This portion of the entertainment was greeted with the wildest applause; and when Master Dowd, after Nelly had left the stage, attempted to appear in all the gorgeousness of his costume, he was plainly told to go back and let Nelly sing again—a command which he obeyed at once, lest some of his audience should take it into their heads to force compliance.
After Nelly had sung the second time the applause died away, as if the audience were willing that the regular business of the evening should proceed. All the actors were standing where they could go on to the stage at a moment’s notice, save Dickey, who was leaning against the wall, holding his sword straight out, at the imminent peril of hitting some one of his partners as they passed.
“Now be all ready, Dickey,” said Mopsey, warningly, as he prepared to go on the stage.
“See here,” whispered Johnny, “be kinder careful when you an’ I fight, ’cause there’s lots of pins in these pants.”
Mopsey nodded his head, as much as to say that he would look out for such things, and in another instant he was before the foot-lights, receiving a storm of applause, although he was at a loss to know whether it was directed to him personally, or to the costume he wore. So great was the enthusiasm manifested by his presence that it was some moments before he could speak, and during that time the few lines he knew of the part of Richard the Third had entirely escaped his memory. It was a trying moment both to him and his brother actors, who were watching him, as he stood there with drawn sword, first on one foot and then on the other, waving his hand and then the weapon, as if he were about to speak, and yet making no sound.
“Go on, Mopsey—say something,” whispered Ben in a hoarse voice; and the audience hearing him, suggested kindly,
“Yes, give us somethin’, old man.”
Thus urged, Mopsey made one mighty effort, and shouted in his loudest tones, as he waved the sword still more frantically than ever,
“I’ve lost my hoss! I’ve lost my hoss, an’ I want some one to tie up my head—but—but—but I’m a match for any feller ’round here, and—and—”
It was not only evident to the audience, but to Mopsey himself, that it was of no use for him to try to remember the words he should have spoken, and he waved his sword frantically for Johnny to come on, hoping to save his good name by the bloody combat, which could be prolonged until their patrons were in good-humor. But just at this moment it was impossible for Johnny to be of any service. He had tried to alter the position of some of the pins in his trousers, so that they would not prick him so badly, and the consequence was that the entire work was undone, while one leg fell down over his foot in a manner that prevented him from stepping, unless at the risk of tumbling flat on his face. Ben did his best to repair the damage, while Mopsey stood waving his sword, whispering very audibly for Johnny not to mind the pins but to come on. Meantime the audience, in the loudest tones, coaxed Johnny to come out and take Mopsey away.