Ruggles of Red Gap Read online

  CHAPTER NINE

  Of the following fortnight I find it difficult to write coherently. Ifound myself in a steady whirl of receptions, luncheons, dinners,teas, and assemblies of rather a pretentious character, at the greaternumber of which I was obliged to appear as the guest of honour. Itbegan with the reception of Mrs. Floud, at which I may be said to havemade my first formal bow to the smarter element of Red Gap, followedby the dinner of the Mrs. Ballard, with whom I had formed acquaintanceon that first memorable evening.

  I was during this time like a babe at blind play with a set of chessmen, not knowing king from pawn nor one rule of the game. SenatorFloud--who was but a member of their provincial assembly, Idiscovered--sought an early opportunity to felicitate me on my changedestate, though he seemed not a little amused by it.

  "Good work!" he said. "You know I was afraid our having an Englishvalet would put me in bad with the voters this fall. They're alreadysaying I wear silk stockings since I've been abroad. My wife did buyme six pair, but I've never worn any. Shows how people talk, though.And even now they'll probably say I'm making up to the British army.But it's better than having a valet in the house. The plain peoplewould never stand my having a valet and I know it."

  I thought this most remarkable, that his constituency should resenthis having proper house service. American politics were, then, moredebased than even we of England had dreamed.

  "Good work!" he said again. "And say, take out your papers--become oneof us. Be a citizen. Nothing better than an American citizen on God'sgreen earth. Read the Declaration of Independence. Here----" From abookcase at his hand he reached me a volume. "Read and reflect, myman! Become a citizen of a country where true worth has always itschance and one may hope to climb to any heights whatsoever." Quitelike an advertisement he talked, but I read their so-calledDeclaration, finding it snarky in the extreme and with no end of sillyrot about equality. In no way at all did it solve the problems bywhich I had been so suddenly confronted.

  Social lines in the town seemed to have been drawn by no rulewhatever. There were actually tradesmen who seemed to matterenormously; on the other hand, there were those of undoubtedqualifications, like Mrs. Pettengill, for example, and Cousin Egbert,who deliberately chose not to matter, and mingled as freely with theBohemian set as they did with the county families. Thus one couldnever be quite certain whom one was meeting. There was the Tuttleperson. I had learned from Mrs. Effie in Paris that he was an Indian(accounting for much that was startling in his behaviour there) yetdespite his being an aborigine I now learned that his was one of thecounty families and he and his white American wife were guests at thatfirst dinner. Throughout the meal both Cousin Egbert and he winkedatrociously at me whenever they could catch my eye.

  There was, again, an English person calling himself Hobbs, a baker, towhom Cousin Egbert presented me, full of delight at the idea that ascompatriots we were bound to be congenial. Yet it needed only a glanceand a moment's listening to the fellow's execrable cockney dialect toperceive that he was distinctly low-class, and I was immenselyrelieved, upon inquiry, to learn that he affiliated only with theBohemian set. I felt a marked antagonism between us at that firstmeeting; the fellow eyed me with frank suspicion and displayed a tastefor low chaffing which I felt bound to rebuke. He it was, I may nowdisclose, who later began a fashion of referring to me as "Lord Algy,"which I found in the worst possible taste. "Sets himself up for agentleman, does he? He ain't no more a gentleman than wot I be!" Thisspeech of his reported to me will show how impossible the creaturewas. He was simply a person one does not know, and I was not long inletting him see it.

  And there was the woman who was to play so active a part in my laterhistory, of whom it will be well to speak at once. I had remarked heron the main street before I knew her identity. I am bound to say shestood out from the other women of Red Gap by reason of a certain dash,not to say beauty. Rather above medium height and of pleasingly fullfigure, her face was piquantly alert, with long-lashed eyes of apeculiar green, a small nose, the least bit raised, a lifted chin, andan abundance of yellowish hair. But it was the expertness of hergowning that really held my attention at that first view, and the factthat she knew what to put on her head. For the most part, the ladies Ihad met were well enough gotten up yet looked curiously all wrong,lacking a genius for harmony of detail.

