Chapter XXXVIII.

Rangiora, our next town, is as flat as Kaiapoi, and not as pretty. It has no points of interest that we could discover, nor any special features calculated to impress its memory on page 250the mind of the unprejudiced traveller. I question whether we should have any recollection of the place at all but for its being the scene of a lively passage at arms between Our Leading Lady and Our Second ditto.

We played two nights, and on the second came several people carrying bouquets. Both our ladies brisked up astonishingly when this was reported by Our Tenor, who was 'counting the house' through a hole in the stage curtain. When the Show was over it was found that all those bouquets had fallen with unmistakable intention to the lot of Our Leading Lady. When Our Second Lady realized it she burst into tears and said she did not know what had ever possessed her to come to this country; in fact, she did not know why she had ever been born. Our L.L. made some polite effort at consolation, which was resented at once and with emphasis by Our S.L. Then Our L.L. said that if Our S.L. grudged her the bouquets, she had better say so; and Our S.L. retorted that it was extremely unlikely she would lower herself to take that much interest in a few scrubby marigolds and wallflowers; she had been accustomed to showers of rich exotics from audiences of culture and discernment—the paltry offerings of a few heathens and Goths, such as filled the house upon that night, were beneath her notice. At this, Our L.L., who was busy taking off her cascade of artificial ringlets, laughed sarcastically.

'That hair would deceive the public better,' remarked Our S.L., referring to the cascade, 'if it were not at least six shades fairer than your own, dear. Pity you didn't get a better match.'

'Yes, it is,' assented Our L.L., amiably, 'but people can't always get exactly what they want. My dear, how ever did you manage to get your left eyebrow so much higher and darker than your right to-night? It gives you a frightful squint; the effect upon the audience must have been startling.'

'Thanks,' said Our S.L., sweetly, 'but I dare say their attention was a good deal diverted from my defects by that hole in your stocking, just conspicuous above the shoe. Didn't you know of it? Oh, I am so sorry I didn't mention it sooner.'

Our L.L. examined her stocking, bit her lips in suppressed page 251anger, and mentally vowed to lose no opportunity of getting even with her friend for this.

Next night, in our next town, Our S.L. sang a song which, for proper effect, depended upon an echo off the wings; and the echo was to be supplied by Our L.L. When the moment came, and Our S.L. stopped and smilingly awaited her echo, Our L.L. stood sternly looking on, as mute as a fish.

Well, that night the Woes and Adventures of an Itinerant Show nigh came to an abrupt termination, for Our S.L. threatened Our L.L.'s life, and then had hysterics and said she would drown herself, and Our Pianist had three fainting fits in succession, and told Our Agent, who threw vinegar over her, that he was a man of no feeling and ought to be ashamed of himself.

The scene lasted till three o'clock next morning, and for a week afterwards the women were on terms of armed neutrality, and the men all miserable and frightened in consequence.

Hardship, mutually suffered, was the first thing to restore us all to peace and harmony. Two nights of waiting for an audience that never came rather disarmed antagonism; and the fact of no funds in the treasury made us all intensely sympathetic. How to escape the hotel without paying puzzled us, and two of us turned coward over it, made a bundle of such articles as we could not possibly travel without, dropped bundles and selves from a window in the dead of the night, and walked several miles along the road to the place where the coach picked us up next day.

When the smiling visage of Our Basso beamed upon us from the box of that vehicle, and we learned that by the judicious exercise of his native eloquence Our Basso had not only prevailed with the landlord to the extent of forgiveness of debts, but had also borrowed a pound for coach fares and got all the luggage away, we felt proud of Our Basso and ashamed of ourselves. Our Basso frequently helped the Itinerant Show out of difficulties during that tour. There was, in fact, only one occasion upon which his persuasiveness failed. In this instance the landlord was impervious and adamantine, and we were all page 252summoned to the local court for a debt we were powerless to pay. We did not attend, and the verdict went against us, of course; and Our Basso gave it as his opinion that the magistrate was a callous, unfeeling brute, and the landlord a man of no principle.

