Tudor, Forbes Minimus, Hastings, and five others.

Scene: Venice. A Court of Justice.

N.B.--The scene will conclude with the exit of Shylock.

_An Interval of Ten Minutes._

PART II

7. Glee Singing by the School Glee Singers.

("The Three Chafers," by request.)

8. Comic Song. Percy Minor (son of the great actor, Thomas Percy).

9. Lightning calculation. Nicholas (introduced by Thwaites. Must be seen to be believed).

10. c.o.o.n Interlude with Banjo. Weston.

11. Duet. Towler and Cornwallis (both nearly drowned last summer on Foster Day).

12. A Satire in One Act by Tracey, ent.i.tled "The White Feather."

Dramatis Personae.

Captain Harold Vansittart Maltravers, V.C. Tracey.

General Sir Henry Champernowne, K.C.B. Blades.

A Policeman. Briggs.

Miss Sophia Flapperkin. Williams.

Scene: Trafalgar Square. Time: The Present.

_G.o.d SAVE THE KING._ Booking Office: Mitch.e.l.l.

Well, that was the programme, and, seeing the front seats were only half a crown, there didn't seem much chance of anybody not getting their money's worth.

I could say a great deal about the rehearsals, which were very difficult, owing to the question of scenery; and finally, after many suggestions, we decided merely to have wings, and leave the rest to the imagination, because we couldn't get within miles of a court in Venice, and Trafalgar Square was equally out of the question. And Percy minor said that really cla.s.sy stage managers, like Granville Barker, relied less and less on scenery, and that the very highest art was to go back to Elizabethan times, and just stick up what the scene was on a curtain; and if people didn't like it, they could do the other thing. So we went back to Elizabethan times. But we had a professional man from Plymouth to make us up for Shakespeare, and he did it professionally, and we were rather dazzled ourselves at what we looked like on the night. Seen close, you're awful, but, of course, it's all right from the front.

The dresses for Shakespeare were also professional, and we had help, for without the matron and Nelly Dunston and Minnie Dunston, and a maid or two, the dresses would not have fitted, and so caused derision. But they did well, and we looked very realistic, though my Jewish gaberdine was too long to the last. However, n.o.body noticed, though naturally they did notice when Antonio's beard carried away, and it spoilt the pathos, because some fools laughed, instead of taking no notice, as any decent chaps would have.

Well, of course, the excitement was to see how the half-crown seats went off at Tomson's, and they weren't gone in a moment, by any means. You could book both half-crowners and eighteen-pennies, which came next, and people put off their booking a good deal. But when the programme was out, the booking improved, and five people booked in one day. It was rather interesting to hear who had booked, and Mitch.e.l.l was allowed to go to the shop every morning after school to know how things were going.

Sir Neville Carew, from the Manor House, took five half-crown seats in the front row, and Dr. Dunston himself took the next five. This news, we greeted with mingled feelings, yet, as Mitch.e.l.l pointed out, he might have had them for nothing, which was true. The masters all took half-crown seats dotted about the big hall, and when Briggs asked Brown why they had done this, instead of sitting together, Brown said: "To applaud your efforts, Briggs, and suggest a consensus of opinion if we can." As a matter of fact, we didn't want their wretched applause when the time came, for we got plenty without it.

The most sensational person to take a half-crown seat was old Black, from next door. He had always been our greatest enemy, and hated us, and he never gave anything back that went over his wall, and made us pay instantly if we did any damage, or broke a pane of gla.s.s, or anything; yet there he was. He sat in the second row, and not a muscle moved from first to last, and he never clapped once. Yet, extraordinary to say, the most remarkable thing about the whole performance had to do with old Black, though the amazing affair didn't come out till next morning.

Mitch.e.l.l calculated that, if every seat was taken, we should clear thirty-four pounds odd, and he rather hoped the programmes would bring it up to thirty-six. From that, however, had to be subtracted the cost of the dresses and the professional man from Plymouth, and also the cost of the programmes and the piano man. It looked as if we should be good for a clear thirty pounds; but only if the house was full.

Happy to relate, it was, and many people who did not book at all, came and took their tickets at the door, and the one bob part was packed. In fact, a good many stood all through, including those interested in Merivale in humble ways, such as the tuck-woman and the ground-man and the drill-sergeant, and many other such-like people. When, therefore, after the interval for refreshments, Dr. Dunston got up and said we had taken thirty-seven pounds four shillings, there was great cheering, and most did not hide their surprise.