  This person, I repeat, displayed a taste that was faultless, aknowledge of the peculiar needs of her face and figure that wasunimpeachable. Rather with regret it was I found her to be a Mrs.Kenner, the leader of the Bohemian set. And then came the furtheritems that marked her as one that could not be taken up. Perhaps asummary of these may be conveyed when I say that she had long beenknown as Klondike Kate. She had some years before, it seemed, been adancing person in the far Alaska north and had there married theproprietor of one of the resorts in which she disported herself--a manwho had accumulated a very sizable fortune in his public house and whowas shot to death by one of his patrons who had alleged unfairness ina game of chance. The widow had then purchased a townhouse in Red Gapand had quickly gathered about her what was known as the Bohemian set,the county families, of course, refusing to know her.

  After that first brief study of her I could more easily account forthe undercurrents of bitterness I had felt in Red Gap society. Shewould be, I saw, a dangerous woman in any situation where she wasopposed; there was that about her--a sort of daring disregard of theestablished social order. I was not surprised to learn that the men ofthe community strongly favoured her, especially the younger dancingset who were not restrained by domestic considerations. Small wonderthen that the women of the "old noblesse," as I may call them, wereoutspokenly bitter in their comments upon her. This I discovered whenI attended an afternoon meeting of the ladies' "Onwards and UpwardsClub," which, I had been told, would be devoted to a study of theEnglish Lake poets, and where, it having been discovered that I readrather well, I had consented to favour the assembly with some of themore significant bits from these bards. The meeting, I regret to say,after a formal enough opening was diverted from its original purpose,the time being occupied in a quite heated discussion of a so-called"Dutch Supper" the Klondike person had given the evening before, thesame having been attended, it seemed, by the husbands of at leastthree of those present, who had gone incognito, as it were. At no timeduring the ensuing two hours was there a moment that seemed opportunefor the introduction of some of our noblest verse.

  And so, by often painful stages, did my education progress. At thecountry club I played golf with Mr. Jackson. At social affairs Iappeared with the Flouds. I played bridge. I danced the more dignifieddances. And, though there was no proper church in the town--onlydissenting chapels, Methodist, Presbyterian, and such outlandishpersuasions--I attended services each Sabbath, and more than once hadtea with what at home would have been the vicar of the parish.

  It was now, when I had begun to feel a bit at ease in my queer foreignenvironment, that Mr. Belknap-Jackson broached his ill-starred planfor amateur theatricals. At the first suggestion of this I wasimmensely taken with the idea, suspecting that he would perhapspresent "Hamlet," a part to which I have devoted long and intelligentstudy and to which I feel that I could bring something which has notyet been imparted to it by even the most skilled of our professionalactors. But at my suggestion of this Mr. Belknap-Jackson informed methat he had already played Hamlet himself the year before, leavingnothing further to be done in that direction, and he wished now toattempt something more difficult; something, moreover, that wouldappeal to the little group of thinking people about us--he would have"a little theatre of ideas," as he phrased it--and he had chosen forhis first offering a play entitled "Ghosts" by the foreign dramatistIbsen.

  I suspected at first that this might be a farce where a supposititiousghost brings about absurd predicaments in a country house, having seensomething along these lines, but a reading of the thing enlightened meas to its character, which, to put it bluntly, is rather thick. Thereis a strain of immoralit
y running through it which I believe cannot betoo strongly condemned if the world is to be made better, and this isrendered the more repugnant to right-thinking people by the fact thatthe participants are middle-class persons who converse in quitecommonplace language such as one may hear any day in the home.

  Wrongdoing is surely never so objectionable as when it is indulged inby common people and talked about in ordinary language, and thelanguage of this play is not stage language at all. Immorality such asone gets in Shakespeare is of so elevated a character that one acceptsit, the language having a grandeur incomparably above what any personwas ever capable of in private life, being always elegant andunnatural.

