"Nature hath fram'd strange fellows in her time."
—Merchant of Venice.
Within two weeks the preliminaries for the testimonial were arranged, the night appointed, and the tickets in circulation. The company, as intimated, was made up principally of amateurs. As they were to receive no remuneration for their valuable services they received about five tickets each free to sell or dispose of as they would among their friends. Through some unaccountable oversight, they neglected to specially mark or punch these complimentaries. This oversight led to serious embarrassment subsequently. The demand for tickets increased as the date for the performance approached, but none of the applicants appeared anxious to part with money in return for them.
Strange as it may appear, there is a class of people—and a very large and numerous class, too, and one not confined to any particular locality or special grade of society—that will willingly spend double the price of admission for seats in one way or other for the sake of having the reputation of being on the free list of a theatre. This statement is not an exaggerated one. Had Mr. Fogg decided to manage the business details of his entertainment and suspended the free list, as he should have done, he might have fared better; but who can tell what the future has in store for any of us?
It was with considerable difficulty the rent was raised, and that difficulty being overcome, everything looked bright to the sanguine Fogg, who was really a most optimistic individual, and rarely lost heart.
At length the night of the great event arrived. All day Fogg had been as busy as a bee. He had been to see the costumer, perruquier, leader of orchestra, etc., and enjoined each of them to be on hand early. Handy, always prompt and businesslike, was on the stage at seven o'clock. A few minutes later Fogg himself appeared, almost exhausted with the onerous duties of outside management, but for all that as cheerful and as confident as any man of his peculiar temperament could be. One by one the different members of the company appeared, and by half-past seven there was the usual commotion and excitement behind the scenes always attendant on an amateur entertainment. All the members of the committee were on hand to encourage Mr. Fogg and congratulate him in advance on the prospects of a grand success. Handy, perceiving that the time for the rising of the curtain was approaching, crossed over to where Fogg was engaged in earnest conversation with Mrs. Chairman Doolittle, and suggested to that gentleman that it was getting near the time to ring in the orchestra, and that he had better go to his dressing-room and complete his make-up.
"All right," said Fogg. "Please excuse me, Mrs. Doolittle. Mr. Handy, I will now leave charge of the stage to you. Ring in the orchestra at eight o'clock sharp. I'll be ready."
"Correct," replied the stage manager. He then proceeded to take a survey of the front of the house through the peep-hole in the drop curtain. The house was filling up nicely, but, as Handy subsequently remarked, the audience had a peculiar look that did not recommend itself to the veteran's practiced eye.
"How it is?" inquired someone at Handy's elbow. On his turning about he found it was his old friend Smith, of the Gem of the Ocean.
"Hello, old pal! Well, I don't know how to size it up. There's a fair crowd, and if it is all money it's a good house. But it doesn't look to me like a money house. The people in the audience appear to be too well acquainted. They act as if they came to a picnic."