Complete Works of Bram Stoker (416 page)

The Manager, taking his writing-pad from his pocket, wrote a few words. Then he said suavely:

‘You understand I call on you as the representative of the Company to fulfil the Company’s contract and leave us in London.’

‘Ye know verra weel that I canna’ do it.’

‘So you admit that, relying, I presume, on the common law of force majeure to relieve you?’

‘Aye!’

‘Then read this paper; you see it is a formal notice. Now if you rely on force majeure, so do we; and we have a good deal more force majeure than you have! So here we’ll make a fire, and, if need be, we’ll fight your crowd in the doing of it. Brooke, you go to the workmen’s carriage and tell them to come here.’

The Call Boy departed on his errand, and the Manager, seeing that the Guard had caved in, went on more genially:

‘We’ll not do any harm, as you shall soon see; but, anyhow, we don’t mean to die like rats in a trap. Fire we must have, but we’ll so arrange it that there will not be any harm done. All our people will come in here, and your men can come also and share the warmth when we get it.’

‘Aye! when ye get it,’ murmured the Engine-Driver. The Manager smiled. ‘You will see!’ he observed. ‘I shall stage-manage this. You may look on and get a wrinkle for other snow-uppings.’

At this moment the door was torn open, and in rushed the half-dozen workmen, carpenters and property men, headed by the Master Machinist and the Property Master. The rear was brought up by the Baggage Master. The feet of all were clogged heavily with snow. The Manager spoke up just in time to prevent blows:

‘Be quiet, men! We are snowed up, and will have to make ourselves comfortable as well as we can. We must make a fire here. Ruggles’ - this to the Property Master - ‘can you get out any of the things from the vans?’

‘Quite easy, sir! We’re not loaded too full, and there is a clear way up the car.’

‘And you, Hempitch?’ - this to the Master Machinist.

‘Same, sir. We’re not full either.’

‘Very well! We must first make a fire in this carriage -’ Here the guard broke in:

‘Ye’ll no mak’ a fire here - except ower ma deid body.’

‘Hush, man!’ said the Manager, holding up his hand. ‘You’ll see it will be all right. Just wait a while, and you will be satisfied; and then we shan’t have to knock you on the head or tie you up. Now, Hempitch, you get out the thunder and lay it here on the floor on the lee side of the car opposite this window; you will see, Guard, that the iron sheet will protect the floor. You, Ruggles, get a good lump of modelling clay from Pygmalion and make a rim all round to keep in the ashes. Then, Hempitch, have half-a-dozen iron braces and lay them on billets or a couple of stage boxes. On this platform put down one of the fireplaces - any one will do. Then, Ruggles, you will put a Louis XI chimney over it, with a fire backing behind, and make an asbestos fire-cloth into a chimney leading out of the window; you can seal it up with clay. The Engine-Driver here will bring us some live coals from his engine, and one of the carpenters can take his saw and cut down a piece of the fence that I saw outside made of old sleepers.’

The railway servants were intelligent men, and recognised the safety and comfort of the plan; so they went to the engine to get the live coals. When the workmen were bringing the coal, the Manager said to the Baggage Master:

‘You had better bring in a couple of baskets of the furs from Michael Strogoff; they will help to make us comfortable. And now, ladies and gentlemen, you had better produce your provisions. I see you have all hampers for the journey to London, and we can have supper. I have myself a big jar of Highland whiskey and we shall have as jolly a time as we can.’

All was bustle, and though for a while the saloon was deathly cold whilst the various things ordered were being brought in, the extemporary fireplace was so quickly organised and the fire burned so well that warmth and comfort were soon realised. The Engine- Driver brought one or two appliances from his own store, notably a flat kettle, which, filled with melted snow, was soon hissing on the fire. The Property Master produced crockery from his professional stores; and supper began amidst the utmost comfort and good humour.

When it was done, punch and tea were made and handed round, and pipes and cigars were lit. The Company, wrapped in furs, gathered as closely as they could get round the fire.

After a while the general buzz of conversation began to subside, and desultory remarks now and then marked the transition to absolute silence. This was after a while broken by the Manager with a sudden eruption of speech which seemed to awake the drowsy faculties of his companions.