  Though I felt this strongly, I was in no position to urge myobjections, and at length consented to take a part in the production,reflecting that the people depicted were really foreigners and thepart I would play was that of a clergyman whose behaviour throughoutis above reproach. For himself Mr. Jackson had chosen the part ofOswald, a youth who goes quite dotty at the last for reasons which arebetter not talked about. His wife was to play the part of aserving-maid, who was rather a baggage, while Mrs. Judge Ballard wasto enact his mother. (I may say in passing I have learned that theplays of this foreigner are largely concerned with people who havebeen queer at one time or another, so that one's parentage is oftenuncertain, though they always pay for it by going off in the headbefore the final curtain. I mean to say, there is too muchneighbourhood scandal in them.)

  There remained but one part to fill, that of the father of theserving-maid, an uncouth sort of drinking-man, quite low-class, who,in my opinion, should never have been allowed on the stage at all,since no moral lesson is taught by him. It was in the casting of thispart that Mr. Jackson showed himself of a forgiving nature. He offeredit to Cousin Egbert, saying he was the true "type"--"with his weak,dissolute face"--and that "types" were all the rage in theatricals.

  At first the latter heatedly declined the honour, but after beingurged and browbeaten for three days by Mrs. Effie he somewhat sullenlyconsented, being shown that there were not many lines for him tolearn. From the first, I think, he was rendered quite miserable by theordeal before him, yet he submitted to the rehearsals with a ratherpathetic desire to please, and for a time all seemed well. Many anhour found him mugging away at the book, earnestly striving tomemorize the part, or, as he quaintly expressed it, "that there piecethey want me to speak." But as the day of our performance drew near itbecame evident to me, at least, that he was in a desperately blackstate of mind. As best I could I cheered him with words of praise, buthis eye met mine blankly at such times and I could see him shudderpoignantly while waiting the moment of his entrance.

  And still all might have been well, I fancy, but for the extremelyconscientious views of Mr. Jackson in the matter of our costuming andmake-up. With his lines fairly learned, Cousin Egbert on the night ofour dress rehearsal was called upon first to don the garb of theforeign carpenter he was to enact, the same involving shorts and graywoollen hose to his knees, at which he protested violently. So far asI could gather, his modesty was affronted by this revelation of hislower legs. Being at length persuaded to this sacrifice, he nextsubmitted his face to Mr. Jackson, who adjusted it to a labouringperson's beard and eyebrows, crimsoning the cheeks and nose heavilywith grease-paint and crowning all with an unkempt wig.

  The result, I am bound to say, was artistic in the extreme. No onewould have suspected the identity of Cousin Egbert, and I had hopesthat he would feel a new courage for his part when he beheld himself.Instead, however, after one quick glance into the glass he emitted agasp of horror that was most eloquent, and thereafter refused to becomforted, holding himself aloof and glaring hideously at all whoapproached him. Rather like a mad dog he was.

  Half an hour later, when all was ready for our first act, CousinEgbert was not to be found. I need not dwell upon the annoyance thisoccasioned, nor upon how a substitute in the person of our hall'scustodian, or janitor, was impressed to read the part. Suffice it totell briefly that Cousin Egbert, costumed and bedizened as he was, hadfled not only the theatre but the town as well. Search for him on themorrow was unavailing. Not until the second day did it become knownthat he had been seen at daybreak forty miles from Red Gap, goading aspent horse into the wilds of the adjacent mountains. Our informantdisclosed that one side of his face was still bearded and that he hadkept glancing back over his shoulder at frequent intervals, as iffearful of pursuit. Something of his frantic state may also be gleanedfrom the circumstance that the horse he rode was one he had foundhitched in a side street near the hall, its ownership being unknown tohim.

  For the rest it may be said that our performance was given asscheduled, announcement being made of the sudden illness of Mr. EgbertFloud, and his part being read from the book in a rich and cultivatedvoice by the superintendent of the high school. Our efforts werereceived with respectful attention by a large audience, among whom Inoted many of the Bohemian set, and this I took as an especial tributeto our merits. Mr. Belknap-Jackson, however, to whom I mentioned thecircumstance, was pessimistic.

  "I fear," said he, "we have not heard the last of it. I am sure theycame for no good purpose."

