Chapter IX: Act II (5)

Heigho! ’Tis now six summers
Since I won that angel and married her:
I was rich,[533] not old, and carried her
Off in the face of all comers.
So fresh, yet so brimming with soul!
A tenderer morsel, I swear,
Never made the dull black coal[534]
Of a monk’s eye glitter and glare.
Your pardon![535]――nay, keep your chair!
I wander a little, but mean
No offence to the gray gabardine:
Of the church,[536] Fra Giacomo,
I’m a faithful upholder,[537] you know.
But (humor me![538]) she was as sweet
As the saints in yon[539] convent windows,
So gentle, so meek, so discreet,
She knew not what lust does or sin does.
I’ll confess, though, before we were one
I deemed her less saintly, and thought
The blood in her veins had caught
Some natural warmth from the sun.[540]
I was wrong[541]――I was blind as a bat――
Brute[542] that I was, how I blundered!
Though such a mistake as that
Might have occurred as pat
To ninety-nine men in a hundred.[543]
Yourself,[544] for example: you’ve seen her?
Spite[545] her modest and pious demeanor,
And the manner so nice and precise,
Seemed there not color and light,[546]
Bright motion and appetite,
That were scarcely consistent with _ice_?[547]
Externals implying, you see,
Internals less saintly than human!
Pray speak,[548] for between you and me
You’re not a bad judge of a woman!

A jest――but a jest![549]... Very true:[550]
’Tis hardly becoming to jest,
And that saint upstairs[551] at rest――
Her soul may be listening, too!
Well may your visage[552] turn yellow――
I was always a brute[553] of a fellow!
To think how I doubted and doubted,
Suspected, grumbled at, flouted[554]
That golden-haired angel――and solely
Because she was zealous and holy!
Noon and night and morn
She devoted herself to piety;
Not[555] that she seemed to scorn
Or dislike[556] her husband’s society;
But the claims of her _soul_[557] superseded
All that I[558] asked for or needed,
And her thoughts were far away[559]
From the level of sinful clay,
And she trembled if earthly matters
Interfered with her _aves_ and _paters_.[560]
Poor dove, she so fluttered[561] in flying
Above the dim vapors of hell――
Bent on self-sanctifying――
That she never thought of trying
To save her husband as well.
And while she was duly elected
For a place in the heavenly roll,[562]
I (brute[563] that I was!) suspected
Her manner[564] of saving her soul.
So half for the fun of the thing,
What did I (blasphemer![565]) but fling
On my shoulders[566] the gown of a monk――
Whom I managed for that very day
To get safely out of the way[567]――
And seat me, half sober, half drunk,
With the cowl thrown over my face;
In the father confessor’s place.
_Eheu! benedicite!_[568]
In her orthodox sweet simplicity,
With that pensive, gray expression
She sighfully knelt[569] at confession,
While I bit my lips till they bled,
And dug my nails into my hand,[570]
And heard with averted head[571]
What I’d guessed,[572] and could understand.
Every word was a serpent’s sting,
But wrapt[573] in my gloomy gown,
I sat, like a marble thing,
As she told me all![574] SIT DOWN![575]

More wine,[576] Fra Giacomo!
One cup――if you love me! No?
What, have these dry lips drank
So deep of the sweets of pleasure――
_Sub rosa_,[577] but quite without measure――
That Montepulciano tastes rank?
Come, drink![578] ’twill bring the streaks
Of crimson back to your cheeks;[579]
Come, drink again to the saint[580]
Whose virtues you loved to paint,
Who stretched on her wifely bed,
With the tender gray expression
You used to admire at confession,
Lies POISONED,[581] overhead!

Sit still[582]――or by Heaven, you die![583]
Face to face,[584] soul to soul, you and I
Have settled accounts in a fine
Pleasant fashion,[585] over our wine.
Stir not,[586] and seek not to fly――
Nay, whether or not, you are mine!
Thank Montepulciano[587] for giving
You death in such delicate sips;
’Tis not every monk ceases living
With so pleasant a taste on his lips;
But, lest Montepulciano unsurely should kiss,
Take this![588] and this! and this!

* * * * *

Cover him over, Pietro,[589]
And bury him in the court below[590]――
You can be secret, lad, I know!
And, hark you,[591] then to the convent[592] go――
Bid every bell[593] in the convent toll,
And the monks say mass for your mistress’[594] soul.

