At all events, what he did whenever wild glances from both girls told him that he had got to say something or other, was to repeat over and over again a phrase that sounded like "She's champing, she's champing." Evarne felt really angry at his stupidity in describing her as if she had been a fretful mare instead of a dying maiden. Finally, it dawned on her perception that this imbecile doctor was holding out hope to the weeping friends around her couch—assuring them that the patient was "champion"!—Scotch for "in excellent health." What a monstrous lack of resource on Mont's part, when he knew right well that the curtain descended on the touching demise of this damsel whom he persisted in describing as "champion"!
As to poor "Highland Mary" herself, she was utterly tricked and sold. Where were all the graceful gestures to the perfecting of which so much practice had been devoted? Where those truly dramatic attempts to spring from the bed with outstretched arms, as beauteous visions assailed her dying eyes? Where the pathetic leaning over to one side to gently stroke the bent head of the weeping "Bess"? Where all those sweet and realistic little touches which were to have brought tears to the eyes of even a bored and irate audience? All impossible! Out of the question! Had investigation been made, the luckless "Mary" would have been found to be breathing out her last sigh upon a couple of chairs laid over on their sides, with two tin bonnet-boxes between them to render this makeshift couch sufficiently long.
As it was, her toes projected over the end of the lowest chair, while she suffered such anguish from knobs and spikes that it composed a mild form of torture. Yet whenever she dared to so much as wriggle, the tin-boxes creaked loudly, while had she attempted to gain genuine relief by actually shifting from her first position—had she not lain absolutely motionless, propped up on one elbow, which soon ached to distraction—tragedy would have been turned to comedy with a vengeance. Those rickety chairs would assuredly have over-tipped, and the audience would have beheld "Mary" and her improvised couch rolling pell-mell together down to the footlights.
Mr. Heathmore started by explaining to the audience that his part had been sent to him too late to be possibly learnt; then he undisguisedly proceeded to read it. In the "glen scene" Evarne found it truly disconcerting to have to stand throughout these endless love-speeches, her waist tenderly encircled by "Burns's" arm sure enough, but with his head all the time turned right away from her in order to gaze on the script that he held in his other hand. As to the rest of the drama, she never had been able to learn properly who was whom, or what they were all up to, and even the first public performance threw no light on the puzzle.
The play was proceeded with to the bitter end, but a mere sprinkling of spectators remained to the finish. Quite early in the evening the quieter members of the disgusted audience had, in severe silence, left the hall. The more rowdy element remained to get what return they could for their money by hooting, cat-calling, whistling and shouting.
Jess stuck to her post at the hired piano, and played away heroically throughout the protracted intervals between the acts. The young girl was quite admirable, sitting alone amidst the defrauded audience, strumming away dauntlessly, regardless of the nutshells thrown at her, and the jeers and ribald questions by which she was assailed.
All the performers at least were heartily thankful when the miserable show was over for the night, and midst many "swear words" from the men and plaintive deep-breathed "Sh's!" from the girls, they wended their ways to their respective lodgings.
And next evening it all had to be gone through once more, and this time the supply of audience was strictly limited. It might be owing to the rain, which was descending in a steady Scotch drizzle. But the despondent mummers had a shrewd suspicion that the truth concerning "P. Punter's Magnificent Co." had spread throughout the length and breadth of Ayr. It was not merely the dejection caused by the snub expressed by the rows of empty benches that brought such frowns upon usually placid brows. The abject poverty prevailing in the company was universal. Several of the young people were almost penniless, and made no secret of their destitute condition. So a deputation had waited upon the manager that afternoon to "protest," or "kick up a righteous row," as they put it—to "try to get the breeks off a Hielander," according to Mr. Punter's version. In plain words, there was a general demand that, in consideration of the long delay for rehearsals, a portion of the company's salary should be now paid in advance—at least sufficient to buy bread and cheese until the end of the week. After much argument, appeals, and threats, Mr. Punter had been brought to promise that the takings on that evening should be divided amidst the company after the show. Thus the tiny audience was a truly serious matter.
The second cause for anxious frownings was the statement of Archie that the eldest Punter boy had been overheard to tell the girl behind the bar in the "Ass and the Thistle," that the company was to be disbanded at the close of the three days at Ayr. No hint of this had been officially given, but it seemed so highly probable that it was generally accepted for fact. Evarne dared not contemplate it. The sorrows of the past seemed already years behind her, overlaid by the painful excitement and interest of the present, and sick anxiety and apprehension concerning the grey-shrouded future.
A little innovation was introduced that evening that certainly made things run smoother. Jess not only played in the intervals, but lifted up her voice and sang old familiar Scottish ballads. This was immediately popular. The audience joined in the chorus of some, and applauded all. Jess sang until her throat must have ached, and was undoubtedly the success of the evening.