  The following day was a busy one in thought and action. Notwithstanding the disposition and energy of the Gotown proprietor in getting the Academy of Music ready, there were many things to be considered apart from the mere putting up of the structure itself. And these were as necessary as the house proper. In the first place, there was not a stitch of canvas prepared for the scenery; the lighting of the house had to be considered, and the arrangements for the seating had not been mentioned. These were some of the perplexities that confronted Handy. The first thing he did to prepare himself for the work before him was to take a bath. He was a great believer in hygiene, and cold water for bathing purposes he considered the best of medicines. The bath taken, he sat down to a good plain and substantial meal, with an appetite to enjoy it. Then, after carefully loading his briarwood, he summoned his man Friday for consultation. "Now, then, Smith, we have some work ahead this trip, I can tell you, and no mistake; and I hardly know where to begin. Anyhow, call a rehearsal for one o'clock." "A what! A rehearsal?" replied Smith, amazed. "A rehearsal—rehearsal of what, and may I inquire where?" "That's so," said Handy thoughtfully. "That's so. Never mind putting up the call, or better still, go and see the members of the company and tell them to be ready for the call. I'll decide later what I want them to do." The next move of the veteran was to call on the manager of the Weston Theatre to see if he could have the use of the stage for the afternoon. He found he could not, as the company then playing there wanted it for the rehearsal of a new play they had in rehearsal. If the next day would suit, the stage was at his disposal. This was an agreeable surprise to Handy. It suited him much better, as it gave him a little more time to think over the bill he should present at Gotown. He hastened to the hotel and instructed Smith to call the people for rehearsal at the Weston Theatre at eleven o'clock next forenoon. This piece of business off his mind, he sought his partner in the Gotown venture, to ascertain about the Handel and Hayden Philharmonic. Weston had just returned from a visit to Herr Anton Wagner, the leader and president of the society. "I have just parted with the boss of the spielers," said Weston, "and I am a bit disappointed. I don't think we can get them to do the street parade stunt, but for the night job they will be all O. K." "What do you mean by the street parade stunt?" inquired Handy, in some surprise. "That's a new one on me." "Well, I thought it would be a great scheme if we could get the Phillies to get out their wind instruments and play a few tunes through the main street from the station up to the new Academy the afternoon of the show. You know I have a couple of dozen army overcoats in the storeroom. The spielers could wear them. Then when they got to the Academy they could shed their street armor, hide their wind instruments, and start in on the string instruments in their glad rags." Handy smiled, and asked: "How did you succeed?" "Couldn't work the street racket." "Why?" "Because the men had to work at their regular jobs. Wagner is a shoemaker. He works the trombone in the streets and the bull fiddle under cover. The man that works the cornet in the outside operates the fiddle on the inside, and he's a dandy at it. He's a tailor, and a good one. He made the coat that's on my back; the man that——" "Hold on. That's enough!" broke in Handy. "I'm just as well pleased you didn't get them to do that street stunt. But you are sure there will be no disappointment for the night's performance?" "Sure. They are all anxious to go. But Herr Wagner wants his name to be mentioned on the bills as leader and president of the Handel and Hayden Philharmonic Society." "All right. He will have a line on the bills." "He gave me a pointer, too, and asked me to speak to you about it." "What is it?" "The man that works the fiddle,—Wagner calls him his first violin,—is an Irishman. His name is Nick Cullen in the shop, but when he tackles the fiddle in public he is known as Signor Nicola Collenso. If you give him a place on the programme you can put him down for a violin solo on the stage." "Tell him to meet me to-morrow on the stage of the theatre at twelve." "Good! Nick will be tickled to death." "Now, then, old man, we're all right so far as the entertainment is concerned. That don't bother me a little bit. But the Gotown Academy sits heavily on my mind, and all on account of minor considerations and the shortness of time in the way of lighting, tickets, seats for the audience and scenery. We can't act in the dark, the people who pay for reserved seats won't care for standing two or three hours, no matter how good our bill of fare is, and there ought to be something in the way of scenery, else those who pay their good coin may kick. Do I make myself quite plain?" "Very. And have we to supply all these?" "You bet! Who else is going to do it? This Gotown proposition was yours. I am willing to do all I can. This is Wednesday. There's no time to waste." "So am I willing. But you are bossing the job. Tell me what you want me to do and I'll do it." "Then take the next train for Gotown; see McGowan, go with him to the printers at once and get out the tickets, so many at one dollar, so many at seventy-five cents, the rest at fifty and on all of these have reserved seats in big type. You can then have as many as you think we need for general admission. Have no reserved seats printed on them. I will give you the copy for the printer before you go. When does the train start?" "About half hour from now." "Find out from McGowan all about the lighting of the place, and what arrangements he has made about seating the crowd; and be sure you ascertain if there is any danger of the house not being ready for us. You know we have no written or regular contract, as all well regulated companies like ours should have. If any other little thing occurs to me I'll