At last, in October, the theatrical season arrived, with a third-rate company to present "Virginius." I employed the columns of Petticord's newspaper, against the Senator's advice, had the town and a large part of the county well "papered," and when the opening night came round the house was crowded. I put young Elkin into the box office, and he must have been born for the place, for, although acquainted with almost every man, woman and child in the town, he recognized no one at the window.
Nervously I watched the people coming in, my gaze leaping from face to face. I turned away to attend to something, and when I came back and looked at the house I knew that she was there, though I did not see her. The curtain went up and the play proceeded. On a sudden someone well in front cried out "Burn the juniper!" And then arose the yell, "Throw him out!" Several officers ran forward, and presently, in the midst of great confusion, they came back, almost dragging old Mason, the pilot, and Joe Vark, the shoemaker. Vark was the real offender, it appeared, and Mason was snatched up as an accessory. I went out with them, pleading with the officers not to use them roughly; and when we reached the pavement I demanded their release. The officers, glad enough to go back to the play, turned the culprits over to me. Both were drunk.
"Vark," said I, "do you want to break up the performance?"
"Burn the juniper!" he shouted.
"Now, here, Joe," the pilot pleaded, "let's get something that we all understand—something like 'let her slide' or 'let her rip'—something we can all join in on."
"I want them to burn the juniper. In the old days when the atmosphere in the theatre got foul they cried 'burn the juniper,' and I want it burned now. The air in there is foul with political rascality and scoundrelism. Burn the juniper!" he yelled at the top of his voice.
"Blame it all, Joe," Mason persisted, "let's get something that's down among the people."
"Gentlemen," said I, "you must keep quiet or I'll have you taken away. Vark, you don't want to injure me, do you?"
"No, I'm your friend, but you'll have to live here thirty years before I can declare my infatuation for you. Give a hundred dollars for a bonfire of juniper. And the long-lost sword of Mars was discovered by the bleeding hoof of a heifer, and was given to Attila. Burn the juniper!"
"Look here, boys, come back in and behave yourselves. Remember that the house is full of ladies, and that ought to make any man thoughtful in the South. Will you promise to behave if I let you go back?"