Part 13

Mr. Foster blessed us, before the train started, in a very affectionate and gentlemanly way; but Brown did not bless us on the journey back. In fact, he said that he should advise the Doctor to flog us. We preserved a dignified silence. He couldn't send a telegram on in advance, as the office was shut, and therefore, when we arrived at Merivale, it was rather triumphant in a way, and the news of our safe return created a great sensation. In the excitement, food for us was overlooked entirely, until Cornwallis told the matron we had had nothing to eat since dinner. Food was then provided. The Doctor said very little until the following day, and then he told the whole story to the school after morning prayers; and not until we heard it from him did we realize what a good yarn it really was.

But nothing was done against us, much to Brown's disappointment, and from the way he hated Cornwallis and me afterwards, I believe he got ragged in private for not keeping his eye on us.

We wrote a very sporting letter to Mr. Foster, and said we should not forget his great kindness as long as we lived; and we also wrote home and scared up ten pounds for Joe, because he had locked us up and saved our lives. It was an enormous lot of money, and far beyond what we expected. My father sent five, and the mother of Cornwallis also sent five; and Cornwallis truly said it showed that my father and his mother mast think much more highly of our lives than they had ever led us to believe.

In fact, so excited was the mother of Cornwallis about it that she couldn't wait till the end of the term, but had to come and see him and kiss him, and realize that he was still all there. But my father waited till the end of the term for me.

He is rather a hard sort of man, compared to such a man as Mr. Foster, for instance; and when I did go home and explained all about what Fate had done, he said he hoped that I would not give Fate cause to regret it--at any rate, during the summer holidays.

FOR THE RED CROSS

Of course, being for the Red Cross, we were jolly well paid for all our trouble by knowing what a tremendous lift we had given the Red Cross in general; but somehow we felt that, if anything, too much was made of the wonderful result, and too little of us, who had done it.

Because, you see, if a chap in the trenches covers himself with glory, as they so often do, it is noted down to the chap's credit, and he gets a D.C.M., or D.S.O., or a V.C.; but in our case, as Tracey rather neatly put it, we weren't so much as mentioned in dispatches, and the bitter irony was that Merivale fairly rung with the fame of Dr. Dunston, whereas the truth was that we did everything, and Dunston, far from urging us on, really threw cold water on the whole show, and, up to the last moment, feared we were in for a grisly failure, instead of a most extraordinary success.

There was a good deal of difference of opinion afterwards as to who sprang the idea, and, on the whole, I don't think any one chap could take the credit. It was too big a thing for one chap's mind, and you might say nearly everybody in the Fifth and Sixth had a hand in it. It grew and grew till it reached the stage of asking Dr. Dunston; and after he had conferred with Brown and Fortescue and old Peacock, he reluctantly agreed; and then it grew by leaps and bounds till it became the wonderful thing it was.

The idea was to give an entertainment for the funds of the Red Cross, and Blades believed it would be a better and finer entertainment if we did it absolutely on our own, without any help from the masters whatever. A few faint-hearted chaps thought not; but they were overruled, for, as Briggs pointed out, there was no entertaining power whatever in the masters. The only one who would have been any good in that way was Hutchings, who sang remarkably well in a bass voice of great depth; but he was at the War, and none of the others had any gift that could lure a paying audience. No doubt they might have tried, but, as Tracey said, you couldn't ask people to pay good money just for the doubtful pleasure of seeing them trying. So it was settled that as there was a great deal of mixed power of amusing an audience in the school, we could do it without any assistance; and Fortescue supported this, and advised the Doctor that we should be given a free hand; but Peacock, of all people, doubted, and Brown, who wanted to shine himself in some way, thought we ought to have him and Fortescue to give a backbone to the show. What he was prepared to do, by way of backbone, we didn't ask; what he did do, when the time came, was to show the people to their seats, and his evening-dress, which we had not seen before, was worth all the money, if not more.

Anyway, Fortescue got the Doctor to let us do everything without help, and the end justified the means, as Saunders very truly said, though at one time it rather looked as if it might not.

It was announced in public that the scholars of Merivale were going to give an entertainment for the Red Cross before Christmas breaking up, and, when all was decided, we had two clear months for the preparations. Owing to the War and one thing and another, we didn't have much football that term, and the show got to be the great idea in everybody's mind--so much so, in fact, that owing to an utter breakdown in geography in the Lower Fourth, there was a threat from headquarters that the whole thing would be knocked on the head if the work was going to suffer.

So we gave the Lower Fourth some advice on the subject, and told them not one of them should do anything if they didn't buck up.

