rainy-day skirt, as Romeo, was more like real acting. It was enjoyed by the audience, but not uproariously.