――_Robert Buchanan._

GESTURES.
[511] H. O.
[512] L. P. H. O.
[513] Sp.
[514] D. O.
[515] P. D. O.
[516] L. H. O.
[517] Look to D. O.
[518] B. H. O.
[519] Stoop.
[520] A. O.
[521] P. D. O.
[522] V. H. O.
[523] Ind. A. O.
[524] Kneel.
[525] H. O.
[526] L. A. O.
[527] Sp.
[528] H. O.
[529] L. A. O.
[530] P. H. O.
[531] H. O.
[532] Bow and sit at left of a table.
[533] B. H. O.
[534] Lean forward.
[535] P. H. O.
[536] L. H. O.
[537] A. O.
[538] V. Con.
[539] L. H. L.
[540] A. O.
[541] P. H. O.
[542] B. Cli. D.
[543] B. H. O.
[544] H. O.
[545] V. H. O.
[546] H. O.
[547] P. H. O.
[548] H. O.
[549] V. H. O.
[550] P. H. O.
[551] L. A. O.
[552] H. O.
[553] B. Cli. D.
[554] V. Con.
[555] B. H. O. Con.
[556] V. H. O.
[557] L. H. O.
[558] To left.
[559] L. H. L.
[560] Hand applied.
[561] Sp.
[562] A. O.
[563] Cli. D.
[564] H. O.
[565] V. H. O.
[566] Sp.
[567] L. H. O.
[568] B. V. Par. H. O.
[569] D. E.
[570] Sp.
[571] Sp.
[572] Ind. H. O.
[573] Sp.
[574] Fist on table.
[575] Rise and P. H. O.
[576] Offer wine.
[577] P. H. O.
[578] B. H. O.
[579] H. O.
[580] L. A. O. sustained.
[581] L. Point up forcibly.
[582] P. H. O.
[583] D. O.
[584] Fold arms and face to right.
[585] B. H. O.
[586] P. H. E.
[587] Point to table.
[588] Cross to right and stab.
[589] Look to left and P. D. O.
[590] D. L.
[591] L. Ind. H. O.
[592] L. H. L.
[593] L. A. O.
[594] L. Point up.

A Grain of Truth.

The luxury derived in doing good
Is oft the only recompense men get
For kindly deeds; e’en toil of years is paid
Too oft with ingrate acts, and motives pure
As angel thoughts are powerless to stay
Suspicion’s tongue; but, oh, ’tis sweet to know
Our duty has been done ’twixt man and man,
To feel we have been loyal to ourselves;
To know one voice at least proclaims us true,
The whispered voice of God, within our hearts!

――_George M. Vickers_.

The Corsican.

This piece is most effective if given sitting by the right side of a table.

