CHAPTEE XX.-AT THE PLAY.

Otago Daily Times, Issue 11197, 20 August 1898, Page 3

CHAPTEE XX.-AT THE PLAY.

It -was at this time that Madame Grace Pinkerton, the celebrated provincial actress, brought her company, to Invernish; by some means or other Madame had obtained an introduction to Mr Tom Grieve; the subeditor, having heard something of the pitiful liferstory of this poor woman, hinted to his assistant—who had been promoted to the post of dramatic critic—that if he could say a friendly word about her in the Observer no harm would be done; and. 4rchie Uilchnst ' not only undertook to do so.but went about mentioning the forthcoming series of per-, fonnances, and enlisting sympathy and support ; so it came about that the: two ladies of Glengarva He-use had promised to be present on the opening night, though : theatregoing was iiot much in their way. And whom but Archie'Gilchrist.himself did they first set eyes on, as they entered the large and gaunt building'/ He was in the' front row of the stalls, next to the orchestra. Of course, he was looking out for them; and his heart seemed almost to suffocate him when at last he saw Wild EeHn at the portal; and his face was in a flame and his brain in a mad bewilderment when he rose and bowed to them, in response to their smiling salutation. And then he sit?, down agai.n. He hflfl not the courage to go roun.d and speak lo' them, when they, Had' token.' their .places. ■ Or rcrhaps it was some kind of-false pride' that deterred him?: If Mrs and Miss Mac--dcnald, of' Kinvaig, honoured him by a certain measure of friendship in private, he was not'going to parade the fact before this public assemblage. All the same, ; his eyes were in the back of his. head. It was little attention he paid to the ragged representation of the Bay of Naples'that did duty foi a dropscene. 'He knew only that those two were ; behind him; he "wondered; whether Miss Eelin was scanning this .tfhe or the other whom he'-also could see; he was terribly anxious that .the melodrama might not prove too preposterous ;.' and he was stirred to fury ■by the tramping of'the. lads in the ba-ck "benches. lwh3 were ihus; manifesting their impatience. Had thej: no . manners,. the Brutes? He could have shaken them by the, back, of theuieek, as '.-a. terrier, shakes a rat. For it was at: his. suggestion that the gentle Bean-an:Tighearn and -the beautiful and proud and haughty .'Eelin' Macdonald had come to this unwanted place—to be insulted by these vociferojjS calls,, and whistlings, and the stamping of feet. 0 that the play would begin—and Drove to be even, passable! And at length the-, ragged curtain was' raised, and the opening scenes of "Lady Annesley's Crime" were proceeded with. The . melodrama turned, out to be neither better nor worse j>han most of its kind—conventional characters, forced situations, dialogue such fis was never spoken anywhere by human beings; but amid all this rant and fustian there was' one redeeming feature, and th-,t was the earnestness of Madame herself, who played, the, leading part. She believed in herself: she thought she was impressing her audience : she was trying hard to infuse 14fe and naturalness into all this wooden and mechanical stuff. Well, the critic of the Invernish Observed/knew nothing of the art of acting; he Md no experience; but at least he could Veeognise the sincerity of this poor,woman's endeavours; and he was resolved tljat the friendly word that had been begged of him should be more than friendly, if he knew anything of the English lanAlas! /while _.> vision was tnus concentrated on the unreal and impossible world before him, the eyes in the back of his head did not tell him what was happening in the actual world just behind him; In the middle of one of the acts, the potboy-looking Lord' Mountmahon had lolled into the ha'li, hid cast a glance around, discovered where Mrs Macdonald and her daughter were sweated, had,gone forivard to them with his: most captivating 'grin" arid shaken hands' with them, and then had coolly taken his place by the side of the elder lady. " Heard you we're to be here," he said, in his off-hand, jolly, confident, way.. "Madame Pirikerton herself told'me.' Used to be a pal o' mine, before she went and made that hash of a marriage. Awful stupid to have no boxes in a theatre ; she'd have sent you one—distinguished patronage, don't you^ know; I say," he continued, lowering his voice a little, so that, Miss Eelin should