A reporter came from _The Merivale Trumpet_ and Mitch.e.l.l saw that he had plenty of refreshments for nothing, because this is expected by reporters, and much depends on it. He ate and drank well, so we naturally hoped for a column or two about the show; but the cur wrote a most feeble account in three inches of type, and gave all the praise to Dr. Dunston, so I need not repeat what he said.

The truth was as follows, and I shall take the programme by its items, and be perfectly fair about it. I won't pretend everything went off as well as we hoped, and some of the chaps didn't come off at all; but, on the other hand, many did, and the failures also got a friendly greeting.

And even if you make a person laugh quite differently from what you expected, it's better than if he doesn't laugh at all. Besides, we had to remember that everybody had paid solid cash, so it wasn't like a free show, where people have got to be pleased, or pretend to be. Because, when you have paid your money, you are free to display your feelings; and if people in a paying audience are such utter bounders as to laugh in the wrong places, there's no law against it, and the performers must jolly well stick it as best they can.

Well, of course, Percy minimus was a certainty, and the start was excellent. In fact, some people wanted to encore him; but this did not happen--though he would have sung again--because the live rabbit which Abbott had borrowed from Bellamy for his illusions broke loose and dashed on to the platform. So when the audience expected Percy back, instead there appeared a large, lop-eared white rabbit with a brown behind. It looked, of course, as if Abbott had already begun to conjure, and, in fact, had turned Percy into a lop-eared rabbit.

Anyway, the people were so much interested that they stopped encoring Percy, and seemed inclined to encore the bewildered rabbit. Then Abbott appeared and caught the rabbit, which had rather ruined his show by appearing in this way; and Vernon and Montgomery, who were his a.s.sistants, brought on the magic table, with various objects arranged upon it for the tricks. Unfortunately, Abbott was very nervous, which is a most dangerous thing for a conjuror to be, and tricks which he would have done to perfection during school hours, or in the home circle, so to say, got fairly mucked up before the paying audience. He put on an appearance of great ease, but he couldn't manage his voice, and he forgot his "patter," and he also forgot how to palm, and kept dropping secret things at awkward moments, and making footling jokes to hide his confusion. The people were frightfully kind and patient, and that made him worse. I believe, if they had hissed, it might have bucked him up.

He forced a card, as he thought, on old Black, and after messing about with a pistol and an orange and a silk handkerchief and some unseen contrivances, he made the ace of spades appear in a bouquet of imitation flowers, and then challenged old Black to show his card, which he did do, and it unfortunately turned out to be the four of hearts. This fairly broke Abbott, and when it came to bringing the lop-eared rabbit out of a borrowed hat, every soul in that paying audience saw him put it in first. It is true he tried to conceal it in a ma.s.s of other things under a huge flag, supposed to be the Union Jack; but the rabbit, who had never been conjured with before, and hated it, kicked violently and defied concealment, so to say. However, Abbott got a lot of trick flowers and vegetables and about half a mile of yellow ribbon into the hat at the same time as the rabbit, and the audience had not seen him do this, so they were slightly mystified, and applauded in a weary sort of way. He finished up by bringing a bowl of goldfish out of a dice with white spots on it, and, though there was no great deception, it pa.s.sed off safely for the goldfish. Then Abbott bowed and cleared out; and, thanks to Fortescue, who is fond of Abbott, and said "Bravo!" and tried to work up some applause, there was no absolute blank when he had done.

But Montgomery and Vernon, who had to clear up the debris afterwards, got one of the best laughs of the night, because they became fearfully entangled in the yellow ribbon, and thoughtless people were a good deal amused to see it.

Then came Rice and Ba.s.sett in shorts, with a new pair of boxing gloves.

A chair was put in each corner of the stage, and the seconds stood by the chairs. It was all pure science, but only a few chaps at the back appreciated them, and when, as bad luck would have it, Rice tapped Ba.s.sett's ruby in the first round, the women part of the audience gurgled, and gave little yelps and screams. It was nothing, but evidently appeared strange and dreadful to them; so the Doctor stopped the exhibition, and that item can be put down as an utter failure.

Perhaps it was a silly thing to have arranged for a mixed audience; but we had to think of Rice's feelings, and we also knew that scores of countesses and d.u.c.h.esses go to see Carpentier and Wells, and such like in real fights, so we little dreamed anybody would squirm at a harmless exhibition bout that wouldn't have shaken a flea. But it was so, and consequently the glee singers were a great relief, and while they warbled their simple lays, the female part of the audience recovered.

Of course, we Thespians did not see any of these things, as we were all making up for the great Trial Scene.

Forrester got fair applause for Fortescue's fine poem, but nothing special. As a matter of fact, he forgot the third verse, which was the best, and doubtless Fortescue felt very sick about it; but he was powerless to do anything, though he never much liked Forrester after.