Well, Michel, the luck seems against[595] you to-night,
You do nothing but lose;――it may change? You are right,[596]
For Dame Fortune’s a jade that one never can trust;
She may smile on our labors, but one[597] always must
Keep both eyes wide open――your play,[598]――mine again,――
Or he’ll pay[599] for his confidence, fifty to ten.
Pshaw! don’t[600] be faint-hearted――another deal, try;
Now don’t swear,――what’s the use? You may win by and by:
Why! what are these?[601] Jewels? Your dead wife’s, you say?
You’ll stake them against all I’ve won here to-day?
You’ve nothing but these? All’s lost?――(_the end’s near!_)[602]
Well, put the stones there;[603] why, how white you appear!
You’re faint from reverses; ho![604] landlord! I say――
A flask of your best without any delay:
Come, drink, man; ’twill cheer you――tut![605] have no reserve;
Here’s to your success![606] Ha! that strengthens one’s nerve.
I’ll deal the cards first; ’tis your turn――come, begin;
Just think of the stakes you will have if you win.
Have you ever seen Paris? Were born there? Indeed!
They say ’tis a place where a man must take heed[607]
Lest his money and life be not taken away
In a hurry,――one moment[608]――’tis my turn to play.
A strange tale I’ve heard――no offence――of their mode,
And the close-cutting rules of their well-prepared code;
This narrative’s true;――at least, so I’ve been told.――
A young Corsican noble, scarce twenty years old――
A mere boy in years, but with wealth at command,
And a title as proud as the best in the land――
About twelve years ago to gay Paris repaired,
To see life as ’tis there to be seen, and――get snared.[609]
With some friends like himself,――young, thoughtless and gay,[610]
He managed to while time and money away.[611]
Among other places, the gossips all tell,――
He was brought to a flash,[612] gilded gaming hell,
Kept by a certain French Count――have a care![613]
You play wildly; now put your best there;――
By a certain French Count, De la Fontelle by name,
And his wife, a bewitching, heart-damaging dame;
As well-matched a pair for their devilish trade,
As the fiend incarnate[614] had e’er till then made.
Well, into this hell-trap of splendor and guilt,[615]
Young Malletti――his name――was dragged;――see, you have spilt
All your wine;――you are nervous from play: fill once more;――
And then like the rest,[616] I imagine, before
He well was aware or his own thoughts could tell,
He madly in love with the fair Countess fell.
He was handsome and rich, young, easily led――
A most opportune prize, and so easily bled.
She so skillfully――women, what devils[617] are ye!――
Lured him on till no longer the power had he
Or the will to resist;――I’ve just played the knave;――
Till his honor and soul into her hands he gave――
Heaven curse[618] her! It makes a man crazy to think
How these fair, smiling creatures will drag to the brink
Of destruction a poor, silly fool:――You are pale,
And no wonder; the blood leaves the heart at the tale.
But, mind you, the husband with eyes turned away――[619]
Unconscious――ha! ha! of what passed every day,――
To his own affairs kept, nor with her interfered;
She could manage her own; but the end was soon neared.
His money at last was all gone, and he then
Turned to her――to her love appealed,[620] but when
On his two knees, with words full of fond love, the young
Noble knelt[621] with his proud heart and spirit sore wrung,――
And abjectly――God! yes, abjectly[622] sued,――
But your pardon; I feel so deeply imbued
With the sense of this wrong, that the throats I could seize――
A neck in each grasp――and complacently squeeze[623]
Out the life of these two devils, breath after breath,
Till my eager revenge would be stopped but by death.
Well, in spite of his burning entreaties, this pair,
With laughter and blows――ay, what wouldn’t they dare?――
The young noble seized, and out[624] he was thrown
Like a dog;――he who never till that time had known
The harsh tone of insult. But come,[625] give me some wine;
Such a tale would stir more than your feelings[626] and mine:[627]
For all[628] who have souls and have hearts not of stone
Can judge of the tumult his soul must have known,
When robbed of his money,[629] his honor,[630] his life,[631]
By this Judas incarnate and syren-tongued wife,
He found himself out on the streets,[632] treated worse
Than the veriest menial or slave.[633] May the curse
Of the injured their foul souls pursue![634] But, howe’er,
Young Malletti that night to this house did repair,
And in her own bed the fair serpent slew;――
Drove his knife to the hilt in her heart;[635]――Wouldn’t you?[636]――
And cut her white throat――ay! he left a grand mark,――
But the husband escaped from the house[637] in the dark――
The cowardly cur![638] But you suffer; your frame
Is all trembling. Ah! Michel, your nature’s[639] the same
As my own, full of tenderness, gentle and weak;
As regards now its sympathy ’tis that I speak.
But come, play again; ’tis the last trick; I drink[640]
To your health and success! Ha! ha! One would think
From your looks you were pale with some terrible fear.
There’s nothing to dread,――there are none but us here,
And the days of dark murder in secret are o’er:――
Ace! King! I win. Though mine is the gain,
It gives me, friend Michel, less pleasure than pain.
But let us return to our sheep, as they say
In la belle France, your land ever charming and gay.
Young Malletti was captured, convicted I’m told,
To the galleys[641] was sent,――a life sentence, too:
Now I think ’twas too much for his just crime――don’t you?
But mark![642] two years since――ay! this very day,――
The convicts rebelled, and some few got away,
And among them Malletti.――Why, man, how you shake!
And what a strange, terrified look your eyes take!
Well, Malletti had Corsican blood in his veins,――
Such blood as ne’er cools while on earth[643] there remains
The being or thing that had offered insult:
He no rest, peace or happiness ever would know,
Till dead[644] at his feet he the Count would lay low.
He searched France from north to south,[645] England went
through,[646]
And at last of his old foe discovered a clue:
He found him disguised both in feature and name;――
Come, Michel, what ails you? Your drinking’s too tame.
Here, fill up your goblet;[647] I’ll give you a toast;[648]
Dios! man; what a face! It would frighten a ghost;
Here’s success to all men who the life blood may spill
Of such as the Count and his wife! But sit still,[649]
And wait till my narrative ends. ’Tis a queer
Story, take it in all, but true――never fear.
I’m sorry you lost, Michel, sorry indeed,
And feel that at my hands some succor[650] you need,
Which you shall receive――ay! shall, on my life.
These gems are superb![651] They belonged to your wife?
’Tis the fortune of cards;――a full purse to-day;
To-morrow like smoke-clouds it all melts away.[652]
But, no doubt, you’re eager and anxious to know
What held back the young noble’s long-wished-for blow:
Ah! he wished his revenge to be perfect, complete,
A sort of a climax. Revenge must be sweet;
That is, if we judge from Malletti’s standpoint.
What unction with which his keen sword to anoint!
Well, at the card table day following day,
The two were engaged, and strangely to say,
The Count lost every sou[653] in the world he possessed;
And at last by reverses became so hard pressed
That he staked his wife’s jewels;――_ha, ha! don’t stir yet!_[654]
But wait, dearest Michel, my friend, till I get
To the end. Well, the jewels he staked and _he lost_.
Then Malletti uprose from his seat[655] and crossed
To the side of the Count, _as I now do to you,――
Keep your seat――we’re alone――none can hear:――
Revenge is so sweet when the cost was so dear_;――
He drew a stiletto[656]――in this manner,――see!
And plunged it with joy to the hilt――_look at me!
Ha! you know me, vile caitiff! What, mercy! Forgive!_
The seconds are numbered that you have to live:
This moment takes out of my life all the pain,
And wipes out the stain on my honor again.
Thy struggles are useless,――’tis _revenge’s_ fell clasp
That holds thee resistless within its close grasp.
_Look your last on my face_, while thus with a blow[657]
I send your black soul to the regions below;――[658]
_There_[659]――Count de la Fontelle; now join your fair spouse
In the chambers of hell,[660] and keep your carouse――
Ha! that twinge again;[661]――twice I felt it before,――
And a drowsy sensation[662] seems now stealing o’er
All my frame;――God of heaven! what is this?[663] Can it be?
Poisoned![664] Ha! slave![665] thou hast done too for me.――
What pain darts across me![666] My blood is on fire!
My brain reels,――Oh, mercy! is’t thus I expire![667]
Help! help! Oh, will no one attend to my cry!
Must I in my agony unaided lie,
And suffer the torment the damned[668] only feel!
Ha! no;――I’ve a friend left in thee, faithful steel:[669]
Thou shalt end all and quickly;――thy virtue I’ll try;
Ah, Count! thou art well avenged;――_thus――thus![670] I die!_

