by Sewell Ford
VI
THE SOARING OF THE SAGAWAS
Well, I've been doin' a little more circulatin' among the fat-wads.It's gettin' to be a reg'lar fad with me. And say, I used to thinkthey was a simple lot; but I don't know as they're much worse than someothers that ain't got so good an excuse.
I was sittin' on my front porch, at Primrose Park, when in rolls thatbig bubble of Sadie's, with her behind the plate glass and rubber.
"But I thought you was figurin' in that big house party out to BreezeAcres," says I, "where they've got a duchess on exhibition?"
"It's the duchess I'm running away from," says Sadie.
"You ain't gettin' stage fright this late in the game, are you?" says I.
"Hardly," says she. "I'm bored, though. The duchess is a frost. Shetalks of nothing but her girls' charity school and her complexionbaths. Thirty of us have been shut up with her for three days now, andwe know her by heart. Pinckney asked me to drop around and see if Icould find you. He says he's played billiards and poker until he'slost all the friends he ever had, and that if he doesn't get someexercise soon he'll die of indigestion. Will you let me take you overfor the night?"
Well, I've monkeyed with them swell house parties before, and generallyI've dug up trouble at 'em; but for the sake of Pinckney's health Isaid I'd take another chance; so in I climbs, and we goes zippin' offthrough the mud. Sadie hadn't told me more'n half the cat-scraps thewomen had pulled off durin' them rainy days before we was 'most there.
Just as we slowed up to turn into the private road that leads up toBreeze Acres, one of them dinky little one-lunger benzine buggies comesalong, missin' forty explosions to the minute and coughin' itself todeath on a grade you could hardly see. All of a sudden somethin' goesoff. Bang! and the feller that was jugglin' the steerin' bar throws upboth hands like he'd been shot with a ripe tomato.
"Caramba!" says he. "Likewise gadzooks!" as the antique quits movin'altogether.
I'd have known that lemon-coloured pair of lip whiskers anywhere.Leonidas Dodge has the only ones in captivity. I steps out of theshow-case in time to see mister man lift off the front lid and shovehis head into the works.
"Is the post mortem on?" says I.
"By the beard of the prophet!" says he, swingin' around, "ShortyMcCabe!"
"Much obliged to meet you," says I, givin' him the grip. "TheElectro-Polisho business must be boomin'," says I, "when you carry itaround in a gasoline coach. But go on with your autopsy. Is itlocomotor ataxia that ails the thing, or cirrhosis of the sparkin'plug?"
"It's nearer senile dementia," says he. "Gaze on that piece ofmechanism, Shorty. There isn't another like it in the country."
"I can believe that," says I.
For an auto it was the punkiest ever. No two of the wheels was matesor the same size; the tires was bandaged like so many sore throats; thefront dasher was wabbly; one of the side lamps was a tin stablelantern; and the seat was held on by a couple of cleats knocked off theend of a packing box.
"Looks like it had seen some first-aid repairin'," says I.
"Some!" says Leonidas. "Why, I've nailed this relic together at leasttwice a week for the last two months. I've used waggon bolts, nutsborrowed from wayside pumps, pieces of telephone wire, and horseshoenails. Once I ran twenty miles with the sprocket chain tied up withtwine. And yet they say that the age of miracles has passed! It wouldneed a whole machine shop to get her going again," says he. "I'llawait until my waggons come up, and then we'll get out the tow rope."
"Waggons!" says I. "You ain't travellin' with a retinue, are you?"
"That's the exact word for it," says he. And then Leonidas tells meabout the Sagawa aggregation. Ever see one of these medicine shows?Well, that's what Leonidas had. He was sole proprietor and managingboss of the outfit.
"We carry eleven people, including drivers and canvas men," says he,"and we give a performance that the Proctor houses would chargeseventy-five a head for. It's all for a dime, too--quarter forreserved--and our gentlemanly ushers offer the Sagawa for sale onlybetween turns."
"You talk like a three-sheet poster," says I. "Where you headed fornow?"