I think the secret of Our Basso's general popularity was his mastership in the art of flattery. He could have given the great Yankee clock pedlar 'a hundred, and beat him every time.' To women he was simply irresistible, and might still have been adding conquest to conquest if he had not—but we anticipate. We prospered so well towards the close of that preliminary tour that we found ourselves back in Christchurch in a few weeks comparatively wealthy. The trip had been a pleasant one, too—when the weather had been fine and the ladies not quarrelsome. All through Oxford, Amberley, Leeston, Southbridge, and minor adjacent townships, we had travelled on a sort of prolonged picnic; short journeys, pleasant acquaintances, little to do and plenty of time to do it in.

Only once did we clash with a counter-attraction, and that was a Christy Minstrel troupe in a very small town. We went to the men of burnt cork and asked them to change their night. They said they would 'see us blowed first,' and argued priority of right to the field. The only places available for the performances were the public schoolroom and a stable. The darkies had the schoolroom, so we rang up for the stable. The latter was a new building and well lit up with oil lamps, and it was really a question as to which was the best hall for show purposes.

When we beheld the entire community gathered together, and hesitating between us and the darkies; when we counted the heads big and little, 'grown-ups and shorts,' we almost wished we had gone away and given the Ethiops the field gracefully. Presently one of them ran over to us, ready corked—banjo in hand—

'Look a here,' said he, 'that lot outside all told won't make above a two-pound house. Divided they won't count at all. Tell you what, we'll toss for 'em. Sudden death. Heads, you page 253shut up and come and see our show; tails, we shut up and come and see yours.'

'It's a go!' said Our Basso, solemnly, and the minstrel cooee'd to his brethren to come across and see fair play. The coin turned up 'heads,' and we packed up our 'props,' put out our lights, and went over the road. And we enjoyed ourselves mightily.

The minstrels handsomely offered to share receipts with us afterwards, but, reduced as we were in pocket and principle just then, we had, I am glad to say, sufficient decency to decline, and leave them their well-earned money.

With renovated wardrobes, new accessories, and high hopes, we sailed for Dunedin in the little steamer Beautiful Star. And in Dunedin, for the first time in our united experience, Philip Tempest asserted himself as a member having a right to suggestions in the matter of programme arrangement. He said he wished to have a place in the entertainment as violinsoloist. Our Basso said that it was an absurd bit of pettifogging vanity and desire of display that he had not thought Tempest could be guilty of. Our Tenor said that for his part he sided with Tempest—a violin solo would cut out some of Our Basso's songs, and serve him right. A man who would be guilty of putting himself in a programme twice to everybody else's once, and always pick the best places beside, would do anything else that was mean, and ought to be put down. Our Basso retorted that when there was one genius in a company of muffs it was wisdom, if only for the sake of the treasury, to give the public the fullest possible benefit of that genius and make him the star. High words were imminent when Tempest interrupted, saying that they might finish their frivolous, uninteresting battle at their leisure after the programme was drawn up and his expressed desire attended to. Our Basso banged down his pen, and wanted to inquire, he said, how many principals there were in that Show.

'Eight,' replied Tempest, promptly, 'and if you have forgotten the conditions of our agreement, I will repeat them to you.'

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Our Basso said he would rather be excused.

'I shall have great pleasure,' he went on, in a tone of lofty resignation, 'in giving up the entire entertainment to Mr. Tempest and his fiddle. Mr. Tempest could put himself down for twenty violin solos if he pleased, and the rest of the programme could be filled up with songs and serenades by Our Tenor.'