A LESSON IN PETS

‘Once before, I spent some time with the Company in a saloon which was not altogether ideal.

‘Oh, do tell us about it,’ said the Leading Lady. ‘We have hours at least to spend here, and it will help to pass the time.’

‘Hear! hear!’ came from the rest of the Company, who at least always seemed to like to hear the Manager speak. The Manager rose and bowed with his hand on his heart as though before the curtain, sat down again, and began:

‘It was a good many years ago - about ten, I should think - when I had out the No 1 Company of “Revelations of Society”. Some of you will remember the piece. It had a long run both in town and country.’

‘I know it well,’ said the Heavy Father. ‘When I was a Leading Juvenile I played Geoffroi D’Almontiere, the French villain, in the Smalls in old George Bucknill’s Company, with Evangeline Destrude as Lady Margaret Skeffington. A ripping good piece it was, too. I often wonder that someone doesn’t revive it. It’s worth a dozen of these namby-pamby - rot-gut-problem -’

‘Hush! hush!’ came the universal interruption, and the growing indignation of the speaker calmed down. The Manager went on:

‘That time we had an eruption of dogs.’

‘Of what’s?’

‘How?’

‘Of dogs?’

‘How that time?’

‘Oh, do explain!’ from the Company. The Manager resumed:

‘Of dogs, and other things. But I had better begin at the beginning. On the previous tour I had out “The Lesson of the Cross”, and as we were out to rake in all the goody-goodies, I thought it best to have an ostensibly moral tone about the whole outfit. So I picked them out on purpose for family reasons. There were with us none but married folk, and no matter how old and ugly the women were, I knew they’d pass muster with the outside crowd that we were catering for. But I did not quite expect what would happen. Every one of them brought children. I wouldn’t have minded so much if they had brought the bigger ones that could have gone on to swell the crowds. I’d have paid their fares for them, too. But they only took babies and little kiddies that needed someone to look after them all the time. The number of young nursemaids and slips of girls from the workhouse and institutions that we had with us you wouldn’t credit. When I got down to the station and saw the train that the Inspector pointed out as my special, I could not believe my eyes. There was hardly a window that hadn’t a baby being held out of it, and the platform was full of old women and children all crowing, laughing, and crying and snapping their fingers and wiping their eyes and waving pocket-handkerchiefs. Somehow the crowd outside had tumbled to it, and it being Sunday afternoon, they kept pouring in and guying the whole outfit. I could do nothing then but get into my own compartment and pull down the blind, and pray that we might get away on time.

‘When we got to Manchester, where we opened, there was the usual Sunday crowd to see the actors. When we came sliding round the curve of the Exchange I looked out, and saw with pleasure the public anxiety to catch the first glimpse of the celebrated “Lesson of the Cross” Company, as they had it well displayed on our bills. But I saw run along all the faces in the line, just as you see a breeze sweep over a cornfield, a look of wonder; and then a white flash as the teeth of every man, woman, and child became open with a grin. I looked back, and there again was that infernal row of babies being dandled in front of the windows. The crowd began to cheer; I waited till they closed round the babies, and then I bolted for my hotel.

‘It was the same thing over and over again all through that tour. Every place at which we arrived or from which we went away had the same crowd; and we went and came in howls of laughter. I wouldn’t have minded so much if it did us any good; but somehow it only disappointed a lot of people who came to the play to see the crowd of babies, and wanted their money back when they found they weren’t on. I spoke to some of the Company quietly as to whether they couldn’t manage to send some of the young ‘uns home; but they all told me that domestic arrangements were complete, and that they couldn’t change them. The only fun I had was with one young couple who I knew were only just married. They had with them a little girl about three years old, whom they had dressed up as a boy. When I remonstrated with them they frankly told me that as all the others had children with them they thought it would look too conspicuous without, and so they had hired the child from a poor relation, and were responsible for it for the tour. This made me laugh, and I could say no more.