――_Thos. F. Wilford, A. M._

GESTURES.
[595] H. O.
[596] Con. V.
[597] Ind. H. O.
[598] In this and the passages following that speak of the play,
imitate motions of card playing.
[599] H. O.
[600] V. H. O.
[601] Sp.
[602] Speak to left with L. hand in front of mouth.
[603] Motion to table.
[604] To left.
[605] Con. V.
[606] Sp.
[607] Ind.
[608] Con. V.
[609] P. H. O.
[610] B. H. O.
[611] L. H. Sw.
[612] A. O.
[613] P. H. O.
[614] Cli.
[615] H. O.
[616] B. H. O.
[617] L. Cli. D.
[618] B. Cli. D.
[619] V. H. O.
[620] B. H. F.
[621] B. D. F.
[622] B. P. D. F.
[623] Sp.
[624] B. Par. to L. H. O.
[625] H. O.
[626] H. O.
[627] To self.
[628] B. H. O.
[629] H. O.
[630], [631] Imp.
[632] L. H. O.
[633] L. D. O.
[634] P. H. F.
[635] Sp.
[636] H. O.
[637] L. H. O.
[638] L. P. D. O.
[639] H. O.
[640] Sp.
[641] L. H. L.
[642] H. O.
[643] Ind.
[644] D. F.
[645] D. F.
[646] L. H. Sw.
[647], [648] Sp.
[649] P. H. O.
[650] B. H. O.
[651] Sp.
[652] A. Sw.
[653] Ind.
[654] P. H. O.
[655] Rise and cross in front of table.
[656] Sp.
[657] Sp.
[658] Sheathe dagger.
[659] P. D. O.
[660] D. F.
[661] Hand on breast.
[662] Hand to head.
[663] Take up wine glass.
[664] Replace it.
[665] D. O.
[666] Strong dramatic action.
[667] Sit.
[668] B. Cli.
[669] Draw dagger.
[670] Stab.

All Wrong.

A FARCE, IN ONE ACT.

CHARACTERS.

JOHN DUPEWELL, _a rogue_.
OLIVER OPENFACE, _benevolent old gent_.
TOMMY, _a street fakir_.
POLICEMAN.
TILLY, _Openface’s daughter_.
PEDESTRIANS.

SCENE: A City Street in the Morning.

(_Tommy discovered standing in centre of stage, near flat, holding a string in right hand, to which are attached several small rubber balloons inflated with gas._)

* * * * *

TOMMY.――Well, here goes for another hard day’s work. This standin’ on yer feet, an’ shoutin’ all day is wicked on the toes and lungs. Hello! here comes a swell. Balloons! balloons! Here’s yer genuine rubber air wessels filled with gas!

(_Enter Dupewell――Left._)

DUPEWELL (_Swinging cane and not noticing Tommy_).――Something must be done to raise the wind.

TOMMY.――Balloons! balloons! balloons!

DUPEWELL.――Shut up! shut up, sir! Your goods are too suggestive of the present state of my stomach.

TOMMY.――Don’t lean on me that way; I’m a poor boy, I want to be encouraged, for me stock’s light, trade’s dull, and both pockets is empty.

DUPEWELL.――Poor fellow! Perhaps I can give you a start in life, but it all depends upon――

TOMMY.――Oh, sir, I never had nobody to take me by the hand and say, “Tommy, here’s a chance, take it!” I’ve been lookin’ for a openin’ all me life――

DUPEWELL.――And the biggest kind of a one right under your nose. (_Points cane at Tommy’s mouth._)

TOMMY.――I can’t see it.

DUPEWELL.――Well, I’ll explain. How many balloons have you sold to-day?

TOMMY.――Not one; haven’t broke a string.

DUPEWELL.――Good! People are beginning to throng the street. Now listen; if you will strictly obey all my instructions, I will to-night give you more cash, and a squarer meal than your pockets ever held or your palate ever tasted.

TOMMY.――That’s what I dreamed last night; I seed a great big――

DUPEWELL.――Never mind your dream. What do you want for your balloons, all of them?

TOMMY.――Fifty cents.

DUPEWELL.――If I purchase them, will you enter my employ at once, and promise to obey me, unquestioned, in all things?

TOMMY.――When do you eat breakfast?

DUPEWELL.――In a short time; as soon as we attend to a small affair. Do you solemnly――

TOMMY.――Hold on! I never swear. I’ll be bound, I’ll affirm, I’ll promise to agree; but don’t ask me to swear; ’tain’t right.

DUPEWELL.――That will answer; your word will do. (_Takes half-dollar from pocket and looks at it._) (_Aside_.)――Farewell ’till next we meet. (_Aloud._)――Well, sir, here is the money.

TOMMY (_Taking money_).――Here’s your balloons.

DUPEWELL.――I don’t want them just now. Tommy, loan me that coin a few minutes.

TOMMY (_backing away_).――Can’t do that.

DUPEWELL (_angrily_).――What! disobey my first request? Besides, you hold good collateral. (_Points to balloons._)

TOMMY (_aside_).――This is a bad openin’; he’s leanin’ on me heavy at the start. (_Hands money to Dupewell._) I don’t see how I’m to make a profit on this sale.

DUPEWELL (_hurriedly_).――Tut! Now for business; mark what I say; there are some persons coming this way. I’ll step off in this direction a few paces. Watch me. When I raise my hat, let your balloons go, fall on your knees and groan; say nothing to any one, but groan in reply to every question. I will attend to the rest.

TOMMY.――Let me hold the fifty cents.