  "They were quite orderly in their behaviour," I suggested

  "Which is why I suspect them. That Kenner woman, Hobbs, the baker, theothers of their set--they're not thinking people; I dare say theynever consider social problems seriously. And you may have noticedthat they announce an amateur minstrel performance for a week hence.I'm quite convinced that they mean to be vulgar to the lastextreme--there has been so much talk of the behaviour of the wretchedFloud, a fellow who really has no place in our modern civilization. Heshould be compelled to remain on his ranche."

  And indeed these suspicions proved to be only too well founded. Thatwhich followed was so atrociously personal that in any country butAmerica we could have had an action against them. As Mr.Belknap-Jackson so bitterly said when all was over, "Our boastedliberty has degenerated into license."

  It is best told in a few words, this affair of the minstrelperformance, which I understood was to be an entertainment wherein theparticipants darkened themselves to resemble blackamoors. Naturally, Idid not attend, it being agreed that the best people should signifytheir disapproval by staying away, but the disgraceful affair wasrecounted to me in all its details by more than one of the largeaudience that assembled. In the so-called "grand first part" thereseemed to have been little that was flagrantly insulting to us,although in their exchange of conundrums, which is a peculiar featureof this form of entertainment, certain names were bandied about with afreedom that boded no good.

  It was in the after-piece that the poltroons gave free play to theirvilest fancies. Our piece having been announced as "Ghosts; a Dramafor Thinking People," this part was entitled on their programme,"Gloats; a Dram for Drinking People," a transposition that shouldperhaps suffice to show the dreadful lengths to which they went; yet Ifeel that the thing should be set down in full.

  The stage was set as our own had been, but it would scarce be creditedthat the Kenner woman in male attire had made herself up in acuriously accurate resemblance to Belknap-Jackson as he had renderedthe part of Oswald, copying not alone his wig, moustache, and fashionof speech, but appearing in a golfing suit which was recognized bythose present as actually belonging to him.

  Nor was this the worst, for the fellow Hobbs had copied my own dressand make-up and persisted in speaking in an exaggerated manner allegedto resemble mine. This, of course, was the most shocking bad taste,and while it was quite to have been expected of Hobbs, I was indeedrather surprised that the entire assembly did not leave the auditoriumin disgust the moment they perceived his base intention. But it wasCousin Egbert whom they had chosen to rag most unmercifully, and theywere not long in displaying their clumsy attempts at humour.

  As the curtain went up they were searching for him, affecting to beunconscious of the presence of their audience, and declaring that theplay couldn't go on without him. "Hav
e you tried all the saloons?"asked one, to which another responded, "Yes, and he's been in all ofthem, but now he has fled. The sheriff has put bloodhounds on histrail and promises to have him here, dead or alive."

  "Then while we are waiting," declared the character supposed torepresent myself, "I will tell you a wheeze," whereupon both thefemale characters fell to their knees shrieking, "Not that! My God,not that!" while Oswald sneered viciously and muttered, "Serves meright for leaving Boston."

  To show the infamy of the thing, I must here explain that at severalsocial gatherings, in an effort which I still believe waspraiseworthy, I had told an excellent wheeze which runs: "Have youheard the story of the three holes in the ground?" I mean to say, Iwould ask this in an interested manner, as if I were about to relatethe anecdote, and upon being answered "No!" I would exclaim with mockseriousness, "Well! Well! Well!" This had gone rippingly almost quiteevery time I had favoured a company with it, hardly any one of myhearers failing to get the joke at a second telling. I mean to say,the three holes in the ground being three "Wells!" uttered in rapidsuccession.

  Of course if one doesn't see it at once, or finds it a bit subtle,it's quite silly to attempt to explain it, because logically there isno adequate explanation. It is merely a bit of nonsense, and that'squite all to it. But these boors now fell upon it with their coarsehumour, the fellow Hobbs pretending to get it all wrong by asking ifthey had heard the story about the three wells and the othersreplying: "No, tell us the hole thing," which made utter nonsense ofit, whereupon they all began to cry, "Well! well! well!" at each otheruntil interrupted by a terrific noise in the wings, which was followedby the entrance of the supposed Cousin Egbert, a part enacted by thecab-driver who had conveyed us from the station the day of ourarrival. Dragged on he was by the sheriff and two of the townconstables, the latter being armed with fowling-pieces and the sheriffholding two large dogs in leash. The character himself was heavilymanacled and madly rattled his chains, his face being disguised toresemble Cousin Egbert's after the beard had been adjusted.