not hear, " I'll tell you why I came to-night " "■I suppose to see the play," observed Eelin's mother, with some little asperity: she did not like beivig talked to ■ during a performance, - - ■ " Oh, that?" tie said,.with a momentary and contemptudus'>gju'nce towards the stage. "That's all tommy-rot. Awfully good of you to come here, you and Miss Eelin ; but you needn't martyrise yourselves by taking the bosh seriously. I suppose the leading Jady "does; she's rathei a stupid woman. Besides she has to earn her living. I bought a dozen stalls, and gave them away ; I fanoy she's in rather low water at present; «he made a desperate haah of her marriage. But what I wanted to say was this—are you rnuci.i of a stickler for form, Mrs Macdonald? Oh, it's quite right and proper; let's have everything proper and correct;" and you'll find me; doing everything fair,, square, and aboveboard. "They- may have told you stories about me; but I'm not such a bad sort. And I want to see you privately, in your own house, for a.few minutes. When would it be convenient, now? I like to forge ahead, you know. You only live onoe, awl you mustn't let the othe^.Johnnies get the best of you. Well,' now, about tomorrow, my dear lady. What do you say about to-morrow? You couldn't ■ give a fellow a snack of luncheon at 1, could you? Immensely cheeky, of me to ask you; it's what they call effrontery in books; hut I like to .forge ahead, and get matters settled. ■Especially important matters—oh, yes—an important event; and I want you to be on my side. You see, I have to go., down to Glengarva by the afternoon, steamer; —3 o'clock ; but if you could give a snack of luncheon at 1, then we might have our little private talk —-" " We shall be most pleased if you will lunch with us to-morrow, \Lord Mountmahon," said Eelin's mother (but with such a whirl of hurried conjectures and imaginings as it is impossible to describe). "And 1 o'clock will suit us admirably." "Ah, that's all right, then," he said, with distinct approval. "That's quite* correct. First step secured, and the sooner we get on furthei the better. Don't you believe what they say about me, Mrs Macdonald. People talk. The idiots can't help it. Theii tougues will go. And if they found theii tongues wouldn't go they'd drop down dead thrcugh sheer irignfr. And you understand what a fuss is made in small provincial quarters.—peonle who don't know the world— who have never been anywhere—never seer anything—except their own back garden and a hymn bonk. But you are not like that, Yon have lived in the great world. Yoi know what life is—rather a mixed affairyes, rather a mixed affair; but not so bac on the whole, when you make allowances And if there's anybody that doesn't neec allowances made foi them, well, I've neve; met them. They're the saints, I suppose B-it if you could leraii a little more abou the private conduct of the saints, yoi wouldn't be so cast down in suffering ant woe. One human being is most uncommoi like another human being—that's what I say Anl the saints are just like other people only they add on a b.ver of hypocrisy. No\ that's shabby. That's mean. But it's onl; the Juginses* that are taken in, and imagini the saints and saintesses to be what they pro fess to be. Of course, it's all bally rotthat's what I maintain. Human nature i human nature. I daresay I could be a sain myself—if I laid on the ' hypocrisy thicl enough. Well, it's not my way. I want t be fair, square, and aboveboard; and the; may talk about me until they burst; the; won't find' me answering them. But whe: it comes to a delicate question—as this isthen I hope allowances will be made, am hot too much attention paid to the chatte of ill-conditioned gillies and dismissed house maids—oh. I beg your pnrdon, Mrs Mac donald ! —I never imagined you could hea anything of that kind—of course not! Bu there h-* been talk. And I don't deny tha I Y'V.p ;\ bit i)' fun," he went on, in his air and p'-'v arid complacent fashion. " rlfii't deny it. Youth will have ,it fling, you know — perfectly natural

