CHAPTER XXVIII.

HAMLICK.

Early in the following evening the yacht stopped at Pine Tree Island, and after our boys had been received on board, proceeded on its way to the Corners, where the entire party landed, and at once started up the village street toward the town hall, where "Hamlick" was to make his long-expected appearance.

It was soon discovered that many others were evidently going to the same place, and along the dusty country roads teams could be seen approaching from almost every direction. "Smart" appearing turnouts, along with others which must have done duty for several generations for the busy folk of the region, were seen, and Bob demurely pointed out what he declared to be the original of the "wonderful one hoss shay."

When our party climbed the rambling stairway which led to the room in the third floor of the town hall where Hamlick was to appear, it was an unusual sight upon which they looked. Old people and young were entering the room; mothers with little babes in their arms; the ever-present small boy, whose disposition does not vary materially whether he dwells in country or city; bashful young fellows, who apparently were wondering what they should do with those hands of theirs which, somehow, would protrude too far below the short sleeves of their coats; all these and many more were there.

In the front of the room the platform was hidden from sight by some blue denim curtains hung on wires, which were to be manipulated by some one behind the scenes. Some kerosene lamps were giving a faint light from brackets on the walls, and a huge wood stove stood in one corner of the room where it had done duty for years at the gatherings in the bitter winter days.

There was no usher to show our party the way, but as they perceived that no places had been reserved, and that all were free to go where they chose, they at once turned toward the few remaining seats which were well up in the front of the room and quietly seated themselves. These seats were benches, across the backs of which narrow strips of board had been nailed, and forced the occupant to maintain an attitude which was anything but comfortable. The whole scene was so strange and unlike anything which any of them had ever seen before, that the novelty banished even the sense of discomfort, and all gazed about them with an air of interest as keen as doubtless that of the good people of the Corners would have been had they been privileged to enter some spacious hall in the great city from which the summer visitors had come.

To add to the interest, Ethan was discovered seated in the end of one of the pews or benches which our friends appropriated, but his appearance was so markedly different from that to which the boys had been accustomed that they had some difficulty in really persuading themselves that it was their boatman before them.

Ethan was dressed in a suit of rusty black broadcloth, which evidently had seen other days if it had not seen better, and his bearing was so solemn that at first the boys fancied that he was conducting himself as he would have done in church.

"Aren't they almost ready to begin, Ethan?" inquired Jock, after he had presented the sturdy boatman to his friends.

"I s'pose so. They were to begin at seven-thirty sharp," replied Ethan, solemnly.

"Tom must be excited," suggested Jock, for want of something else to say.

"I s'pose so."

It was plain that Ethan considered the occasion too solemn for such trifling questions, and accordingly Jock turned to his other friends, who were not troubled by any such scruples, and was soon talking and laughing with them.

The interest in the scene did not decrease as the moments of waiting passed. Boys entered and lurched heavily into their seats and began to snap the peanuts, with which their pockets had been well supplied, or industriously began to busy themselves with pieces of spruce gum which the present owners had wrested from the trees by their own efforts.

Solemn-faced elderly people entered, and frequently a young mother came, bringing with her a baby which was sleeping in her arms or nodding its head sagely, as with wide-open eyes it looked out upon the assembly.

The interest in the audience was speedily transferred to the stage, from which the curtains now began to be drawn back. Apparently something was wrong in the apparatus, for they "hitched" when about half of the platform appeared in sight, and after a whispered conversation had taken place, in tones so shrill that they could be heard by the entire assembly, a well-grown lad stepped from behind the scenes and adjusted the strings by which the screens were worked.

His appearance was greeted with a shout of delight from the small boys in the audience, as they called him familiarly by his name, and bestowed other signs of their approval upon him. The greeting, however, was not received in the spirit in which it had been given, and the "manager," after vainly striving for a moment to adjust the workings, speedily retired in confusion. A yank upon the curtains quickly followed, and though a sound as of tearing cloth was heard, the view of the platform was soon unobstructed, and the audience became silent, waiting for the performance to begin.

After a brief interval Bernardo appeared, gazing carefully about him for Francisco, who, too tender-hearted to disappoint his commanding officer, speedily strode forth upon the platform, prepared to do or die.

"Who's there?" began Bernardo, in a loud stage whisper.

"Nay, answer me; stand, and unfold yourself!" thundered Francisco in reply.

"Long live the King!" responded the officer, as if he were trying to make the people in Alexandria Bay aware of his patriotic feeling.

"Bernardo?" exclaimed Francisco, in apparent surprise, though he had been standing within a few feet of the man all the time.

The conversation continued until Horatio and Marcellus joined them, and at once began to speak. Horatio was evidently master of the situation, but poor Marcellus had an attack of stage fright. When it came his turn to speak he began impulsively,--

"And liegemen to--to--to--to--" but he could go no further. Again he began, in lower and more impressive tones: "A--a--and liegemen to--to--" but the desired word would not come.

"To the Dane," whispered some one behind the scenes in a penetrating voice which reached to the utmost corners of the room.

"And liegemen to the Dane," responded Marcellus, boldly.

Apparently he had recovered now, and all went well until the time came when the Ghost was to enter. Whether it was the terrifying dread of the nocturnal visitor, or the evident alarm of the four who were conversing so eagerly upon the stage that produced the trouble which followed, is not known; but no sooner had he glided in with his unearthly tread, and no less unearthly glances, which he cast about the room, than Marcellus, in his most awe-inspiring whisper, began, "Peace! Break thee off; look where it comes again;" and then one of the babies in the room began to scream.