  "Here he is!" exclaimed the supposed sheriff; "the dogs ran him intothe third hole left by the well-diggers, and we lured him out bymaking a noise like sour dough." During this speech, I am told, thecharacter snarled continuously and tried to bite his captors. At thisthe woman, who had so deplorably unsexed herself for the character ofMr. Belknap-Jackson as he had played Oswald, approached the prisonerand smartly drew forth a handful of his beard which she stuffed into apipe and proceeded to smoke, after which they pretended that the playwent on. But no more than a few speeches had been uttered when thesupposed Cousin Egbert eluded his captors and, emitting a loud shriekof horror, leaped headlong through the window at the back of thestage, his disappearance being followed by the sounds of breakingglass as he was supposed to fall to the street below.

  "How lovely!" exclaimed the mimic Oswald. "Perhaps he has broken bothhis legs so he can't run off any more," at which the fellow Hobbsremarked in his affected tones: "That sort of thing would never dowith us."

  This I learned aroused much laughter, the idea being that the remarkhad been one which I am supposed to make in private life, though Idare say I have never uttered anything remotely like it.

  "The fellow is quite impossible," continued the spurious Oswald, witha doubtless rather clever imitation of Mr. Belknap-Jackson's manner."If he is killed, feed him to the goldfish and let one of the dogsread his part. We must get along with this play. Now, then. 'Ah! whydid I ever leave Boston where every one is nice and proper?'" To whichhis supposed mother replied with feigned emotion: "It was because ofyour father, my poor boy. Ah, what I had to endure through those yearswhen he cursed and spoke disrespectfully of our city. 'Scissors andwhite aprons,' he would cry out, 'Why is Boston?' But I bore it allfor your sake, and now you, too, are smoking--you will go the sameway."

  "But promise me, mother," returns Oswald, "promise me if I ever getdusty in the garret, that Lord Algy here will tell me one of his funnywheezes and put me out of pain. You could not bear to hear me knockingBoston as poor father did. And I feel it coming--already mymother-in-law has bluffed me into admitting that Red Gap has a rightto be on the same map with Boston if it's a big map."

  And this was the coarsely wretched buffoonery that refined people wereexpected to sit through! Yet worse followed, for at their climax, themimic Oswald having gone quite off his head, the Hobbs person, stillwith the preposterous affectation of taking me off in speech andmanner, was persuaded by the stricken mother to sing. "Sing that dearold plantation melody from London," she cried, "so that my poor boymay know there are worse things than death." And all this witlesspiffle because of a quite natural misunderstanding of mine.

  I have before referred to what I supposed was an American plantationmelody which I had heard a black sing at Brighton, meaning one of theEnglish blacks who colour themselves for the purpose, but on recitingthe lines at an evening affair, when the American folksongs were underdiscussion, I was told that it could hardly have been written by anAmerican at all, but doubtless by one of our own composers who hadtaken too little trouble with his facts. I mean to say, the song as Ihad it, betrayed misapprehensions both of a geographical and faunalnature, but I am certain that no one thought the worse of me forhaving been deceived, and I had supposed the thing forgotten. Yet nowwhat did I hear but that a garbled version of this song had beensupposedly sung by myself, the Hobbs person meantime mincing acrossthe stage and gesturing with a monocle which he had somehow procured,the words being quite simply:

  "Away down south in Michigan, Where I was a slave, so happy and so gay, 'Twas there I mowed the cotton and the cane. I used to hunt the elephants, the tigers, and giraffes, And the alligators at the break of day. But the blooming Injuns prowled about my cabin every night, So I'd take me down my banjo and I'd play, And I'd sing a little song and I'd make them dance with glee, On the banks of the Ohio far away."

  I mean to say, there was nothing to make a dust about even if the songwere not of a true American origin, yet I was told that the creaturewho sang it received hearty applause and even responded to an encore.