"We're making a hundred-mile jump up into the mill towns," says he,"and before we've worked up as far as Providence I expect we'll have tocarry the receipts in kegs."
That was Leonidas, all over; seein' rainbows when other folks would bepredictin' a Johnstown flood. Just about then, though, the bottombegan to drop out of another cloud, so I lugged him over to the bigbubble and put him inside.
"Sadie," says I, "I want you to know an old side pardner of mine. Hisname's Leonidas Dodge, or used to be, and there's nothing yellow abouthim but his hair."
And say, Sadie hadn't more'n heard about the Sagawa outfit than shebegins to smile all over her face; so I guesses right off that she'sgot tangled up with some fool idea.
"It would be such a change from the duchess if we could get Mr. Dodgeto stop over at Breeze Acres to-night and give his show," says Sadie.
"Madam," says Leonidas, "your wishes are my commands."
Sadie kept on grinnin' and plannin' out the program, while Leonidaspassed out his high English as smooth as a demonstrator at a food show.Inside of ten minutes they has it all fixed. Then Sadie skips into thelittle gate cottage, where the timekeeper lives, and calls up Pinckneyon the house 'phone. And say! what them two can't think of in the wayof fool stunts no one else can.
By the time she'd got through, the Sagawa aggregation looms up on theroad. There was two four-horse waggons. The front one had a tarpaulintop, and under cover was a bunch of the saddest lookin' actorines andspecialty people you'd want to see. They didn't have life enough tolook out when the driver pulled up. The second waggon carried theround top and poles.
"Your folks look as gay as a gang startin' off to do time on theisland," says I.
"They're not as cheerful as they might be, that's a fact," saysLeonidas.
It didn't take him long to put life into 'em, though. When he'd giveoff a few brisk orders they chirked up amazin'. They shed their raincoats for spangled jackets, hung out a lot of banners, and uncased alot of pawnshop trombones and bass horns and such things. "All up forthe grand street parade!" sings out Leonidas.
For an off-hand attempt, it wa'n't so slow. First comes Pinckney,ridin' a long-legged huntin' horse and keepin' the rain off his redcoat with an umbrella. Then me and Sadie in her bubble, towin' thebusted one-lunger behind. Leonidas was standin' up on the seat,wearin' his silk hat and handlin' a megaphone. Next came the bandwaggon, everybody armed with some kind of musical weapon, and tearin'the soul out of "The Merry Widow" waltz, in his own particular way.The pole waggon brings up the rear.
Pinckney must have spread the news well, for the whole crowd was out onthe front veranda to see us go past. And say, when Leonidas sizes upthe kind of folks that was givin' him the glad hand, he drops theimitation society talk that he likes to spout, and switches to straightManhattanese.
"Well, well, well! Here we are!" he yells through the megaphone. "Theonly original Sagawa show on the road, remember! Come early, gents,and bring your lady friends. The doors of the big tent will open ateight o'clock--eight o'clock--and at eight-fifteen Mlle. Peroxide, thenear queen of comedy, will cut loose on the coon songs."
"My word!" says the duchess, as she squints through her glasses at theaggregation.
But the rest of the guests was just ripe for something of the kind.Mrs. Curlew Brassett, who'd almost worried herself sick at seein' herparty put on the blink by a shop-worn exhibit on the inside and rain onthe out, told Pinckney he could have the medicine tent pitched in themiddle of her Italian garden, if he wanted to. They didn't, though.They stuck up the round top on the lawn just in front of the stables,and they hadn't much more'n lit the gasolene flares before the folksbegins to stroll out and hit up the ticket waggon.
"It's the first time I ever had the nerve to charge two dollars a throwfor perches on the blue boards," says Leonida
s; "but that friend ofyours, Mr. Pinckney, wanted me to make it five."