Then Our Tenor told Our Basso to go to that place to which all sinners are, by orthodoxy, condemned; and then Our Basso thumped the table and said that, as far as he was concerned, the Show was burst up. Nothing should induce him to degrade his talent by exhibiting it again in combination with a parcel of idiots. Our Tenor immediately asked him to 'come outside and argue it;' and, proceeding to take off his coat and 'dickie' (we could not afford the whole garment at that time), revealed a pair of slender feelers about as muscular as a mosquito's. Our Basso scanned him scornfully, and asked if anybody could lend him a microscope; he wanted to study this anatomy before he laid himself open to a charge of murder. Then he went out, and we saw him no more until next day, when he turned up again, suave and smiling as ever. Scenes like this might have occasioned anxiety but for their frequent occurrence. From the beginning of our partnership to the very end, I do not remember a solitary night unmarked by a quarrel between Our Basso and Our Tenor. The insult and aggravation they heaped upon each other at these times would, in any other men, have bred deadly and eternal enmity. With these two the result seemed merely a strengthening of the bond of friendship, for at all other seasons they were like brothers. Jonathan and David, Orestes and Pylades, were nowhere in comparison. Tempest had his own way about the solo, though he would not rehearse it, neither have its title printed in the programme. Our Basso transacted business with the printers, and the result was that the bills came out with his name at the top in fullgrown capitals, and Our Tenor's underneath in the smallest type compatible with legibility. Our Tenor was furious, and, rushing off to the printers, had bills of his own printed clan-page 255destinely and pasted over all the first ones—bills in which his name was the leading feature, laying over and eclipsing every other. Our Basso raged like a volcano, tore down Our Tenor's bills, and wrote a letter to the morning paper disclosing the whole affair as viewed from his standpoint. Our Tenor retaliated, and being a man of rabid eloquence but dubious grammar, loving long words but having haziest notions of their meanings and appropriateness, his letter in print was something astounding, and the cause of a crowded house on our first night.

An editor with whom I made acquaintance afterwards said that Our Tenor was an inspired humourist, and asked me if we had got that brilliant notion of advertisement from America.

Our first performances were a success, owing principally, I believe, to the violin solo. It was a composition of Our Violinist's own—a weird, plaintive, bewildering harmony of sounds, from the confusion of which arose fitfully the air of a pathetic quaint German song ('Oh, would thou wert with me !'), thrilling one's ears like a human voice of superhuman sweetness. The audience went mad over it, and indeed I do not think Our Violinist ever played anything in his life as he played that.

I did not know till long afterwards that she (for it must be understood that Our Violinist was Philiberta) had played with one motive and for one person—a stately, handsome woman who occupied a centre box of the circle every evening.

I know that on the first night, after the second recall and tempestuous applause that followed the solo, I went to the dressing-room and surprised Our Violinist there in tears.

With native brutality I passed derisive remarks, and then asked what was the matter.

'I am crying over my own death,' said Our Violinist, in a voice that struck me at the moment as peculiarly feminine and mournful. 'I wonder if, supposing anyone I loved came back to me from the dead, I should fail to know them?'

'Have you any soda-water?' cried Our Basso, entering breathlessly. 'Have you any soda-water in here? That herring I had for tea is playing the devil with me. Listen! is that page 256uproar for me to go on again? That song of mine has knocked 'em, I guess.'

But the uproar was a great cry for 'Tempest! Tempest! The fiddle! the fiddle! Bring on the fiddle!' and Our Violinist had to perform the wonderful solo again.

My acquaintance, the editor, told me next day that a friend of his, Mrs. Retlaw, had said she would give almost anything to know where Our Violinist had got the air of that German song. It was an old song, and out of type, and Mrs. Retlaw had been under the belief until then that her copy was the only one in the colonies. And the editor conveyed to Our Violinist and me Mrs. Retlaw's kind desire of an introduction; but Our Violinist declined the pleasure with cool civility.

I felt annoyed at the time; afterwards, when I knew all, I wondered that Philiberta did not go to meet her friend; but in that many-faceted character was so much to excite wonderment, so much that can never be accounted for, so much of the 'unmapped country' that George Eliot says must be taken into account in all study of human impulses, 'gusts and storms,' that a wiser than I might well be excused from attempting explanation or analysis.