“Call me Miles while we are in the Oprea House. That’s my name here.”
“Miles, then.”
“Dave fixes ’em up out of plays at the Theatre Comique, and some of the songs we gits from Tony Pastor’s. If there was time I’d take you behind the sceneries. But it’s most time to begin.”
“Miles O’Reilly is wanted,” was heard from behind the curtain, and the great comedian left our hero and hurried behind the scenes.
By this time the cellar was nearly full of boys, varying in age from five to twenty, who were crowded together in such near proximity as the limited size of the auditorium rendered imperatively necessary. The front row was close up to the curtain, and here Julius was fortunate enough to secure a place.
The stiffness and reserve which characterize the spectators at other theatres was dispensed with at the free and easy “Grand Duke’s Oprea House.” Cheerful and jocose remarks were interchanged, spiced with genial humor, and occasionally tinged with sarcastic remarks of a personal character. But all was taken in good part. At last, however, the patrons became impatient, and calls were heard, such as, “What yer waitin’ fur?” “Hurry{16} up de overture!” “Have yer gone ter sleep behind there?”
At last the manager responded to the flattering impatience of his patrons. The curtain arose and displayed the orchestra consisting of two musicians, a performer on an accordeon and a bone-player. The overture was made up of pieces skillfully selected by the manager to suit the tastes of the audience. Choice gems from “Norma,” “Trovatore,” and “Faust” would not have satisfied the fastidious tastes of the Grand Duke’s patrons. Instead of these, such choice airs as “Squeeze me, Joe,” and “Up in Avenue A,” afforded unmistakable pleasure, and the whole closed with “The Campbells Are Coming,” which was rendered with spirit and general acceptance.
Next came the comedy, “Laughing Gas,” in which the gas is administered to a variety of patients, who are differently affected, one laughing, another dancing, another combative, and so on. The acting was rude, but lively, and the piece was rapturously applauded. In this applause Julius bore his full part. Though he is my hero I have no desire to represent him as more refined or better educated than the majority of his companions. The classic drama or the opera, as brought out at the Academy, would have been far less attractive to him than this rude performance.
He was no less pleased with the next piece, in which{17} two boys, representing Tom King and Dick Turpin, appear on the stage with dark lanterns, and attempt the robbery of a house, but become panic-stricken, and exhibit more alarm than the occupants of the house. This, of course, amuses the spectators.
“It ’minds me of Jack and Marlowe,” said Julius to his next neighbor, “when they was robbin’ the house on Madison Avenue.”