“Trust Mr. Balsquith, and South-West Blackhampton will trust you. Now start learning your speech, like a good boy; and you must repeat it to me word for word every morning from memory, so that you’ll be all right on the night and absolutely word perfect.”
As an instance of Providence in one of its less atrabilious humors, it befell that Philip was invited to meet the local committee in the evening following the one in which Mary was to appear at the Royal Italian Opera House for the benefit of Harry Merino. Thus they were able to stay together at the best hotel in Blackhampton, and to feel that they were killing, as it were, two birds with a single stone.
It was perfectly true that at Blackhampton the name of Mary Caspar ranked high with the population. It was in the largest type on every hoarding; her portrait appeared in the window of every other shop; her wonderful smile that wouldn’t come off was to be seen on countless picture-postcards; an illustrated interview with the general favorite was printed in the Blackhampton Courier.
When she walked down Market Street to do a little shopping on the afternoon of her arrival in the borough, she caused almost as much commotion as if she had been Royalty itself. And in the opinion of her escort, a very nice-looking, well-grown and well-groomed young man in white spats and a blue suiting, the last word in neatness, and a bowler hat, of course the last word of fashion, she was indeed the Queen of Blackhampton. Moreover, a large percentage of the passers-by concurred with the nice-looking young man in so thinking.
Yes, she was the acknowledged Queen of Blackhampton; in the eyes of the passers-by the fact was stated. It was perfectly true that she had got this constituency in her pocket; and Blackhampton, although hardly aware of the fact, was mightily proud to be there.
They came in their thousands to welcome her back to that sphere of life she ought never to have deserted. Their reception almost brought tears to her eyes, it was so spontaneous, so hearty, and so genuine. The Royal Italian Opera House could have been filled ten times over; not, of course, that this was due to Mary alone. Other stars were giving their services; and Harry Merino, upon whom evil times had fallen, was as good a comedian as ever colored his nose and delighted the world with irresistible natural humor.
It was at the Royal at Blackhampton that she had really begun her great career. Blackhampton had been the making of her, said Mr. Byles, the famous Lessee and Manager of the Royal, and that great man was accustomed to deal with hard facts. Blackhampton believed it, anyway; and Mary believed it also. At least, she confessed as much to Mr. Byles, while the chest of the lessee grew so large that it seemed that his watch-chain of twenty-two carat gold must really break from its moorings.
“Polly, my gal, I’m proud o’ you!”—there was deep emotion in the manly voice of the Lessee and Manager; and if “the Young Pup” had not been present, it is most likely that Mr. Byles would have hugged the future peeress publicly.
Yes, they were very hearty, genuine people at Blackhampton. The Principal Girl of three Royal pantomimes was to them an imperishable memory. In the divine order of womanhood the Queen of England ranked first in their estimation; Mary Caspar ranked second; and the third place was reserved for the Duchess of Dumbarton, although local opinion was rather averse from the peerage merely as such.
It was probable that one such as Mr. Philip would find a difficult row to hoe in Blackhampton. They hadn’t much use for frills as a general thing. If the young man was going to stand for Blackhampton, it was by no means clear that those white spats were not an error of judgment. But the general opinion was that even a future hereditary legislator might be returned for Blackhampton if he happened to be Mary Caspar’s husband, and that he signed a league form for the Rovers, and kicked a few goals against Aston Villa.