Of course, the great problem was, who should be in the show and who should not. That was a question for the Sixth, and it proved a very difficult problem, because there were immense stores of talent at Merivale, and some of the chaps best fitted to entertain a paying audience by their great gifts absolutely refused to appear; whereas, strangely enough, others, quite useless in every way, were death on appearing. We even had one or two letters from mothers, written to "The Committee of the Merivale Concert," fairly grovelling to us to let their sons do something. Of course, we ignored these, though Pegram, with his usual strategy, advised us to give young Tudor a show of some sort, because his mother and father were worth many thousands, and would doubtless buy dozens of front seats if Tudor did anything publicly.

So in one item of the performance, which was a scene from "The Merchant of Venice," we let Tudor and certain other kids come on in the crowd. We also let Cornwallis and Towler sing a duet--not so much because it was a thing to pay to hear, but because of their great adventure on Foster Day, when by a fluke they weren't drowned, and so possessed a passing interest in Merivale.

The programme needed a fearful lot of thought, and we altered it many times. The first programme would have taken about three days to get through, and Tracey said, as it wasn't a Wagner Cycle, we'd better try and cram the show into three hours; and Briggs said there would be encores, which must be allowed for; and I remembered that there must be an interval, because on these occasions women want something to drink about half-way through, and men want both to drink and smoke also. And if they are prevented from doing these things, they often turn against the performance, and the last state of that show is worse than the first.

I am Thwaites, by the way, and, like Percy minor, I hope that I may go on the stage some day, being much inclined to do so. But his father is a professional actor, and so he has a better chance than me, mine being a Government official in London, who never goes to the theatre, always being too tired to do anything after his day's work. I recite when I get the chance, and have already acted several times; I also write poems. I did not push myself forward in the least, it was agreed, by a sort of general understanding, except in the mind of Percy minor, that I should play Shylock in the trial scene from "The Merchant of Venice." And Williams, who is pretty, and had many a time been rotted for his girl-like eyes and eyelashes, now found that his hour had come, for he was going to play Portia; and we hoped his beautiful appearance might carry him through, though at rehearsal it was only too apparent his acting would not.

The first part of the show was to end with the Shakespearean impersonation; but this was not all, though, of course, the cream of the night. We had in the second half an original satire in one act written by Tracey, and entitled "The White Feather." This would be the concluding item, and as we finally decided that we would have twelve separate items, that left ten to find.

There were some obvious things, like Percy minimus, who had a ripping voice, and was accustomed to singing both in and out of chapel. So, knowing he was considered class, we put him down for a song; and the school glee singers were also rather well thought of, and we gave them two items. This only left seven performances, and after we had subtracted most of the chaps who were going to perform in the plays, there was still an immense amount of mixed ability to choose from.

Of course, Rice had to be in it, though, in his usual sporting way, he said he could do nothing. But as he was the best boxer in the school, and almost as good as a professional "fly" weight, we felt no show would be complete without him, and it was arranged he should box three exhibition rounds with Bassett.

As Briggs said, with people who pay money, you must give everybody something they will like; and though the people who would come to see Shakespeare acted might not be at all the same people who would come to see Rice hammer Bassett, yet there it was--we didn't want to disappoint anybody, because the great thing with a successful entertainment is to make everybody thoroughly feel that they have had their money's worth, as Mitchell pointed out. He was going to take the money, and sit in the box and give out the tickets. He could have done other things, but chose that himself, having great natural ability in everything of a financial sort. And as all the tickets were numbered, we felt it was safe. Besides, for the Red Cross, nobody would let his financial ability lead him astray, so to speak.

Percy minor, the son of the famous professional actor, also wished to play Shylock, but was put down for a comic song--an art in which he excelled. And Tracey wanted to write it for him and make it topical; but we knew Tracey's satire, and felt it would not do. Besides, he'd already written a whole play, as it was, and was performing the chief part in it, so we let Percy minor choose his own song, and he chose one of Albert Chevalier's, which blended pathos and humour in a very wonderful way, but was difficult. This left five items, and it seemed almost a shame to leave out so much talent; but we finally decided on Abbott for a conjuring entertainment--him being a flyer at that art--and on Nicholas, who has the great gift of lightning calculation, though, strange to say, a fool in everything else. He stands with his back to a blackboard, and can divide or add in his head; and if you read him out ten figures, and then ten more to subtract from them, he can do it in a moment. And no doubt he will make his living in this way, though it is a science that is utterly useless in the world at large.

