"Great Scott—'Pinafore!' You don't mean to say," asked a friend a short time after hearing of Handy's moving adventures by land and water, "you had the nerve to attempt 'Pinafore' with your small band of strolling players, eh?"
"Play 'Pinafore'!" replied the irrepressible Handy, with a smile. "Of course, not. Never intended to. You see this was the situation; and the man who isn't equal to the position in which he places himself is bound to come out at the wrong side of the account book, when he is compelled to settle up. The 'Pinafore' announcement was for the edification of the New Londoners. I recognized the fact that the country people in their innocence and goodness of heart would take kindly to the entertainment we had prepared for them, but for the town chaps it was an altogether different proposition. When I announced 'Pinafore' I felt satisfied they would defer their energies and lay low for the 'Merry, Merry Maiden and the Tar,' determining to have a little fun of their own kind with us on Saturday; but after the performance we struck tent and by early morning we were once more out on the Sound for fresh fields and pastures new."
CHAPTER IX
"One man in his time plays many parts."
—As You Like It.
If the "boys" of New London looked forward to having a good old summer time with Handy and his all-star company the following Saturday evening, they were wofully out in their reckoning. Though "Pinafore" was announced with due managerial formality, perhaps somewhat ambiguous, for that particular occasion, when the time for presentation arrived there was not a vestige of either tent or performers. After the entertainment on the night of the fair the company went aboard the Gem of the Ocean. Handy alone remained ashore. As he had been manager, advance and press agent, and principal performer, he concluded to add another to his many responsibilities and become night watchman. The tent, stage properties, etc., had to be guarded, and he undertook the duties of guardian.
"Let no one turn in until I get aboard," said he to Smith, "and you row ashore in an hour's time. Mind, don't be later than that, and you needn't get here sooner. Tell the boys I have some work for them to do before they lay down to rest. Take a bite and a sup and join me here in an hour."
The two men parted; one with his companions for the boat at the end of the pier and the other to play the part of watchman over his outfit. A few of the town chaps lingered in the neighborhood of the tent.
In the country, as in the city, it is remarkable what a fascinating influence players exercise over young fellows who are ambitious to be regarded as the knowing ones regarding everything appertaining to the playhouse. How glibly the beardlings of the twenties or thereabouts will use the names of actors with whom perhaps they have never exchanged a word, in the silly belief they are raising themselves in the estimation of their auditors. It is an odd conceit, yet it prevails with the would-be fast young men of the present day. To hear some of these mollycoddles prate one who was not acquainted with their weaknesses would imagine these chaps were on intimate terms with players—who, as a rule, are slow to cultivate new acquaintances, attend strictly to their own business, and do not particularly relish that particular class of hanger-on. No man knew this type better than Handy. However, he never antagonized them. That he considered would not be wise policy. He good-naturedly humored them with much superficial gossip that really meant nothing. His good nature never forsook him, and he always had his temper well under control. He knew to a nicety the side his bread was buttered on. That happy-go-lucky disposition of his stood him in good stead many a time, and his free-and-easy manner of drawing people out frequently served as an aid to determine his future course of action. The limited exchange of conversation he had with the loungers satisfied him that he was right in his estimate that there would be a hot time in the old town on Saturday night if he remained. Finally the last dallier had his say, and, after an exchange of cordial good nights, departed.