‘Then there was another drawback from all the children; there wasn’t an infant epidemic within a hundred miles of us that some of them didn’t get - measles, whooping-cough, chicken-pock, mumps, ringworm - the whole lot of them, till the train not only looked like a creche, but smelt like a baby-farm and a hospital in one. Why, if you will believe me, during the year that I toured that blessed Company - and we had a mighty prosperous time of it, take it for all in all - the entire railway system of England was strewn with feeding-bottles and rusks.’

‘Oh, Mr Benville Nonplusser, how can you?’ remonstrated the First Old Woman. The Manager went on:

‘Just before the end of the tour I got all the Company together, and told them that never again would I allow a baby to be taken on any tour of mine; at all events, in my special trains. And that resolution I’ve kept from that day to this.

‘Well, the next tour we went on was very different. It was, as I said, with the “Revelations of Society”, and, of course, the cast was quite different. We wanted to get a sort of toney, upper-crust effect; so I got a lot of society amateurs to walk on. The big parts were, of course, done by good people, but all the small ones were done by swells. It wasn’t altogether a pleasant time, for there was no end to the jealousies. The society amateurs were, as usual, more theatrical than the theatricals; the airs that some of them gave themselves would make you laugh. This put up the backs of our own crowd - and they got their shirts out, I can tell you. At first I tried to keep the peace, for these swell supers were mighty good and just what we wanted in the play; but after a bit it got to a regular division of camps, and I found that whatever I did must be wrong. Whateverone got or did they all wanted, and nothing was allowed to pass that gave even a momentary advantage or distinction to any of the crowd. By-and-by I began to have to put my foot down, but every time I did so there was a kick somewhere; so I had to be careful lest I should have no one at all to play the piece.

‘I seemed never to be able to get an hour’s rest from some of the jealousies that were constantly springing up. If I could have managed to forestall any of them it would have been easy enough, but the worst of it all was that they were perpetually breaking out in a new place; and it was only when it was too late to do anything to prevent a row that I came to know the cause of the one then on.

‘Having forbidden babies on the former tour, I did not think it was necessary to forbid anything else; and the consequence was that I suddenly found that we had broken out in an eruption of Pets. My Leading Lady then, Miss Flora Montressor, who had been with me on seven tours and was an established favourite all over the Provinces, had a little toy wheaten terrier that she had taken with her everywhere since ever she had been with me. Often other members had asked my Acting Manager if they too might bring dogs; but he had always put them off, telling them that the railway people didn’t allow it, and that it would be better not to press the matter, as Miss Montressor from her position was a privileged person. This had always been enough with the regular Company, but the new lot had all of them got pets of some kind, and after the first journey, when their attention had been called to the irregularity, they simply produced dog-tickets, and said they would pay for them themselves. That was enough for the other lot, and before the next journey came there wasn’t a soul in the whole crowd but had a pet of some kind. Of course, they were mostly dogs - and a queer lot they were, from the tiniest kind of toy up to the biggest sort of mastiff. The railway people weren’t ready for them - it would have taken a new kind of van for them all - and I wasn’t ready for them either; so I said nothing then. The following Sunday I got them all together, and told them that after that journey I was afraid I could not permit the thing to go on. The station was then like a dog-show, and I could hardly hear myself speak for the barking and yelping and howling. There were mastiffs and St Bernards, and collies and poodles and terriers and bull-dogs and Skyes, and King Charleys and dachshunds and turnspits - every kind of odd illustration of the family of the canine world. One man had got a cat with a silver collar, and led it by a string; another had a tame frog; and several had squirrels, white mice, rabbits, rats, a canary in a cage, and a tame duck. Our Second Low Comedy Merchant had got a young pig, but it got away at the station, and he hadn’t time to follow it up. When I spoke to the Company they were silent, and they all held up their dog-tickets - all except Miss Flora Montressor, who said quietly:

‘“You gave me leave years ago to bring my little dog.”

‘Well, I saw that nothing could be done then except with the kind of row that I didn’t want. So I went to my own compartment to think the matter over.

‘I soon came to the conclusion that an object-lesson of some kind was required; and then a bright idea struck me:

‘“I should get a pet myself.”