DUPEWELL.――Silence. (_Exit L._)

TOMMY (_looking after Dupewell_).――That’s a queer fellow. I think I’ll skeet. Oh! there goes his hat. (_Lets the balloons go, falls on his knees and groans._)

(_Enter Oliver Openface――R._)

OPENFACE (_trying to assist Tommy to arise_).――My poor fellow, what ails you? Do tell me, are you sick?

(_Re-enter Dupewell――R._)

(_Tommy groans and looks upward._)

DUPEWELL (_to Openface_).――Sad! sad! Know the man well; worthy case――sick wife――eleven children, oldest four years――wounded in late war――lost his balloons; look! (_Points upward._)

OPENFACE.――Ah, I see. (_Pulls out handkerchief and wipes eyes._) What shall we do?

DUPEWELL.――Make donation――encourage honesty. (_Hands fifty cents to Tommy, who takes it and groans._)

OPENFACE (_examining his wallet_).――I have nothing less than a fifty-dollar bill. (_Holds note in his hand._)

(_Dupewell takes note._)

OPENFACE.――Hold on, there. (_Reaches for note._)

DUPEWELL.――No, no! Let this poor man get it changed around the corner; thoroughly honest――trusted him with thousands――be responsible myself. (_Aside to Tommy_)――Meet me at the Hero’s Inn. (_Makes believe to give note to Tommy, but puts it in his own pocket._) (_Aloud_) Go, now! Run! The gentleman’s waiting. (_Exit Tommy, running._)

DUPEWELL (_touching Openface on arm and pointing up_).――How small those balloons appear; a mere speck.

OPENFACE (_looking up_).――I cannot see them; my eyes are too old.

DUPEWELL (_points_).――See! There they go! (_Takes wallet from Openface’s pocket._) See! see!

OPENFACE (_impatiently_).――I’d like to see that fellow coming with my change.

DUPEWELL (_starting to go_).――I’ll see what keeps him.

OPENFACE.――But hold on――

DUPEWELL (_aside_).――That’s what I intend to do. (_Taps wallet._) (_Aloud._)――Be back in a second. (_Exit R.――hurriedly._)

OPENFACE.――I just recollect that there is a dollar bill in the middle pocket of my wallet; see what time I could have saved if――(_feels in his pockets_)――if――if――I had only――(_still feeling in his pockets_)――if I had only thought of it before. (_Discovers that his wallet is gone._) Come back you, there! Watch! Thieves!

(_Falls on his knees_) Police! Police!

(_Enter Policeman――R._)

POLICEMAN (_poking Openface in side with club_).――Git up! Git up!

OPENFACE.――Police! I’m robbed, I’m――I’m――murder!

(_Enter Pedestrians――Running._)

POLICEMAN.――He’s got ’em bad; a genteel case of the tremmens.

(_Pedestrians laugh._)

POLICEMAN.――Somebody git a push-cart; there’s one down at the corner grocery.

PEDESTRIAN.――I’ll go, I’ll go! (_Exit._)

OPENFACE (_attempts to rise_).――Let me up, let me get up, I’m a――――

POLICEMAN (_putting him down again_).――Keep quiet; I’ve ordered the carriage; I’ll watch the snakes.

(_Pedestrians laugh._)

OPENFACE.――Let me speak.

POLICEMAN (_to pedestrians_).――Here comes a lady. Clear the sidewalk.

(_Pedestrians gather around Openface so that Tilly cannot
see him._)

POLICEMAN (_aside_).――What a beauty!

(_Enter Tilly, carrying parasol._)

TILLY.――Dear me! I wonder what has happened.

OPENFACE.――I am a gentleman, let me go! I have been basely robbed, let me go, I say!

POLICEMAN.――Shut up! shut up!

TILLY.――That voice, that beloved voice! Surely I have heard that voice before!

POLICEMAN (_bowing low_).――No doubt, lady, you have often listened to my tones when I’ve been on the beat――――

PEDESTRIAN (_aside_).――Which is all the time.

TILLY.――I do not mean your voice.

OPENFACE (_groans_).――Let me rise.

TILLY.――’Tis he! My father!

POLICEMAN (_motioning her away_).――Go home, Miss, go home; he’s got ’em bad; he wouldn’t know you.

TILLY (_places handkerchief to her eyes_).――My heart will surely break.

POLICEMAN.――Oh! now we’ll get him off in good shape; here comes the push-cart.

(_Enter Pedestrian, carrying an arm chair._)

POLICEMAN.――Why didn’t you bring the barrow?

PEDESTRIAN.――The groceryman just left with a load of onions and won’t be back for an hour.

POLICEMAN.――Make way for the chair.

(_Pedestrians divide to R. and L._)

OPENFACE (_stands up_).――I will go straight to the Mayor and enter a complaint.

TILLY (_rushes to Openface_).――My father!

OPENFACE.――My darling child! (_They embrace._)

TILLY.――Oh, how did it happen?

POLICEMAN.――What’s this mean?

OPENFACE.――It means that I have been swindled on the highway, and that you have treated me in a villainous manner.

PEDESTRIANS.――Hear! hear!

(_Enter Dupewell and Tommy. The latter wears a straw hat and
long linen duster._)

OPENFACE.――I will give one hundred dollars for the arrest of the thieves!

TILLY.――And I will owe a debt of gratitude that years can ne’er efface.