Anyway, it was almost worth the money. Mlle. Peroxide, who did thehigh and lofty with a job lot of last year coon songs, owned a voicethat would have had a Grand-st. banana huckster down and out; themonologue man was funny only when he didn't mean to be; and theblack-face banjoist was the limit. Then there was a juggler, andMontana Kate, who wore buckskin leggins and did a fake rifle-shootin'act.
I tried to head Leonidas off from sendin' out his tent men, rigged upin red flannel coats, to sell bottled Sagawa; but he said Pinckney hadtold him to be sure and do it. They were birds, them "gentlemanlyushers."
"I'll bet I know where you picked up a lot of 'em," says I.
"Where?" says Leonidas.
"Off the benches in City Hall park," I says.
"All but one," says he, "and he had just graduated from Snake Hill.But you didn't take this for one of Frohman's road companies, did you?"
They unloaded the Sagawa, though. The audience wasn't missin'anything, and most everyone bought a bottle for a souvenir.
"It's the great Indian liver regulator and complexion beautifier," saysLeonidas in his business talk. "It removes corns, takes the sorenessout of stiff muscles, and restores the natural colour to grey hair.Also, ladies and gents, it can be used as a furniture polish, while afew drops in the bath is better than a week at Hot Springs."
He was right to home, Leonidas was, and it was a joy to see him. He'dgot himself into a wrinkled dress suit, stuck an opera hat on the backof his head, and he jollied along that swell mob just as easy as ifthey'd been factory hands. And they all seemed glad they'd come.After it was over Pinckney says that it was too bad to keep such a goodthing all to themselves, and he wants me to see if Leonidas wouldn'tstay and give grand matinee performance next day.
"Tell him I'll guarantee him a full house," says Pinckney.
Course, Leonidas didn't need any coaxin'. "But I wish you'd find outif there isn't a butcher's shop handy," says he. "You see, we were upagainst it for a week or so, over in Jersey, and the rations ran kindof low. In fact, all we've had to live on for the last four days hasbeen bean soup and pilot bread, and the artists are beginning tocomplain. Now that I've got a little real money, I'd like to buy a fewpounds of steak. I reckon the aggregation would sleep better after ahot supper."
I lays the case before Pinckney and Sadie, and they goes straight forMrs. Brassett. And say! before eleven-thirty they had that wholeoutfit lined up in the main dinin'-room before such a feed as most of'em hadn't ever dreamed about. There was everything, from chilledolives to hot squab, with a pint of fizz at every plate.
Right after breakfast Pinckney began warmin' the telephone wires,callin' up everyone he knew within fifteen miles. And he sure did agood job. While he was at that I strolls out to the tent to have alittle chin with Leonidas, and I discovers him up to the neck introuble. He was backed up against the centre pole, and in front of himwas the whole actorette push, all jawin' at once, and raisin' sevendifferent kinds of ructions.
"Excuse me for buttin' in," says I; "but I thought maybe this might bea happy family."
"It ought to be, but it ain't," says Leonidas. "Just listen to 'em."
And say, what kind of bats do you think had got into their belfries?Seems they'd heard about the two-dollar-a-head crowd that was comin' tothe matinee. That, and bein' waited on by a butler at dinner the nightbefore, had gone to the vacant spot where their brains ought to be.They were tellin' Leonidas that if they were goin' to play to Broadwayprices they were goin' to give Broadway acts.
Mlle. Peroxide allowed that she would cut out the rag time and put in afew choice selections from grand opera. Montana Kate hears that, andsheds the buckskin leggins. No rifle shootin' for her; not much! Shehad Ophelia's lines down pat, and she meant to give 'em or die in theattempt. The black-face banjoist says he can impersonate Sir HenryIrving to the life; and the juggler guy wants to show 'em how he caneat up the Toreador song.
"These folks want somethin' high-toned," says Mlle. Peroxide, "and thisis the chance of a lifetime for me to fill the bill. I'd been doin'grand opera long ago if it hadn't been for the trust."
"They told me at the dramatic school in Dubuque that I ought to stickto Shakespeare," says Montana Kate, "and here's where I get my hooksin."
