Next came act the third, in which the O'Keefe
Was to be very great as the terrible chief,
For in it he killed
His rival, and spilled
The gore of the coastguards all over the coast,
And eloped with a bride,
Who beheld him with pride
Though she could herself of a coronet boast.
As a matter of fact
We hoped that this act
Would redeem in a measure the ones that preceded,
And it opened so well,
And O'Keefe looked so swell,
That at last we obtained the encouragement needed.
And then came the fight.
No one thought, on that night,
That McEwen would dare try his vile tour de force;
And the battle began
On the well-rehearsed plan,
While the supers made ready to bear off his corse.
Whatever induced him to do it? Who knows?
He says 'twas an accident. Well, I suppose,
When a man tells you that,
A denial too flat
Might perhaps lead to arguments, even to blows.
But, be that as it may,
The O'Keefe couldn't slay
His opponent, whose wrist
All at once gave a twist,
And the brave bandit's weapon went flying away!
The supers stood spellbound, as over the stage
Strode the maddened O'Keefe; in a frenzy of rage
He picked up his sword, and then went for his foe
In terrible earnest.
Oh, that was the sternest,
Most truculent fight
Ever fought in the sight
Of innocent people, who shouted "Bravo!"
Little knowing how soon the real blood was to flow.
Thank Heaven, the swords
Were as blunt as two boards!
Otherwise the result would have been simply frightful.
As it was, every whack
Make the deuce of a crack,
While the audience considered it clearly delightful.
With th' applause at its height,
This most bloodthirsty fight,
By a blow from the skilful McEwen was ended.
O'Keefe fell as if dead,
With a gash on his head;
The supers rushed forward, the curtain descended.
Talk about clapping!
And walking-stick rapping!
While even the gentlemen formerly napping,
"Bravoed" themselves hoarse
With the whole of their force,
And made their fat palms quite tender with slapping.
"O'Keefe! and McEwen!" was shouted by all,
Why the deuce don't they come and acknowledge the call?
Then some people said
"That blow on the head—
Was it part of the play?—or"—ah, see, in the hall
A youth—he's a member, as that ribbon shows—
See! to Doctor Pomander he stealthily goes—
To the doctor, who sat
With his coat and his hat
Just under his seat, that he need not delay
If a patient should send to fetch him away;
But who never expected to find in the hall
A patient—and much less a bandit—at all!
Anxiety now
Takes the place of the row,
And people talk low
And ask "Shall they go?"
When before the dropped curtain there comes with a bow
The stage-manager suave,
With a countenance grave,
To announce that although there's nought serious the matter,
(Here applause and some chatter)
Still, in the late fight
The wrong man beat the right,
And that therefore the show was at end for the night.
Thus the bandit chief
Came duly to grief,
Though not in the way that the author intended,
And as for his head
Ere he went home to bed,
The doctor had seen that 'twas properly mended.
This, friends, was the end of the drama for me,
And for most, I believe, of the Zeus A.D.C.,
Whose need of success
May indeed have been less
Than that usually obtained by such clubs and societies;
But be that as it may,
I have e'er from that day
Placed amateur acting among th' improprieties.
(By permission of the Author.)