and I like a bit o' skylarking. ' I'm not denying it; bnb tlien, don't you see, i ii one had a better example before one, one ] rnighr. reform a little. lifreason, you under- - stand. Oh, yes, iii reason. You don't be- 1 come al reformed character right off the reel. That's not to be expected. But in reason. Oh, I tell you, I should rather like to try a little bit of reform. I'd go in for it. Yes, I would. Especially when there /were ■other attractions that would repay one. But we 11 talk about bhat to-morrow. -One o'clock; and sharp to the. minute is my motto." Now Eelin Macdonald had not overheard, nor had she wished to overhear, this onesideu conversation; but none the less she w^s indignant that Lord Mount'mahon should have before all. these people seated himself by her. mother's side, and should so onenly have neglected the.play in order to monopolise her attention; and the more ostentatiously, therefore, did she devote herselt to the stage, to follow what was going forward there. And if her sympathies .were entirely with the poor heroine who was striving so pathetically to make her tragic story seem real, they were soon to be called iut) still more active operation. For all the way through the performance there had been perceptible among a rabble of youths at the back of the hall a disposition to turn the niece into jridicule; and at.the end of the fcurth act, where the heroine.mourns over the deathbed of her son, this tendency broke, loose into a tumult of loud laughter. It was altogether a disgraceful scene; and Eehn s fierce wrath and'scorn were in nowise lessened when she lound that the potboy sitting next her mother was. also sniggering. The catcalls continued—the loud jeering and vacant laughter—the whistling to.emphasise the derision of the pit; and at last.the actdrop was prematurely rung down. . _ ' And then, a moment or two afterwards, there appeared before the curtain a solitary woman—a tall and handsome woman with, raven-black hair. Her stage make-up did not conceal the fact that she was now intensely- pale; she was trembling from head, to foot; tears were rolling down her cheeks —perhaps she had been unnerved by her passionate efforts in the death-bed sccine even before she had to meet this, emergency. And this is what she said, in a broken voice, addressing the turbulent part of the ' audience: ..:•..■ ■ j "I am not angry with you. Pray be- j lieve'me, ;I am-not vexed with you. 'Per- j haps you are right. Perhaps the play is i. not quite what you expected. I will not' produce it again. But—but there is another . act —but there is another act; and—and I i would beg of you a little consideration. I ' ask you for a little consideration. As a woman—and very much alone—l' appeal to you. We are all of us" in this play doing our best to merit your approval; but , it is not easy—it is not easy' to-^it is not easy—,—';' And here the piteous sentences : failed her; for,a violent fit of sobbing had' overtaken her ;. and .with shaken frame, and with' bowed head, and'with her hands , clasped over her face, the ' poor woman ; staggered away from before the gaze of this half-amused, half-ashamed crowd.' ■ Wild Eelin's lips were white; and her eyes were brimming over; and-her breath caught more than once as she. took out her pencil and began to scribble hurriedly on the envelope that had contained the stall tickets. This was.what she scrawled— with the last wprd doubly underlined: "If you are writing about the performance tonight, I hope you will lash these cowards.— E. M." And then she/folded Up the envelope, and'got hold of an attendant, and had it conveyed io the gentleman 'who was seated at the end. of the front row of the, stalls. Archie Gilchrist rose, and turned round, and bowed in acquiescence to this demand. He could not, at that distance, perceive that the " eyes with the blue of the sea-wave" in . them were all wet and. shining: and, as it, chanced, he did. riot notice that the notorious ;Mountmahon was engaged in conversation with Eelin's mother. The large hall was not very well lighted. This episode occurred at the end of the; fourth act; arid of the' fifth act Gilchrist, professional critic as he-was, did not see. : very much, for his brain> was. simply at fever heat devising malignant phrases and epithets that would burn and stab and rankle. For he had been arigry^ enough even before the beginning, of the piece! at the unruly'behaviour of those louts in. the pit; but now his indignation was beyond . all bounds; moreover had lie not just received a command from.Miss Ma'odohald of Kinvaig? The moment the melodrama'had ■ concluded, he hastened round, to the. "Ob,'server "•■ office, and .at once plunged; h^ad.lorig::into his diatribe. 