Allowing for Cornwallis and Towler, there were only two items left, and I had the good luck to remember there was, so far, nothing about the Red Cross in the whole show; so we asked Fortescue if he would allow a recitation of his famous poem on that subject, and he consented if he was allowed to coach the boy who did it. We gladly agreed to this, and Forrester was decided upon for the boy, though he would rather have given his well known and remarkable imitations of natural sounds, such as a cock crowing, or a bottle of ginger beer popping, or a man with a cold in his head, or a distant military band. It was decided, therefore, that if Forrester got an encore, he might give the imitations; but he didn't, so they were unfortunately lost, though many a paying audience would have liked them better than the recitation, splendid as it was.

For the last item of all it was almost impossible to choose between about ten chaps, and at last, after voting in secret several times, the Sixth got it down to young Hastings, who could play the fiddle in a manner seldom heard from a kid of nine years old, and Weston, who was prepared to black his face and play his banjo. Finally we decided for Weston, because he was the eldest, and would be leaving next term but one, whereas Hastings, being only nine, was bound to have many future chances of appearing with his fiddle.

So that was the programme, and even when drawn out and written down, it was pretty staggering, but when actually printed in regular programme form, it was wonderful, and for my part I didn't see how the big schoolroom would hold half the people who were bound to come. In fact, I suggested giving two, or even three, performances on consecutive nights, but this was not approved of.

Being, as you may say, historical, I will here insert the programme. The price was threepence, or what you liked to give above that sum. Many gave more; some got copies for nothing, owing to the programme kids losing their heads about change. It appeared in this way on pink paper, faintly scented, and nothing was charged for the scenting by the printers, so I suppose the scent was their contribution to the Red Cross Fund.

FOR THE RED CROSS

On the seventeenth day of December next, by kind permission of Dr. Dunston, the scholars of Merivale will give the following entertainment in the Great Hall of Merivale School at 7.30 p.m. Doors open at seven o'clock. But reserved seats may be booked, and a plan of the room seen at Messrs. Tomson's, No. 4, High Street, Merivale.

THE PROGRAMME

1. Song by Percy Minimus (son of the world-famous actor, Thomas Percy).

2. Conjuring by Abbott (using live rabbits, live goldfish, etc.).

3. Three Rounds of Exhibition Boxing by Rice (Fly-weight Champion) and Bassett. N.B.--The rounds will be of two minutes' duration.

4. Glee Singing by the School Glee Singers.

5. Recitation, "The Cross of Red." Words (published in "The Times" newspaper) by Mr. Fortescue of Merivale School. Reciter, Forrester.

6. The Trial Scene from "The Merchant of Venice," by William Shakespeare. Dramatis Personae as follows:

Shylock. Thwaites. The Duke. Pegram. Antonio. Saunders. Bassanio. Preston. Gratiano. Percy Minor. Salerio. Travers Minor. Nerissa. Percy Minimus. Portia. Williams.

Magnificoes. Tudor, Forbes Minimus, Hastings, and five others. Scene: Venice. A Court of Justice.

N.B.--The scene will conclude with the exit of Shylock.

_An Interval of Ten Minutes._

PART II

7. Glee Singing by the School Glee Singers.

("The Three Chafers," by request.)

8. Comic Song. Percy Minor (son of the great actor, Thomas Percy).

9. Lightning calculation. Nicholas (introduced by Thwaites. Must be seen to be believed).

10. Coon Interlude with Banjo. Weston.

11. Duet. Towler and Cornwallis (both nearly drowned last summer on Foster Day).

12. A Satire in One Act by Tracey, entitled "The White Feather."

Dramatis Personae.

Captain Harold Vansittart Maltravers, V.C. Tracey. General Sir Henry Champernowne, K.C.B. Blades. A Policeman. Briggs. Miss Sophia Flapperkin. Williams.

Scene: Trafalgar Square. Time: The Present.

_GOD SAVE THE KING._ Booking Office: Mitchell.

Well, that was the programme, and, seeing the front seats were only half a crown, there didn't seem much chance of anybody not getting their money's worth.

I could say a great deal about the rehearsals, which were very difficult, owing to the question of scenery; and finally, after many suggestions, we decided merely to have wings, and leave the rest to the imagination, because we couldn't get within miles of a court in Venice, and Trafalgar Square was equally out of the question. And Percy minor said that really classy stage managers, like Granville Barker, relied less and less on scenery, and that the very highest art was to go back to Elizabethan times, and just stick up what the scene was on a curtain; and if people didn't like it, they could do the other thing. So we went back to Elizabethan times. But we had a professional man from Plymouth to make us up for Shakespeare, and he did it professionally, and we were rather dazzled ourselves at what we looked like on the night. Seen close, you're awful, but, of course, it's all right from the front.