TOMMY (_aside_).――This is the opening I’ve been looking for. Here’s a chance for a fortune and a wife.――(_Seizes Dupewell._)――(_Aloud_)―― Here’s the thief!

DUPEWELL (_takes wallet from his breast and slips it into Tommy’s pocket_).――’Tis false, I deny the charge!

POLICEMAN (_arrests Dupewell_).――Is this the man?

OPENFACE.――He looks like one of the thieves, but I am not certain; the other one I could identify at once by his clothes.

POLICEMAN.――If you cannot identify him I must let him go. (_Releases Dupewell._)

DUPEWELL.――Pity must give way to justice;――(_Points to Tommy_)――Seize him, he is the robber!

POLICEMAN.――Ah, ha! Come here. (_Taking hold of Tommy._)

DUPEWELL.――Feel his pockets, search him.

TOMMY.――You’re welcome to feel in these pockets. I’ve got nothing but loose change, the proceeds of a horse I just sold.

POLICEMAN.――Let me see. (_Taking wallet from Tommy’s pocket._) Is this your property? (_Hands it to Openface._)

OPENFACE.――It is; and yet I never saw this man before!

TOMMY.――Of course he didn’t.

DUPEWELL.――Take off his coat and hat.

POLICEMAN.――Come sir; take them off!

TOMMY (_struggles to escape_).――I didn’t take it; I didn’t, I didn’t, let me go!

DUPEWELL (_assists to remove Tommy’s hat and duster_).――Now――(_to Openface_),――is this the culprit?

OPENFACE.――It is; just as the rascal appeared when he committed the crime.

DUPEWELL.――I claim the reward.

OPENFACE.――Come home with me. You shall dine with me; I will then reward you; you shall be my friend for life!

POLICEMAN.――Bring the chair here.

TILLY.――Never mind sir; papa will order a coupé.

POLICEMAN.――It is for this rogue. (_Tommy is forced into_ _the chair, after which it is raised up by two pedestrians, a third using Tommy’s legs for shafts._)

TOMMY.――Bad luck’s leanin’ on me heavy――at last I’ve found an openin’; but it’s the openin’ of the jail door. Ah! it’s all wrong, it’s all wrong.

(_All form in line with Tommy at the head; Dupewell supports Tilly on his arm; next Openface and Pedestrians._)

POLICEMAN.――Forward, march!

(_March is played by Piano or Orchestra, while procession
countermarches._)

TOMMY (_kicking in chair_).――It’s all wrong! It’s all wrong! wrong! Balloons! balloons! it’s all wrong.

OPENFACE.――Hold! (_The procession halts._) My dear sir, (_to Dupewell_) the cry of balloons! balloons! from that young man in the chair reminds me that I had my wallet when you called my attention to the fugitive balloons that were growing smaller and smaller as they arose in the air!

DUPEWELL.――Well, sir!

OPENFACE.――It is not well, sir, for you, sir, for I had my wallet then, and it was only after you left me that I missed it. Release the unhappy youth and let the iron talons of the law clutch this monstrous scoundrel who would fasten his crime upon a verdant youth.

(_Tommy is released and Dupewell is placed in the chair._)

TOMMY.――Luck’s openin’ an’ shuttin’ like an alligator’s jaw; where’ll it end?

TILLY.――You shall go home with us; we will try to educate you and give you profitable employment.

OPENFACE.――It is even so; I will get you a government appointment, but! but, sir! hereafter beware of taking up with strangers in matters of business; bad associates have ruined many a man. Let the phalanx move.

(_Music continues._)

POLICEMAN.――Forward, march!

(_Procession countermarches._)

DUPEWELL (_kicking_).――It’s all wrong! it’s all wrong! it’s all wrong!

[CURTAIN.]

――_Geo. M. Vickers._

Go Fan Yourself.

When moist with perspiration,
When the mercury is high,
When stung to aggravation,
When your tongue and lips are dry
Then fretting’s worse than folly,
Rather let this be your rule――
Shake off all melancholy,
Go and fan yourself――keep cool.

Go fan yourself, cease growling,
Just remember who you are;
Stop snarling, snapping, scowling,
It will pay you better far.
If toiling melts your collars,
Recollect that life’s a school――
That all the lucky scholars
Win the prize by keeping cool.

Go fan yourself when heated,
Set the motto to a tune,
And let it be repeated
Though December ’tis or June;
Since mortal man is fickle
And his brother oft doth fool,
Just keep the saw in pickle,
Go and fan yourself――keep cool.

――_George M. Vickers._

Nell.

You’re a kind[671] woman, Nan! Ay, kind and true![672]
God[673] will be good to faithful folk like you!
You knew my Ned?
A better,[674] kinder lad never drew breath.
We loved each other true, and we were wed
In church, like some who took him to his death;[675]
A lad as gentle as a lamb, but lost[676]
His senses when he took a drop too much.

