For days it looked as though the bill would be defeated. Very few spoke in its favor, but one could hear criticism almost anywhere. Two days before it was to come up for third reading a thing happened, however, that gave it new life. Bill-posters in all parts of the city of Columbus filled the bill-boards and store windows with brilliant posters announcing that on the following night the famous actor James A. Herne and his company would play
“BETSY GASKINS (Dimicrat),
WIFE OF
JOBE GASKINS (Republican),”
at the Grand Opera-house, for the benefit of the poor of the city, and that the members of the General Assembly of the State of Ohio had been invited to attend free as the guests of Tom L. Johnson, of Cleveland. The large posters in the windows and on the bill-boards showed “Betsy Set Out in the Big Road,” “Jobe in Berea,” “The Cinder Pile,” and “Little Jane at the Family Reunion.”
Crowds gathered before the windows and about the bill-boards, studying the pictures. Strong men and brave women were seen to wipe away the tear of sorrow as they recalled and rehearsed the sad tale of Jobe and Betsy Gaskins.
In the afternoon word got out that the legislature had under consideration a bill that would make it easier for people to get homes. By morning of the next day it was the talk of the town.
The night of the show the large theater could not hold more than one-fourth of those who had come to see. The doors were closed at seven o’clock, and the performance began at once, word being sent to the disappointed crowd outside that Mr. Herne would give two shows that night, the doors to open for the second performance at nine o’clock, and, further, that seats would be free to all, only those paying who desired to contribute to the fund for the needy.
Immense enthusiasm, tears, and at times laughter, followed the players. As the hardships, trials and disappointments of poor old Betsy and innocent Jobe were made vivid and real by the actors, like conditions in the lives of fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters or friends came to the memory of nearly every one in the audience, and tears and sobs proved the interest with which the people were drinking in the great lesson that was passing before them. Finally, when the curtain fell on the last act, instead of the crowd rising and hastening to the exits, as crowds usually do, they sat for some moments as if spell-bound. Then individuals began to rise in their seats here and there, and, leaning over, to converse with their nearest neighbors in words and tones of consolation and hope, as though some great pall hung over them. Women were crying; the men looked earnest and thoughtful.
This was the condition of the audience when a great tumult was noticed in the front of the house; loud shouts of men filled the room, while above all others and on the shoulders of two brawny men there was lifted a middle-aged man, pale, nervous, yet seemingly calm. Every one seemed to be trying to reach his hand or touch his garments. He smiled. He was borne forward to the stage and placed upon it. At the same time two other men climbed on with him. When the larger of the two, who I afterward learned was the representative from Seneca County, vigorously pounded for order, the crowd settled back in their seats and quiet reigned. Then the big legislator said: