IV
Wednesday night was better than Monday or Tuesday: there were more people, especially in the cheaper seats, and, perhaps influenced by Miss Thong, who clapped everything, they were a trifle more enthusiastic. Thursday night was better still, but then Thursday was closing-day for the shops. Friday, however, was just as good as Thursday, and rather more appreciative. But none of these‚ÅÝ‚Äîas Mrs.¬ÝJoe said‚ÅÝ‚Äîwere what you could really call Nights. There were still rows and rows of empty chairs (the Wood Family, Jimmy Nunn called them); the applause was feeble, scattered, and there was hardly an excuse for an encore; and it was difficult not to feel that the mournful night was drifting in and smothering such enthusiasm as there was in the half-empty pavilion. And now the great question was, Would Saturday be a Night?
‚ÄúIf Saturday‚Äôs a fizzle,‚Äù Mrs.¬ÝJoe announced on Friday night, in the ladies‚Äô dressing-room, ‚ÄúI shan‚Äôt dare to look Miss Trant in the face, my dears. Dotworth didn‚Äôt matter‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù
“There wasn’t tuppence in the whole rotten little town,” Elsie put in, rubbing her face far too vigorously. “If they had a whist-drive there, they’d want to knock off and stay at home for six months.”
‚ÄúBut this place is different. It‚Äôs supposed to be a good date, and after all it‚Äôs only the middle of October. And look what we‚Äôve done,‚Äù Mrs.¬ÝJoe added, dejectedly. ‚ÄúMiss Trant will think we‚Äôre a lot of Jonahs, that is, if she understands the expression, which I doubt.‚Äù
‚ÄúLucky for her!‚Äù cried Susie, that child of the theatre. She pulled her dress over her head, and then remarked on emerging: ‚ÄúI must say I‚Äôd like to show her a real Night. She‚Äôs cheerful enough‚ÅÝ‚Äîbless her!‚ÅÝ‚Äîbut I fancy, a full house, money turned away, encores all round, five curtains, speeches, thanks from the manager‚ÅÝ‚Äîthe usual ‚Äòriot‚Äô that everybody talks about in the adverts, and hardly anybody ever sees‚ÅÝ‚Äîwould buck her up no end. I know it would. And that new number of mine that Jimmy and Inigo have written is only waiting for an audience that isn‚Äôt sitting there just to hear ‚ÄòGod Save the King‚Äô. It‚Äôs just crying out, ladies, for a few live ones in front.‚Äù
‚ÄúExactly,‚Äù said Mrs.¬ÝJoe. ‚ÄúExperienced as I am‚ÅÝ‚Äîand very few artistes who are artistes have struck more dead frosts than I have in my time‚ÅÝ‚ÄîI cannot, no, I can not, sing to chairs. I can feel the empty spaces, my dear, I assure you I can, and you‚Äôve no idea how it wrecks my interpretation. I told Miss Trant this morning when I met her on the front: I said ‚ÄòProperly speaking, you‚Äôve not heard me really interpret a song yet.‚Äô But I didn‚Äôt tell her why. I felt it would have been adding insult to injury‚ÅÝ‚Äînot that I‚Äôve done her any injury, but you know what I mean?‚Äù
They did know what she meant, and they all sighed in chorus for a Night.
Jimmy Nunn and Mr.¬ÝMorton Mitcham, having what they called ‚Äúa quick one‚Äù with the manager of the Pier, Mr.¬ÝPorson, in the Refreshment Room on Saturday morning, could not keep away from the subject.
‚ÄúYes,‚Äù said Mr.¬ÝPorson, ‚Äúwe‚Äôre round about forty-three pounds so far. That means you‚Äôll just about make up to your guarantee tonight, unless of course there‚Äôs a rush. A wet night might bring ‚Äôem in, though they‚Äôre not fond of walking out to the Pier on a wet night. If it‚Äôs fine, then they don‚Äôt want to come inside, and if it‚Äôs wet they don‚Äôt fancy the Pier.‚Äù And Mr.¬ÝPorson added the short and rather cheerless laugh that he always tacked on to this observation, which he had made already at least fifty times this season, to say nothing of other seasons.
‚ÄúIf you ask me,‚Äù said Mr.¬ÝMitcham impressively, ‚ÄúI think we‚Äôre getting going in the town. Some of the fellows who come in here, fellows who never go in to see a show, are beginning to talk about it. They‚Äôve heard something, you see. If we were here another week, we‚Äôd be playing to capacity. I know. I‚Äôve seen it before. But there you are, we‚Äôre not.‚Äù
‚ÄúJust what I think,‚Äù Jimmy Nunn admitted sadly. ‚ÄúWe‚Äôve got going, but too late. And damned hard cheese, I call it. As I told you, Mr.¬ÝPorson, this lady who‚Äôs the boss, Miss Trant, she‚Äôs put up a lot of money for us‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù
‚ÄúA lot of money,‚Äù Mr.¬ÝMitcham repeated emphatically, with the air of a man who knows money when he sees it.
‚ÄúShe‚Äôs new to it, you see, Mr.¬ÝPorson,‚Äù Jimmy continued, ‚Äúand she‚Äôs one of the best, a real lady too‚ÅÝ‚Äîgeneral‚Äôs daughter, they say. It‚Äôs time she began seeing something for her money.‚Äù
‚ÄúShe‚Äôll think we‚Äôve sold her the gold brick,‚Äù Mr.¬ÝMitcham put in mournfully.
“And the show ought to go,” said Jimmy.
‚ÄúIt oughter go big,‚Äù said Mr.¬ÝMitcham, who, in this despondent mood, seemed to become more Transatlantic.
Mr.¬ÝPorson had heard something like this, usually in this very bar, every week since April, but he immediately agreed that it was a good show. ‚ÄúI don‚Äôt say it‚Äôs everybody‚Äôs show,‚Äù he said judicially. ‚ÄúIt‚Äôs not one of your bustling knock-‚Äôem-about, come-on-let‚Äôs-have-the-applause shows. But I‚Äôll tell you frankly‚ÅÝ‚ÄîI like it. You can put me down for that. It‚Äôs a fine little show, and we‚Äôre as disappointed as you are.‚Äù He finished his drink ‚ÄúWell, I must be trotting.‚Äù Mr.¬ÝPorson was always trotting, as Miss Trant and Jimmy and other people who had business with him knew to their cost. He trotted so much that he could never be found. The other two watched him go, and then looked at one another with slightly raised brows, which announced that they had no great opinion of Mr.¬ÝPorson, that Mr.¬ÝPorson might be pleasant enough over a drink but nevertheless was a thoroughly incompetent person, the kind of manager who would ruin the chances of any show.
“What about finishing these and then walking down to see if there are any bookings?” Jimmy asked. The box office was at the entrance to the Pier. It took them ten minutes to reach it, but by the time they did they had quietly dismissed nine men out of every ten who had found their way, obviously by influence, my boy, into management, as creatures who merely cumbered the ground.
‚ÄúGood morning, my dear, you‚Äôre looking very bright this morning,‚Äù said Mr.¬ÝMitcham to the young lady in the box office, who looked anything but bright. ‚ÄúAnd how are things?‚Äù
But the young lady, who suffered a good deal from bronchial trouble, really did brighten now. “Quite picking up today,” she replied. “I’ve booked out about two and a half rows of the two-and-fourpennies already, and I’ve had several inquiries on the telephone. I shouldn’t be surprised if a lot of the better-class people aren’t coming, for once. I believe you’re going to get a good house tonight.”
‚ÄúBless you, my child, for those kind words,‚Äù said Jimmy. Then he exchanged a glance with Mr.¬ÝMitcham. ‚ÄúIt looks better, ol‚Äô man.‚Äù
‚ÄúIt‚Äôs just as I said,‚Äù replied Mr.¬ÝMitcham. ‚ÄúWe‚Äôve got going in the town, though only at the last minute. Another week and it ‚Äôud be capacity every night.‚Äù
‚ÄúWell, a good send-off will be something. It‚Äôll cheer us all up and look well in the adverts. ‚ÄòThanks for wonderful send-off at Sandybay. Last night a riot!‚Äô And I‚Äôll tell you what I think, Mitcham,‚Äù Jimmy added earnestly. ‚ÄúMr.¬ÝPorson ought to get more chairs in. He told me himself he‚Äôd lent about fifty to the corporation. Let him put ‚Äôem back, I say. There‚Äôs time this afternoon. I‚Äôll leave a message.‚Äù Miss Trant herself saw the extra chairs being taken in, late in the afternoon. Mr.¬ÝOakroyd was there, lending a hand.
“I suppose they’re expecting something rather wonderful next week,” she said to him with a touch of bitterness. “They don’t want any more seats for us.”
“Nay, Miss Trant, they do,” he told her, pushing back his little brown cap as usual, for he always wore his cap and always saluted her in this manner. “It’s going to be a right big do, they tell me, and even wi’ these extras ther’ll nobbut be standing room for them as comes at last minute, I dare say. All t’fowk where I’m lodging and ther friends and relations is coming. I do knaw, and all t’better seats is booked up, two and fower a time.”
‚ÄúOh, but that‚Äôs splendid, isn‚Äôt it, Mr.¬ÝOakroyd?‚Äù she cried.
“It’ll be a bit of a change,” he admitted dryly.
She looked at him reproachfully. “Is that all you can say?”
Mr.¬ÝOakroyd did not blush because he was not in the habit of blushing, but he looked a trifle confused. ‚ÄúNay,‚Äù he protested, ‚ÄúI‚Äôm right glad. It‚Äôs champion.‚Äù
Miss Trant, rather excited now, returned to the Pavilion earlier than usual in the evening, and though there was the usual mournful drizzle, making the Pier look as forlorn as ever, already people were streaming along towards the Pavilion. Sandybay had discovered, at the eleventh hour, that the Good Companions were offering it an unusually good show. Ten minutes before the performance began, all the unreserved seats were filled and there were numbers of people standing at each side and at the back. In another five minutes, after a few more had been squeezed in, the ‚ÄúHouse Full‚Äù notice was put up and they were actually turning money away. Miss Trant, who was sitting in a corner in the wings, near the ladies‚Äô dressing-room, had the news from Mr.¬ÝPorson himself, and immediately both dressing-rooms and wings buzzed with it: ‚ÄúTurning money away, my dear‚Äù; ‚ÄúCapacity to the roof, ol‚Äô man‚Äù; and they took turns at peeping through the curtain. ‚ÄúGoing to be a Night, my dear,‚Äù they cried to one another. ‚ÄúWhat did I say? Something told me.‚Äù
‚ÄúNow, Miss Trant,‚Äù said Mrs.¬ÝJoe, ‚Äúcan‚Äôt you feel a difference?‚Äù
Miss Trant could. The whole atmosphere of the place was changed. You knew at once that on the other side of the curtain there were no longer any cold spaces and empty chairs and yawns and languid stares; that everybody there was expecting to be delightfully entertained, had already met the players more than halfway, was only waiting to hum and laugh and break into gigantic hailstorms of applause. Miss Trant tried hard to be coolly amused at the excitement of the others, but she did not succeed. She was as excited as they were, and was only thankful that she herself had nothing to do. Oh, this might be absurd, but it was thrilling, it was fun!
Jimmy had a last-minute inspiration. “Let’s open with the band behind the curtain. Our two numbers. ‘Slippin’ Round the Corner,’ then Susie’s number.” Inigo had been able to score these two songs of his for the little jazz band, with some assistance from Morton Mitcham, and they had both been well rehearsed. They got their instruments and took up their places: Inigo at the piano; Jimmy at the drums; Mitcham with his banjo; and Joe, Susie, and Elsie respectively with cornet, violin, and tenor saxophone, instruments they all played in a slapdash but sufficiently adequate manner. In less than a minute they were waiting for the signal to begin.
House lights out and footlights up. Applause already. Then‚ÅÝ‚Äîone, two, three, and off they went. Rumpty-dee-tidee-dee. Rumpty-dee-tidee. Quietly at first, then louder, louder, then letting it rip. You could feel the whole house moving to its rhythm through the curtain. They were tapping; they were humming; they were eating and drinking it. A final flourish, crowned by Jimmy, who crashed his drumstick against the hanging cymbal. A moment‚Äôs silence. Then the Pavilion seemed all clapping hands.
“Instruments away,” shouted Jimmy through the tumult; “All on and the opening chorus as usual! Come, on, come on. Now then, Inigo! Ready with that curtain, Oakroyd! Gosh! it’s going with a bang tonight!”
And with a bang it went. They clapped when Joe warned them against the mighty deep, and clapped again when Mrs.¬ÝJoe discovered Angus Macdonald coming home from the war. They rose as one man when Elsie tunefully announced she was looking for a boy like them. They reduced Morton Mitcham to mere sweat and grinning bone, and he did so many tricks and played so many tunes that both cards and strings must have been red-hot by the time he had done with them. They roared with laughter every time Jimmy opened his mouth or crossed the stage. And when Jerry Jerningham did his ‚ÄúSlipping Round the Corner‚Äù and Susie brought out her new song about going home, then they had no mercy but clapped and stamped and whistled and drummed their feet time after time to bring the two back again. When the final curtain came, it was nearly eleven, three-quarters of an hour past the usual time, and even then the enraptured audience would not stop applauding. ‚ÄúSpee‚Äëee‚Äëeech!‚Äù some of them were calling.
Jimmy beckoned to Miss Trant, who was standing in the wings, at once excited and exhausted, dithering, because instead of being a mere spectator she had seen both actors and audience. “Come on and say something,” Jimmy’s mouth shaped at her.
Instantly she waved a frantic negative. She could no more have tottered into that lighted space and spoken to the loud if friendly monster there than have flown to the moon.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Jimmy began.
But that was the signal for another outburst, and in the middle of it the attendant could be seen pushing his way up to the stage, carrying a magnificent bouquet of roses. The lights were up now and everybody on the stage could see that approaching bouquet. The three women never took their eyes away from it. Mrs.¬ÝJoe was not without her hopes, for might there not be a Music Lover in the house? It flashed through Elsie‚Äôs mind that probably some gentleman friend‚ÅÝ‚ÄîElsie was rich in gentlemen friends‚ÅÝ‚Äîwas in front. Susie was already preparing a special smile and curtsy, for it was hardly possible that the bouquet could be for anyone else. If ever a girl had earned a bouquet, she had tonight. The attendant held it up, and Jimmy came forward with a skip and a jump to receive it. He read the label, and the three women held their breath. He turned and, with a droll gesture and smirk, handed it‚ÅÝ‚Äîto Jerry Jerningham.
Mr.¬ÝJerningham, very warm, very tired, a little shiny perhaps, but still exquisite, bowed his acknowledgement very gracefully, then, after a quick glance at the label, which said To Mr.¬ÝJerry Jerningham from an Unknown Admirer and said it in a flowing and feminine handwriting, smiled again at the audience and smiled at his fellow-players, three of whom were attempting to disguise looks of mingled amazement and disgust. And it may be admitted, here and now, that there was talk of that monstrous bouquet for weeks afterwards in the ladies‚Äô dressing-room, that we ourselves have perhaps not heard the last of it, that the Unknown Admirer may turn up again.
It was over at last. Inigo, hotter and even more weary than Mr.¬ÝJerningham and not at all exquisite, hammered out something that approximated to ‚ÄúGod Save the King,‚Äù and then, safe behind the lowered curtain, nearly fell off his chair. ‚ÄúThis is the boy that ought to have a bouquet,‚Äù said Mrs.¬ÝJoe, who had a great opinion of Inigo. ‚ÄúLook how he‚Äôs worked. And never even got so much as a hand!‚Äù
‚ÄúYes, it‚Äôs a rotten shame,‚Äù said Susie, smiling at him. ‚ÄúLook‚ÅÝ‚Äîhis lock of hair‚Äôs nearly coming out. Never mind, you were wonderful, Inigo, and the song‚Äôs a darling, darling, da‚Äëar‚Äëling.‚Äù And off she ran.
Miss Trant found Mr.¬ÝPorson at her elbow, saying something about returns and a future date, but at the moment it was impossible for her to be quietly sensible. They were all still shouting congratulations to one another and clearing away their props. It was like the end of a crazy party. After a minute or two, she decided to wait outside until some of the others had finished changing. And very strange it was to go outside and find the night there, the glitter of the promenade, the mysterious and murmuring dark of the sea, the lonely lights far out, the chill salt breath that now seemed so sweet.
Out they came, dim shapes with jubilant voices. A cigarette went curving over the side like a tiny meteor, and a voice said: ‚ÄúAh, I‚Äôd rather taste the air than that.‚Äù They gathered round her. ‚ÄúWell, this was a Night, wasn‚Äôt it?‚Äù they chorused: and ‚ÄúWhat a send-off!‚Äù and ‚ÄúA riot at Sandybay, my dear!‚Äù Jerry Jerningham held out his roses to Elsie, who condescended to smell them. Mrs.¬ÝJoe found Mr.¬ÝJoe, who tucked her arm in his and gave the scene a pleasantly domestic flavour, so that you could almost see little George himself there with them. Inigo went dodging round so that he could place himself by the side of Susie, a bafflingly elusive girl. Mr.¬ÝMitcham was still in the middle of an anecdote to which nobody was paying any attention. Jimmy Nunn came up, giving instructions to Mr.¬ÝOakroyd. Then suddenly, all at once, they were telling one another how tired they were.
“And so am I,” cried Miss Trant, “although I haven’t done anything. I feel as if I could go to bed for three days. Thank goodness it’s Sunday tomorrow.
‚ÄúYes,‚Äù said Jimmy, ‚Äúand by the way, I‚Äôve looked up the trains for Winstead. I‚Äôve got it down in my notebook and I‚Äôll look it up when we get to the entrance. No Through, of course. The usual cross-country business‚ÅÝ‚Äîan hour‚Äôs wait at Mudby-on-the-Wash and then another hour at Washby-on-the-Mud, and so on. Who are you taking in the car, Miss Trant? You‚Äôd better let us know now.‚Äù
“Oh, good heavens. I’d forgotten!” she cried, in such droll dismay that they laughed. “I was thinking I was going to have a nice quiet day here, breakfast in bed with a book and then a little sewing. I’d forgotten all about Winstead. Isn’t it terrible? We’ve got to begin all over again.” And then they laughed at her again, for there was something in her tone that told them she was now much happier about it all and seemed to establish her companionship with them. They moved slowly towards the Pier entrance, planning the next day’s journey.