Drink[677] did it all――drink made him mad when cross’d――
He was a poor man, and they’re hard[678] on such.
O Nan! that night! that night!
When I was sitting in this[679] very chair,
Watching and waiting in the candle-light,
And heard[680] his foot come creaking up the stair,
And turned and saw him standing yonder,[681] white
And wild, with staring eyes and rumpled hair!
And when I caught[682] his arm and called in fright,
He pushed[683] me, swore, and to the door[684] he pass’d
To lock and bar[685] it fast.
Then down he drops[686] just like a lump of lead,
Holding his brow,[687] shaking, and growing whiter,
And――Nan!――just then the light[688] seem’d growing brighter,
And I could see the hands[689] that held his head,
All red![690] all bloody red!
What could I do but scream? He groaned to hear,
Jump’d to his feet, and gripped[691] me by the wrist;
“Be still,[692] or I shall kill thee, Nell!” he hiss’d.
And I was still for fear.
“They’re after[693] me――I’ve knifed a man!” he said,
“Be still![694]――the drink――drink did it!――he is dead!”[695]
Then we grew still, dead still. I couldn’t weep;
All I could do was cling[696] to Ned and hark,[697]
And Ned was cold,[698] cold, cold, as if asleep,
But breathing hard and deep.
The candle[699] flicker’d out――the room grew dark[700]
And――Nan!――although my heart[701] was true and tried――
When all grew cold[702] and dim,
I shuddered[703]――not for fear of them outside,[704]
But just afraid to be alone with him.[705]
“Ned! Ned!”[706] I whisper’d――and he moan’d and shook,
But did not heed or look!
“Ned! Ned![707] speak, lad! tell me[708] it is not true!”
At that he raised his head and look’d so wild;
Then, with a stare that froze my blood, he threw
His arms around[709] me, crying like a child,
And held me close――and not a word was spoken,
While I clung tighter to his heart and press’d him,
And did not fear him, though my heart was broken,
But kiss’d his poor stain’d hands, and cried, and bless’d[710] him!

Then, Nan, the dreadful daylight, coming cold
With sound[711] of falling rain――
When I could see his face,[712] and it look’d old,
Like the pinch’d face of one that dies[713] in pain;
Well, though we heard folk stirring[714] in the sun,
We never thought to hide away or run,
Until we heard those voices[715] in the street,
That hurrying of feet,
And Ned leap’d up,[716] and knew that they had come.
“Run, Ned!”[717] I cried, but he was deaf and dumb;
“Hide, Ned!”[718] I scream’d, and held him; “Hide thee, man!”[719]
He stared with blood-shot eyes and hearken’d, Nan!
And all the rest[720] is like a dream――the sound
Of knocking[721] at the door――
A rush of men――a struggle on the ground[722]――
A mist――a tramp――a roar;
For when I got my senses back again,
The room was empty,[723] and my head[724] went round!
God[725] help him? God _will_ help him! Ay, no fear![726]
It was the drink,[727] not Ned[728]――he meant no wrong;
So kind! So good!――and I am useless[729] here,
Now he is lost that loved me true and long.
… That night before he died,
I didn’t cry――my heart[730] was hard and dried;
But when the clocks[731] went “one,” I took my shawl
To cover up my face, and stole away,
And walk’d[732] along the silent streets, where all
Look’d cold[733] and still and gray,
And on[734] I went, and stood in Leicester Square,
But just as “three” was sounded close at hand
I started and turn’d east,[735] before I knew,
Then down Saint Martin’s Lane, along the Strand,
And through the toll-gate on to Waterloo.
Some men and lads went by,
And turning round, I gazed,[736] and watch’d ’em go,
Then felt that they were going to see him die,[737]
And drew my shawl[738] more tight, and follow’d slow.[739]
More people pass’d me, a country cart with hay
Stopp’d close beside[740] me, and two or three
Talk’d about _it_![741] I moan’d, and crept[742] away!

Next came a hollow sound[743] I knew full well,
For something gripped[744] me round the heart!――and then
There came the solemn tolling[745] of a bell!
O God! O God![746] how could[747] I sit close by,
And neither scream nor cry?
As if I had been stone, all hard and cold,
I listen’d,[748] listen’d, listen’d, still and dumb,
While the folk murmur’d, and the death-bell[749] toll’d,
And the day brighten’d,[750] and his time had come.
… Till, Nan!――all else was silent[751] but the knell
Of the slow bell![752]
And I could only wait, and wait, and wait,
And what I waited for[753] I couldn’t tell――
At last there came a groaning deep and great――
St. Paul’s struck “eight”[754]――
I scream’d, and seem’d to turn to fire and fell![755]
God[756] bless him, live or dead!
He never meant no wrong, was kind and true.
They’ve wrought their fill of spite[757] upon his head.
Why didn’t they be kind, and take me[758] too?
And there’s the dear old things[759] he used to wear,
And there’s[760] a lock of hair.
And Ned, my Ned! is fast asleep,[761] and cannot hear me call.
God bless you,[762] Nan, for all you’ve done and said!
But don’t mind me, my heart[763] is broke, that’s all![764]

