Harvard Stories: Sketches of the Undergraduate

by Waldron Kintzing Post

"When I came to," Ned went on, "I was on my face behind the scenes, with four or five able-bodied Irishmen sitting on my back. The 'super' captain was going to turn me over to the cop; but I begged pardon all round, paid for the leading angel's broken head, and finally managed to smooth things over."

"They are pretty careful how they take amateur supes at any of the theatres now. Nothing like the battle of Philippi can ever occur again," said Rattleton, regretfully.

"Give us that, Ned," said Stoughton; "I guess some of these fellows have never heard an accurate account by one of the heroes."

"That was truly the grandest suping event in history," said Burleigh, refilling his glass, and returning to his position by the fire. "It was just after that new theatre was opened, way down there on Washington Street. It was a cheap shrine, but I tell you, now, Melpomene was right in it. The owners had no idea of making it a low-down variety hall, not much. They were going to give high-class performances and educate the masses. One of the first things they had there was a Shakespearean revival, run by a peripatetic star named Riley. The fellows used to go in and supe all the time. They rather liked to have Harvard men for two reasons: first, because it was cheap, and, in the second place, I think Riley's manager rather expected us to bring all our friends and relatives there to see us act, and give the place a boom.

"The first night of Julius Cæsar came on Jim de Laye's twenty-first birthday, and he was going to give a dinner, after which we intended to fill a box at the show and give Cæsar a good send-off. I went in town to get the box, and at the office I heard the manager, or some official, complaining about lack of supes. I made inquiries, and it ended in my contracting to furnish him with ten good men and true for that evening at reasonable rates. He gave me as a bonus a few tickets for any of my family or 'lady friends.' It showed how green he was to take ten of 'de Ha'vards' at once. They never would have done that anywhere else in town.

"The other chaps all fell in with the arrangement, and we had the dinner at Parker's early. A man does not get to be twenty-one years old every day in the year, so we took pains to see that Jim did it properly.

"That lazy goat on the sofa there (pointing to Rattleton) had not been seen in Cambridge that afternoon, and knew nothing about the suping arrangement. Of course, he was late to dinner, as usual, and of course, as usual, he turned up with that d——d dog of his. After dinner, when we adjourned to the theatre, we wanted him to leave Blathers behind at Parker's, but he insisted on taking the pup along, wrapped in his overcoat. He assured us that Blathers would keep perfectly quiet, and no one would ever know he was there. We might have known better, but I suppose we were in a yielding mood. De Laye and two or three others brought bottles of fizz in their overcoats. They said it was always well to propitiate the natives, and thought such provisions might be popular with the Thespians. Jim swore he'd make noble Romans of every man of 'em. We got there early, and Blathers was tied up and hidden away under Jack's coat in a corner of the dressing-room. In the performance we all did our parts like little men. Rome was proud of her citizens that day. As for our mob-work, that showed positive genius."

"How Marc Antony's speech over the body did go!" chuckled Rattleton from the sofa.

"The stage-manager was delighted and complimented us, and so did Riley himself. Jack Rat had made friends with Riley very early in the game. He had invited him out to lunch in Cambridge, and had hinted at getting him to coach the Pudding show. Moreover, Jack and I had steered several large parties in to Riley's performances, and Riley knew it. It was a lucky thing for us, as it turned out, that he and Jack had got so chummy.

"All went well until the battle scene. They had put us all on the same side; in fact, we constituted the entire army of Brutus—that was another evidence of greenness in the management. The battle had been raging mildly for some time. We had marched and counter-marched, and had been reviewed and exhorted two or three times, without even getting a glimpse of the enemy. At last it came to the scene where Brutus' aggregation gets driven across the stage by Antony's offering a desperate resistance. Cassius had been killed, young Cato was going to be captured, and everything was going to the bow-wows. While we were standing in the wings along with Antony's army, waiting to go on, Jim de Laye said, 'Hang it, let's put a little real good acting into this thing; these stage scraps are too woodeny.' Of course I did my best to restrain this idea among my companions, but it became popular at once in spite of anything I could say. I must confess I always had rather a desire myself to see that oily-mouthed peep of a Marc Antony well thrashed. The next minute we had to go across the back of the stage, hotly contesting every inch of the way with our trusty wooden brands, two up and two down. About half way over, that crazy Jim de Laye opened the ball by smiting his man hip and thigh and other parts, in the most life-like manner. The other supe hit back in just anger, and there was an instant rally of the Brutus forces. My man was a little fellow, and I did him up in time to see an entirely new feature introduced in the scene. Marc Antony himself suddenly appeared, hard pressed by a togaed citizen. The way he got there was this—correct me, Jack, if I make any mistake in this part of the history. Blathers, as I told you, had been left curled up under a coat in the dressing-room. Some of the employees had found him there, however, untied him, and started in to play with him. Mr. Blathers, finding himself in strange company, slipped away from them and went looking for his master. Just as the battle scene began, he arrived at the wings, where Marc Antony was waiting to go on. Antonius was in very bad humor about something. He asked in fluent Latin, 'What the —— that dog was doing there?' and made a kick at Blathers. I guess Blathers was in much the same mood, for he turned around and effected a prompt connection with the calf of Marc Antony's leg. He was a disappointed dog; he got his mouth full of horsehair. Antony wasn't touched, and let Blathers have it with the other foot.