Bernardo boldly continued, "In the same figure, like the king that's dead."

"Thou art a scholar," responded Marcellus. "Speak to it, Horatio."

But the wailing infant in the front seat was not to be suppressed, and his screams of terror or rage were becoming more and more shrill, and were dividing the attention and sympathy of the audience and even diverting their gaze from the stage.

Apparently human nature could not endure the strain, and suddenly resuming an upright attitude and speaking in tones marvellously like those of an angry man, the Ghost turned to the audience, and said sharply, "Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, but we'll have to stop the performance till the mother removes that yelling young 'un from this hall."

Without a protest the young mother rose, and, despite the increased lamentations of her offspring and his vigorous bodily contortions, departed; and at last, when "the infant with no language but a cry," as Bob afterward described the scene, could no longer be heard, the play was resumed.

No one had appeared to be surprised at the interruption, and Ethan had never once glanced at the boys. Dignified and unmoved he sat watching the stage as if such slight deviations from the words of the "Immortal Shakespeare" were not able to divert his attention, and he had slight sympathy for those who would even look about them to discover whose baby it was that was now creating the disturbance.

Babies were expected to be present on such occasions, and if present they were in duty bound to make themselves heard--that was a matter of course; and which particular baby it was exercising its lungs at the present moment was, in his opinion, too insignificant a matter to interest any one.

The interruption seemed, however, to have wrought havoc once more with Marcellus, for when the play was resumed he began to falter and hesitate, and like all people who hesitate, was speedily lost.

After he had boldly bidden Horatio to question the terror-inspiring visitor, and had declared "it was offended," he seemed to lose heart.

"'Tis gone, and will not--not--will not--not-- 'Tis gone and will--will. 'Tis will and not gone. No," he added abruptly, apparently as much to the surprise of the Ghost himself, who could be seen peering from behind the curtain, as to that of his audience, "No, 'tisn't ''tis will,' it's ''tis gone.' 'Tis gone and--and--and--"

Poor Marcellus gazed about him in despair, as if he was looking for help; but no help came, except from the side of the platform, where the prompter tried in a loud whisper to aid the desperate player.

Horatio, to help his comrade, went back to the last line he had spoken, and repeated, "Stay! speak, speak! I charge thee, speak!"

"That's what I'm trying to do, but can't," replied Marcellus, casting Shakespeare and discretion aside at the same time.

The words were too much for our boys, who, up to this time, had been striving desperately to remain quiet. Jock had stuffed his handkerchief into his mouth, but the explosive force of the last despairing speech of Marcellus had proved too much for him to bear, and a prolonged squeal came from his lips which forced even the handkerchief from its place.

"He-e-e-e-e-e!" he cried, and in a moment his companions were all clinging to the back of the seat in front of them and shaking with laughter. But few others in the audience seemed to be similarly affected, and Ethan turned and gave them a look which greatly aided in restoring their composure.

Marcellus was thoroughly angry now, however, and glared down upon the offending Jock as if he were minded to add other words which Shakespeare might perhaps have used, but which he certainly had not incorporated in the tragedy.

In a moment he rushed from the stage, seized the book from the hands of the prompter, and, returning to his place, read his part as the play was resumed. Then for a time all went well, and the eager boys found themselves looking forward to the time when "Hamlick" himself should appear.

True to his part, in the second scene the hero appeared, and our boys were soon all listening attentively. Tom's first words were uttered in a voice that trembled, but he soon was master of himself and was giving his mother that sage counsel which has done so much to make both her and him remembered.

The king stalked about the stage with a crown that fairly glittered with jewels upon his head, and as for the queen, her gorgeous train was sadly in the way of Polonius and Laertes, and even "Hamlick" himself once trod upon it and received a look from her which well might have caused him to pause in his undutiful language.

Marcellus, too, returned; but this time he was equipped with a book, as well as with a sword, and though he followed the lines with his finger as he read, and seldom glanced at his companions, and once his words, "my good lord," were evidently misunderstood by his audience, still no further interruptions came until the Ghost once more joined the group.

Then a fresh trouble arose. Just at the most impressive part, a long-drawn-out sigh seemed to come from Ethan, who had remained quietly in his seat at the end of the bench.

Marcellus had just been strongly warning Hamlet not to go with the untimely visitor, and Horatio had added, "No, by no means," when the sigh from Ethan's corner rose again, louder, longer, and more intense. All in the audience could hear it, and as it came once more our four boys glanced quickly at the boatman.

His head was thrown back against the wall, his eyes were closed, and his mouth was wide open. It was evident that Ethan was sleeping.

"It will not speak; then I will follow it," Hamlet was just remarking on the stage.

"O-o-o-h-h-h!" responded Ethan, in something more pronounced now than a sigh. His voice trembled and quavered, and seemed to gather force as on it went.

"Wake him up, Jock," whispered Ben.

"Stick a pin in him. He'll spoil the play," whispered Bert.

Jock turned to shake the boatman lightly and strive to restore him by gentle means, but his efforts were not required; for one of the small boys seated directly behind Ethan acted promptly, and at once produced results as startling as they were unexpected.