The Rev. Mr. Northcote and his companion saw it all.
Towards two a.m., seeking a climax, they visited a theatre, the lowest they could find. Miss Oswald was determined to see it. There were boxes at the sides, benches in the auditorium. The air was grey with smoke, the floor a mass of filth. The packed audience, as Nita Oswald afterwards told the readers of the Comet, 'would have made the combined resources of ancient Newgate and modern Sing-Sing look like a Band of Hope meeting.' There was a real stage, with real scenery. A cavern below the footlights accommodated the orchestra, consisting of a jangling piano and two asthmatic violins. The artists were of two varieties—the has-beens and the never-will-bes. The former depended on charity and their past reputations, the latter on their youth, their looks and their self-confidence, which was unfathomable. There was a bar in one corner, marvellously patronized. Between the acts, the younger actresses, in their airy costumes, ran up to the boxes and beguiled the occupants on commission into buying cigars at one hundred dollars a box and drinks at ten dollars per. Greasy Jones and his cronies occupied a box and were closely surrounded by bevies of beauty; but he paid for nothing, the proprietor being entirely dependent on his patronage.
As soon as Miss Oswald and the parson were seated, a man in an old dress suit appeared on the stage and announced that one of the actors would deliver an address.
This was a surprise to the audience, 'addresses' being unusual. But it proved even more of a surprise to the Rev. Mr. Northcote and the woman reporter.
The actor, who had previously given a 'black-face' turn, came on in costume, with his cork still on. And he began to speak. He had been drinking.
"Ladies an' Gennelmun: The lady that pre-ceded me sang you a song, the composhision of one of our bri'est local poets, directin' upon that famous force o' sanctimonious red-coats clevuhly referred to as 'the yallah-legs,' the well-deserved arrars of wit an' ridicule. Ladies an' Gennelmun, I agree with her (Cheers). You agree with her (Cheers). An' I wanna tell you folks what I think should be done to 'em.
"Ladies an' Gennelmun—fellow-citenens—them fellers have kept you an' me out o' Black Elk Terr'ty. Yes, suh, kep'us out' Black Elk Terr'ty. Is tha' right! Is tha' just? (Thunderous cries of 'No!') Cer'nly not! We're en-titled to get in on that gol' up there. An' I say we ought ge' in (Cheers).
"Now, why aren't we in there? Eh? 'Cause them yallah-legs keep us out. An' why do they keep us out? 'Cause in'str'ns from—from the citenens o' Black Elk? No! From the autocrats that govern Canada (Prolonged booing).
"Now, I advocate that the laws oughta be changed. Yes! Who should gov'n Black Elk Terr'ty? Why, the citenens! If they gov'ned Black Elk, you'd find we'd be there! Yes, suh (Cheers).
"Now, I wan' all you peepul, Ladies an' Gennelmun, to work for tha' change. Mos' of us here tonight, 'll stay here—'cause o' the yallah-legs. But you can work for tha' change jus' the same! An' those on their way in, they can work for 't, too. An' you can help fix the yallah-legs." Here followed two minutes of scathing and heartily applauded abuse of the Mounted Police. The speaker worked himself up to a high pitch of excitement. Then, "I tell you, Ladies an' Gennelmun, I'd like to see a new flag over Black Elk! Yes, I would! Any flag—but the Stars an' Stripes preferred! (Terrific applause from one section of the audience.) I want a change. An' I tell you, suh, confidenshully, there's goin'——"