"You talk to 'em, Shorty," says Leonidas; "I'm hoarse."
"Not me," says I. "I did think you was a real gent, but I've changedmy mind, Mr. Dodge. Anyone who'll tie the can to high-class talent theway you're tryin' to do is nothin' less'n a fiend in human form."
"There, now!" says the blondine.
Leonidas chucks the sponge. "You win," says he, "I'll let you all takea stab at anything you please, even if it comes to recitin' 'OstlerJoe'; but I'll be blanked if I shut down on selling Sagawa!"
Two minutes later they were turnin' trunks upside down diggin' outcostumes to fit. As soon as they began to rehearse, Leonidas goesoutside and sits down behind the tent, holdin' his face in his hands,like he had the toothache.
"It makes me ashamed of my kind," says he. "Why, they're rocky enoughfor a third-rate waggon show, and I supposed they knew it; but I'll behanged if every last one of 'em don't think they've got Sothern orJulia Marlowe tied in a knot. Shorty, it's human nature glimpses likethis that makes bein' an optimist hard work."
"They're a bug-house bunch; all actors are," says I. "You can't change'em, though."
"I wish I wasn't responsible for this lot," says he.
He was feelin' worse than ever when the matinee opens. It had stoppedrainin' early in the mornin', and all the cottagers for miles aroundhad come over to see what new doin's Pinckney had hatched up. Therewas almost a capacity house when Leonidas steps out on the stage toannounce the first turn. I knew he had more green money in his clothesthat minute than he'd handled in a month before, but he acted assheepish as if he was goin' to strike 'em for a loan.
"I wish to call the attention of the audience," says he, "to a fewchanges of program. Mlle. Peroxide, who is billed to sing coon songs,will render by her own request the jewel song from 'Faust,' and twosolos from 'Lucia di Lammermoor.'"
And say, she did it! Anyways, them was what she aimed at. For awhilethe crowd held its breath, tryin' to believe it was only a freightengine whistlin' for brakes, or somethin' like that. Then they beganto grin. Next some one touched off a giggle, and after that theyroared until they were wipin' away the tears.
Leonidas don't look quite so glum when he comes out to present thereformed banjoist as Sir Henry Irving. He'd got his cue, all right,and he hands out a game of talk about delayed genius comin' to thefront that tickled the folks clear through. The guy never seemed todrop that he was bein' handed the lemon, and he done his worst.
I thought they'd used up all the laughs they had in 'em, but MontanaKate as Ophelia set 'em wild again. Maybe you've seen amateurs thatwas funny, but you never see anything to beat that combination.Amateurs are afraid to let themselves loose, but not that bunch. Theywere so sure of bein' the best that ever happened in their particularlines that they didn't even know the crowd was givin' 'em the ha-hauntil they'd got through.
Anyway, as a rib tickler that show was all to the good. The folksnearly mobbed Pinckney, tellin' him what a case he was to think up suchan exhibition, and he laid it all to Sadie and me.
Only the duchess didn't exactly seem to connect with the joke. She satstolidly through the whole performance in a kind of a daze, and thenafterwards she says: "It wasn't what I'd call really clever, you know;but, my word! the poor things tried hard enough."
Just before I starts for home I hunts up Leonidas. He was givin'orders to his boss canvasman when I found him, and feelin' the pulse ofhis one-lunger, that Mrs. Brassett's chauffeur had tinkered up.
"Well, Leonidas," says I, "are you goin' to put the Shakespeare-Sagawacombination on the ten-twenty-thirt circuit?"
"Not if I can prove an alibi," says he. "I've just paid a wee
k'sadvance salary to that crowd of Melbas and Booths, and told 'em to gosign contracts with Frohman and Hammerstein. I may be running amedicine show, but I've got some professional pride left. Now I'mgoing back to New York and engage an educated pig and a troupe oftrained dogs to fill out the season."
The last I saw of Montana Kate she was pacin' up and down the stationplatform, readin' a copy of "Romeo and Juliet." Ain't they thepippins, though?