The dresses for Shakespeare were also professional, and we had help, for without the matron and Nelly Dunston and Minnie Dunston, and a maid or two, the dresses would not have fitted, and so caused derision. But they did well, and we looked very realistic, though my Jewish gaberdine was too long to the last. However, nobody noticed, though naturally they did notice when Antonio's beard carried away, and it spoilt the pathos, because some fools laughed, instead of taking no notice, as any decent chaps would have.

Well, of course, the excitement was to see how the half-crown seats went off at Tomson's, and they weren't gone in a moment, by any means. You could book both half-crowners and eighteen-pennies, which came next, and people put off their booking a good deal. But when the programme was out, the booking improved, and five people booked in one day. It was rather interesting to hear who had booked, and Mitchell was allowed to go to the shop every morning after school to know how things were going. Sir Neville Carew, from the Manor House, took five half-crown seats in the front row, and Dr. Dunston himself took the next five. This news, we greeted with mingled feelings, yet, as Mitchell pointed out, he might have had them for nothing, which was true. The masters all took half-crown seats dotted about the big hall, and when Briggs asked Brown why they had done this, instead of sitting together, Brown said: "To applaud your efforts, Briggs, and suggest a consensus of opinion if we can." As a matter of fact, we didn't want their wretched applause when the time came, for we got plenty without it.

The most sensational person to take a half-crown seat was old Black, from next door. He had always been our greatest enemy, and hated us, and he never gave anything back that went over his wall, and made us pay instantly if we did any damage, or broke a pane of glass, or anything; yet there he was. He sat in the second row, and not a muscle moved from first to last, and he never clapped once. Yet, extraordinary to say, the most remarkable thing about the whole performance had to do with old Black, though the amazing affair didn't come out till next morning.

Mitchell calculated that, if every seat was taken, we should clear thirty-four pounds odd, and he rather hoped the programmes would bring it up to thirty-six. From that, however, had to be subtracted the cost of the dresses and the professional man from Plymouth, and also the cost of the programmes and the piano man. It looked as if we should be good for a clear thirty pounds; but only if the house was full.

Happy to relate, it was, and many people who did not book at all, came and took their tickets at the door, and the one bob part was packed. In fact, a good many stood all through, including those interested in Merivale in humble ways, such as the tuck-woman and the ground-man and the drill-sergeant, and many other such-like people. When, therefore, after the interval for refreshments, Dr. Dunston got up and said we had taken thirty-seven pounds four shillings, there was great cheering, and most did not hide their surprise.

A reporter came from _The Merivale Trumpet_ and Mitchell saw that he had plenty of refreshments for nothing, because this is expected by reporters, and much depends on it. He ate and drank well, so we naturally hoped for a column or two about the show; but the cur wrote a most feeble account in three inches of type, and gave all the praise to Dr. Dunston, so I need not repeat what he said.

The truth was as follows, and I shall take the programme by its items, and be perfectly fair about it. I won't pretend everything went off as well as we hoped, and some of the chaps didn't come off at all; but, on the other hand, many did, and the failures also got a friendly greeting. And even if you make a person laugh quite differently from what you expected, it's better than if he doesn't laugh at all. Besides, we had to remember that everybody had paid solid cash, so it wasn't like a free show, where people have got to be pleased, or pretend to be. Because, when you have paid your money, you are free to display your feelings; and if people in a paying audience are such utter bounders as to laugh in the wrong places, there's no law against it, and the performers must jolly well stick it as best they can.

Well, of course, Percy minimus was a certainty, and the start was excellent. In fact, some people wanted to encore him; but this did not happen--though he would have sung again--because the live rabbit which Abbott had borrowed from Bellamy for his illusions broke loose and dashed on to the platform. So when the audience expected Percy back, instead there appeared a large, lop-eared white rabbit with a brown behind. It looked, of course, as if Abbott had already begun to conjure, and, in fact, had turned Percy into a lop-eared rabbit. Anyway, the people were so much interested that they stopped encoring Percy, and seemed inclined to encore the bewildered rabbit. Then Abbott appeared and caught the rabbit, which had rather ruined his show by appearing in this way; and Vernon and Montgomery, who were his assistants, brought on the magic table, with various objects arranged upon it for the tricks. Unfortunately, Abbott was very nervous, which is a most dangerous thing for a conjuror to be, and tricks which he would have done to perfection during school hours, or in the home circle, so to say, got fairly mucked up before the paying audience. He put on an appearance of great ease, but he couldn't manage his voice, and he forgot his "patter," and he also forgot how to palm, and kept dropping secret things at awkward moments, and making footling jokes to hide his confusion. The people were frightfully kind and patient, and that made him worse. I believe, if they had hissed, it might have bucked him up.