wire you, and if anything really important takes place up there that won't hold over until you get back, wire me. Here's the copy for the tickets. Have them printed at once. Get the different priced tickets on different colored cards. Red, white, and blue—and green. Now, then, go, and good speed and good luck." On the second visit to the theatre Handy was pleased to notice that everything was arranged for him to have the use of the stage next day. Though the manager was perfectly agreeable about it, he was noticeably worried about something, and Handy recognized it at once. Like Gilbert's policeman, the manager's life at times is not a happy one. "You seem to be put out about something, Governor?" All managers of theatres as a rule are governors, through courtesy, and they like to be so addressed. "I am. Say, let me ask you a question. Did you ever have a date broken on you at short notice?" "Did I?" exclaimed Handy, with a smile. "Disappointments and I are old acquaintances." "You can then realize my feelings. The last three days of next week in the theatre are open, and this is the second troupe that broke with me, and next Thursday is a holiday. Like a fool, I made no effort to fill the first part of the week, relying on the holiday night, Friday and Saturday's two performances to make up the difference. Isn't that tough?" "That is tough," answered Handy sympathetically. "That is pretty hard. Why don't you wire——" "Oh, don't talk to me about wiring or telegraphing or mailing. I have been doing that for nearly a week, until I am nearly gone daft. Of course I could get the regular fake, or barn-stormers or turkey companies—you know 'em—but none of 'em for me. I want companies I know something about." "Quite right. People you can rely on," continued Handy. "You are in a pretty bad fix, and if I can help you out in any way I'll be only too happy to do so. To be frank with you, this Gotown venture has been worrying me more than I care to admit. You know we open the new Academy of Music there Saturday night, and the reason the proprietor is in such haste to do so on that date is because Saturday is the anniversary of the founding of the town." "I don't see there's anything in that to worry you. You're dead sure to get the crowd." "Oh, that's all right! But then I am awfully afraid the scenery won't be ready. It was ordered only a short time ago. The owner of the theatre knows nothing about our business and left it until, I am afraid, it's too late. So now you can see the fix I am in." "That's too bad, too bad! Where do you play after leaving Gotown?" "Oh, after Gotown, eh?" and Handy became thoughtful and silent for a moment, and then slowly and deliberately explained: "Oh, after Gotown we are going to lay off for a week and add three or four new members to our company. They are not exactly new, for they were with us before, and are all good, reliable people and are up in the stage business of 'Down on the Old Farm,' a rattling good piece." It might as well be explained now, as later, that up to the time that the Weston manager made known his troubles and his open dates Handy had not the slightest thought of "Down on the Old Farm," and did not have a date after Gotown. "Say, Mr. Handy, how large is the stage of the new Gotown house?" "Well," said Handy, after casting his eyes meaningly around the stage, "I should say that it is about the size of this one. Perhaps a little deeper." He had, of course, never been inside of the Gotown establishment—it being yet unbuilt. "Now, then, I tell you what I'll do. I can help you and you in turn can assist me. I have no attraction here for Saturday night. You can therefore make use of what scenery you require, under the circumstances, without the drop curtain; but I have a first-rate green baize in the storeroom and I will loan all of it to you. My property room is well stocked, and you can have the use of the props. Moreover, I'll send my stage manager up to Gotown to help you—on one condition." "Name it, Governor." "That you will fill my dates of three nights of next week with 'Down on the Old Farm' in this theatre." Handy was dumbfounded at the proposition. It seemed almost like a glimpse of heaven. He was almost overpowered, and in a somewhat hesitating manner replied: "It is very kind of you, Governor, but I cannot give you an entirely decisive answer just now; but this, I assure you, you may make your mind easy. I must, if only for courtesy sake, consult my partner, who is now in Gotown. Besides, I must see the Gotown manager. I may be magnifying the disappointment about the scenery. The kindness of your offer and your generosity in putting your scenery at my disposal appeals to my heart. I think I can give you an assurance that your date will be filled for the last three nights of next week with 'Down on the Old Farm.'" "I can rely on your word?" "Here's my hand. The usual terms, I suppose?" "I'll go ten per cent better." "Get out your printing at once for 'The Old Farm,' and make all necessary arrangements. I'll be off to Gotown at once. I'll run down and send my man up to get the scenery ready for Gotown to-morrow afternoon." Handy made hasty steps down to the hotel, consulted with Smith, and instructed him to go up to the theatre and take a look over the scenery and props. "Our end of the work here is all right, Smith, my boy, but I am a bit nervous about the Gotown lay-out. Not that I doubt Mr. McGowan's intentions, but I am afraid he has bitten off more than he can chew. However, there's no need in bidding the devil good-morrow till you're up foreninst him, is there?" Then slapping Smith heartily on the back he cried: "And we are all right for next week, too. We play the old stand-by 'Down on the Old Farm' at the Weston the last three nights. Come down with me to the station and I'll tell you more. I am off for Gotown. Will see you to-night, if I can; but if not, I will be with you the first thing in the morning. There's no time to lose." |
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