William Jordan, Junior

by J. C. Snaith

“Not quite so much of the mug, Percy,” said Miss Hermione Leigh, “and not quite so much of the Pommery. You don’t average three bottles a year.”

Before Mr. Davis could deny this impeachment in adequate terms, the voice of Mr. Dodson was heard proclaiming from the piano at the other end of the room that Mr. Percival Davis, the celebrated tenor, would sing the no-less celebrated song, “I’ll sing thee songs of Araby.”

“I will do so,” said Mr. Davis, with great promptitude. “This is where I get my own back.”

Mr. Davis rendered that song in a quite admirable manner. When the deserved applause which greeted it had subsided, and Mr. Dodson had informed the company that owing to the unparalleled length of the programme, and the unprecedented quantity of talent that was present that evening, no encores would be granted in any circumstances whatever, Miss Hermione Leigh informed her companion that “although Percy was dirt mean, he could sing,” a judgment to which Chrissie accorded her imprimatur.

Mr. Dodson then announced that Mr. John Dobbs of the Alcazar Theatre, and of the London and Provincial Concerts, would render that heart-rending melody, “The Lost Chord,” which Mr. Dobbs immediately proceeded to do. As this melancholy-looking and large-eyed and profuse-haired young man drew marvellous strains from two pieces of wood and a few strings Mr. William Jordan’s thoughts strayed a moment from the thrall of the goddess. He sat with his hands clasped, his gaunt form as tense as an arrow drawn to the string. In his eyes was a dreamy rapture, and in the centre of each was a large stealthy tear. His whole being was entranced. The two ladies in whose vicinity he was, nudged one another furtively and together perused that strange countenance with great satisfaction to themselves.

Upon the subsidence of the enthusiasm which Mr. John Dobbs’s effort called forth, Mr. Dodson announced that Miss Hermione Leigh of the “Peace and War Ballet” of the Alcazar Theatre, would render that touching melody, “Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay,” with dance accompaniment, as performed by her before most of the bald-heads of Europe, not to mention those of Bethnal Green. This announcement was received with such favour by the gentlemen present that immediately they broke into a cheer.

With immense good nature Miss Hermione Leigh swept across the room to the piano, and with the aid of the variously accomplished Mr. Dodson himself, who “scratched the ivories” by request, and also with the aid of Mr. Davis, who turned over the music after, as he expressed it, “he had cleared the course for the big race” by driving back the company, regardless of age and sex, from within an area of at least eight feet of the piano, and in spite of the fact that Aunt Tabitha, who was compelled to move her chair, stared at Mr. Davis through her glasses with a stony glare, and said at the top of a loud harsh voice, “That is a very unmannerly young man”—a remark which set the remainder of the company in roars of laughter, in which Mr. Davis joined more loudly than anybody else.

Yet what can describe or even remotely indicate the emotions which surged over Mr. William Jordan, Junior, when through eyes dim with ecstasy he beheld the divine form of the goddess, who, as she rose to her full height beside the piano and broke into a not particularly melodious warble, approximated more nearly in physique and appearance to his Olympians than any creature he had looked upon hitherto. It did not matter to William Jordan what strange and fantastic words fell from that full, white throat, or what fantastic gyrations that divine form subsequently went through; it was not for such as himself remotely to comprehend the speech and gestures of those immortal ones of whom she was a daughter. He sat entranced, unable to move, to think, or even to realize the wild emotions of which so suddenly he had become the prey.

When the goddess, a little out of breath, and also flushed, and therefore looking more brilliant than ever, swept back to the sofa to his side, a kind of religious awe mounted in Mr. William Jordan as he peered upwards into that beautiful, smiling, good-natured face.

“O-o-oh!” he exclaimed softly.