'The beginning was cunningly calm and mild. "The ill-manners •of. the low-class .yoiith .of! Iriverni^h have long been notorious. In no other town or city, of Europe"—(Archie Gilchrist had nevercrossed ' the Channel•; but phrases of this.. kind 'are part of a critic's equipment;' they ' give him an; air of importance and experience and authority.)—" could the spectacle be found of idle loafers lounging at the corners of the principal thoroughfares, occupying the whole breadth of. the pavement, polluting the air with their vile tobacco and viler language, and not budging one inch ' when any lady approaches, on tie contrary, driving her out into the mud of the causei way." [He had seen the Bean-an-Tighearn ' so treated on one occasion,; and he had. resolved he would have it out of the boors - sooner or,later.] "But when these unlicked cubs come into a theatre to vaunt ! their ribald, buffoonery, to make themselves ; an intolerable nuisance to the rest of the 1 audience, to shamelessly insult the per- , formers —and one of these performers an '. educated and accomplished woman, whose very existence depends on her winning and 1 retaining' the-favour of the public—then surely it becomes vhe duty of the respecti able members of the community, to enter some kind of protest." And so he went on, I the, lashing .becoming every moment more and more savage, until'he.had to leave off in order to deal with-the performance, and [ in" that direction his language was just as kind and generous as hitherto it had been 1 vicious and vindictive. Then away with ! the "copy" to the composing room (for ' there was generally a driving rush on Fri- ! day ■■ night),-' with ■ a prayer ' for. .a ■ speedy ' proof: he could not have his vengeance ', postponed for a whole week. . i It was Tom Grieve who brought the rough , i proof into his assistant's den. , . „ . ; "Here, Gilchrist," said he, "what the r devil have you been about! Why, man, ' there'll be a riot in the town! They'll { burn down the whole building! I really can't let this go in." ~., , •' "If you dont, said Archie Gilchrist, ■ serenely, "I'm out and off from this office c to-morrow —for good." ■ , I ■" Oh, don't be a fool!" I '•' "I mean it." i ■ " Wonder what the Doctor'll say," ob- ' ! served the sub-editor, looking ruefully at the damp ribbon of paper. '. . .' : "The Doctor will say it was well deserved," L said Gilchrist, " when he comes to hear Miss Maedonald's account of the affair." " Miss Macdonald of Kinvaig?" said the sub-editor, regarding the younger man; j. curiously. i " Yes" " ■ 3 "Oh, she was Ihere, was she? And per- ! ' r haps she inspired this hot blast of fury? ".' j Gilchrist would not answer. j i "I suspect that's it. She's given to im- ! 1 petuosities. I rather imagine she put you on to this. Well, I suppose I must chance it: she's a particular pet of the Doctor's." r And thus it was that early on the next 1 morning, Miss Eelin, who had been up and out and strolling along the river bank, in a her eager expectation of the messenger-boy, sot hotel of the " Invernish Observer " ; and 1 with her heart exulting she read the fierce denunciation of those brutal and illiterate 1 louts - and she fled swiftly up to her mother's r room,' waving the newspaper above her head. i■t ii n i • i t " Oh, mummie, it s splendid! she cried, ii "You never read anything so splendid! I <) knew he would give them what for! And n I must ask him out to luncheon this very , d a y—to thank him." . _ Her mother turned round from the dressing y table at which she was sitting. I " Eeli" do you forget? I told you last c night Lord Mountmahon was coming to ). luncheon to-da,y." ... _ " And well? " said the girl, with an instant Is change of manner. "At least Mr Gilchrist ,t will not have a retinue of music-hall singers k and pugilists hanging about the gate and 0 waiting for him." v "Eelin you distress me!" the mother said, y in a pleading kind of way. "What can you n expect your life to be if you take such vio- - lent prejudices-if you will not make allowd ances for people-if you will not give them 1 Sredit for trying to amend their ways? I f. wish you could have heard what Lord Mount- -. mahon had to say about himself last night, v- If only you could be a little more chanlt I am not to «v* Mr Gilchrist to ■v come to luncheon?" lielm said, rather •I proudly. ask him _ as j see you ; wish it," her mother answered her.

Arid then the girl—but somewhat slowly ' and thoughtfully—went away to her own room, to.write out the note of invitation. It was a strange kind of thing, but she seemed to be summoning to her an ally. I