Then came the grand item, and it was good in every way, and went very smoothly till just the end. Of course, I can't say anything about my rendition of Shylock--in fact, I didn't feel I had gripped the audience in the least--but chaps told me you might have heard a pin drop, and n.o.body recognized me who knew me, and many of the people in the audience thought it was one of the masters, and not a boy at all. Pegram rather overacted the Duke, which is a part that merely wants stateliness, and no acting; but he would act, and so forgot his words and hung us up once or twice. In fact, Pegram was not good; but Antonio, by Saunders, was a very thoughtful performance, and so was Ba.s.sanio, by Preston. Percy minor certainly came off as Gratiano, and unfortunately he acted so jolly well that, in one of his fearful scores off me, I forgot the dignified pathos of Shylock, and laughed. It was a new reading, in a way, but I didn't mean to laugh, and it did a lot of harm, because after that the audience wouldn't take me seriously, though before, I believe, most of them had. It spoiled the illusion of the scene. Portia, in the hands of Williams, was most beautiful to see, but, from the art point of view, awful. He got out his words, however, and just at the end, before my exit, Minnie Dunston, who had plotted it with him in secret, threw him a bouquet of white chrysanthemums, and the fool picked it up and said out loud: "Thank you, Minnie!" Of course, after that, my exit went for nothing, and when it was over, I punched his head behind the scenes, while in front people were laughing themselves silly. We got two calls, and it shows what a force the drama really is, because in the second half of the programme n.o.body cared a b.u.t.ton about such excellent things as Percy minor's comic song; and though Towler and Cornwallis were mildly applauded, it was only because they happened to be still alive and not dead; and the lightning calculations of Nicholas didn't even tempt many men to come away from the refreshments. I dare say many of them were very poor, and had to make so many lightning calculations themselves, owing to the War, that they weren't specially interested in what Nicholas could do. But for Tracey's play they all came, and such applause was never heard within the walls of Merivale; which shows that the drama still holds its own. The idea of "The White Feather" was certainly very original, and the dialogue very satirical. As the girl with the white feathers, Williams appeared again--in a dress lent him by Minnie Dunston. This was too small in some places and too big in others; but thanks to a huge female hat and a wig of golden hair, Williams made a very fair flapper, though inches too tall for such a creature. He gave a feather to Captain Maltravers, V.C., from Gallipoli, who was in mufti; and Tracey, with an eyegla.s.s--which he manages fairly well--and a moustache, was frightfully satirical at the flapper's expense, and every point he made went with a roar. Then the flapper stuck a white feather into the frock-coat of General Sir Champernowne--also in mufti--and he was not satirical, but got into a frightful rage, and gave up the flapper to a policeman. She cried and begged for pardon; and then the V.C. returned, and saved her from the General and the policeman, and promised to marry her after the War.

The house was fairly convulsed, and it was really jolly true to nature--so much so that the pianist almost forgot "G.o.d Save the King"

when all was over. For though a professional, and well used to entertainments, he laughed as much as anybody.

Then the people "came like shadows and so departed," in the words of the immortal Bard; and not until next day did the final stupendous thing happen with old Black. He looked over the playground wall just before dinner, as he often did, to make a beast of himself about something, and, seeing me and Weston and another chap or two kicking about a football, he said to me: "Are you the boy Thwaites?" And I said I was.

Then he said: "Come in, Thwaites; I want to speak to you."

My first thought was--what had I done? But as I hadn't had any row with old Black for two terms, my "withers were unwrung," and I went; and he took me into his study, and handed me a bit of pink paper with writing on it.

"What's this, sir?" I asked.

"A cheque for the Red Cross," he answered. "A cheque for twenty guineas, to add to the money from your performance last night."

He was scowling all the time, mind you, and looking as if he hated the show.

"I'm sure it's very sporting of you, sir," I said to old Black.

"Not in the least," he replied. "I laughed more last night than I have laughed for fifty years. And I only paid half a crown--much too little for what I got."

I was fearfully amazed.

"Excuse me, sir," I said, "but I didn't see you laugh once!'

"No," he answered, "and more did anyone else. When I laugh, I laugh inside, boy, not outside. So do most wise men. Now be off; and when you next play Shylock, let me know. If I'm alive, I'll come."

So I went, and we cheered old Black from the playground. He must have heard us, but he didn't show up.

Certainly, taking one thing with another, there are many extraordinary people in the world, and you may be surprised at any moment. No doubt it was one of those cases of coming to scoff and remaining to pray that you hear about, but don't often actually see.