――_Robert Buchanan._

GESTURES.
[671] H. F.
[672] H. O.
[673] A. F.
[674] H. O.
[675] D. F.
[676] H. L.
[677] B. Cli. D.
[678] P. H. O.
[679] P. H. O.
[680] Raise hand to listen.
[681] H. O.
[682] Sp.
[683] L. V. H. L.
[684] H. O.
[685] V. H. O.
[686] D. O.
[687] B. to head.
[688] L. H. Sw.
[689] D. O.
[690] B. V. Par. to D. O.
[691] L. Sp.
[692] Speak to left.
[693] H. L.
[694] L. P. H. O.
[695] B. Cli. D.
[696] H. O.
[697] Raise hand to listen.
[698] P. D. O.
[699] L. H. O.
[700] B. V. H. O.
[701] Hand to heart.
[702] B. P. H. O.
[703] B. Cli. and shudder.
[704] H. O.
[705] D. O.
[706], [707] B. Par. to D. O.
[708] Clasp hands.
[709] Sp. continued.
[710] P. H. O.
[711] Lis.
[712] D. O.
[713] P. D. O.
[714], [715] H. O.
[716] Raise P.
[717], [718], [719] L. H. L.
[720] B. H. O.
[721] H. O.
[722] D. O.
[723] B. H. O.
[724] Hand to head.
[725] Look to left.
[726] L. V. H. O.
[727] H. F.
[728] H. L.
[729] B. D. L.
[730] Hand to heart.
[731] Raise hand to listen.
[732] H. Sw.
[733] Turn to P.
[734] H. O.
[735] Left, continuous gesture to “Waterloo.”
[736] H. O.
[737] B. Cli. D.
[738] Sp.
[739] H. O.
[740] L. H. O.
[741] B. Cli. D.
[742] H. O.
[743] Lis.
[744] Sp.
[745] B. Sp.
[746] Raise B. Cli.
[747] B. Cli. D.
[748] Lis.
[749] A. O.
[750] B. H. O.
[751] P. H. O.
[752] A. O.
[753] B. H. F.
[754] A. O.
[755] B. D. F.
[756] A. F.
[757] P. H. O.
[758] To self.
[759] H. O.
[760] Sp.
[761] H. L.
[762] L. P. H. O
[763] Hand on heart.
[764] H. O.

A Soldier’s Offering.

The laurel wreath of glory
That decks the soldier’s grave,
Is but the finished story,
The record of the brave;
And he who dared the danger,
Who battled well and true,
To honor was no stranger,
Though garbed in gray or blue

Go, strip your choicest bowers,
Where blossoms sweet abound,
Then scatter free your flowers
Upon each moss-grown mound;
Though shaded by the North’s tall pine
Or South’s palmetto tree,
Let sprays that soldiers’ graves entwine,
A soldier’s tribute be.

――_George M. Vickers._

The Ruling Passion.

She had never mailed a letter before, and so she approached the stamp clerk’s window with the same air that she would enter a dry goods store.

“I would like to look at some stamps, please,” she said.

“What denomination do you want?” asked the clerk.

“Denomination!” This was remarked in surprise. She hadn’t supposed that stamps belonged to any church at all.

“Yes,” replied the clerk, who saw no necessity for holding a lengthy palaver over the sale of a stamp, especially when other people were waiting. “Is it for a letter or a newspaper?”

“Oh, I want to send a letter to my Uncle John; he’s just moved to――”

“Then you need a two-cent stamp,” interrupted the clerk, offering her one of that value.

“I hardly like that color,” she observed, holding the brick-tinted stamp up to the light and surveying it critically.

The clerk looked at her in astonishment. In his long experience in the postal business he had never before met a customer who objected to the color of the stamps.

“That is a two-cent stamp, madame. Please stand aside and let the gentleman behind you come up.”

“Haven’t you got them in any other color?” she asked, wholly oblivious to the “gentleman behind.”

The clerk began to act cross.

“I never did like that shade of red,” she added.

“There is only one color,” he replied, curtly.

“That is strange,” she mused. “I’d think you’d keep them in different shades, so that there’d be some choice.”

The clerk said nothing, but he kept getting crosser every minute, and murmurs of disapprobation began to rise from the ever-lengthening line of people who would have been thankful to get their stamps without criticizing their hue.

“You are sure you have none in a brighter red, or even in a different color――Nile green, or seal brown, or jubilee blue, for instance?”

“You can put two one-cent stamps on your letter if you like,” said the clerk, who began to see that the customer could not be frowned away from the window.

“Let me see them, please.”

Two blue stamps were solemnly handed to her, and the crowd began to hope that at last she was suited.

“Ah, that will do,” she said, as she took up the one-cent stamps and eyed them as if they were samples of dress goods. “I like that shade better. I’ll take only one, if you please.”

And she handed the other back to the clerk, who took it mechanically, but managed to add:

“If it’s for a letter you’ll need two. These are one-cent stamps and letter postage is two cents per ounce.”

“Oh, I don’t want to put two stamps on my letter,” she said; “I don’t think they will look well.”

“It requires two cents to carry a letter, madame, and you must either put a two-cent stamp on or two ones. It won’t go without. And I must ask you to please hurry, for you are keeping a great many people away from the window.”

“That’s singular. I don’t like the look of two together. You are sure the other doesn’t come in seal brown, or”――

“No!” thundered the clerk, getting very red in the face.

“Then I’ll have to see if I can’t suit myself elsewhere.”

And she departed.

The clerk replaced his despised red and blue stamps, mopped his perspiring brow, and began to make up for lost time.

I’m Getting Too Big to Kiss.

The friends of my childhood with pleasure I greet,
Their faces I ever hold dear,
In palace or cottage, on meadow or street,
Wherever they chance to appear.
Then do not misjudge me, and deem me not cold,
Nor call me a queen, haughty miss,
Oh, no one can budge me, so do not be bold,
I’m getting too――too big to kiss.

’Tis hardly a year since the guests of the house,
On leaving, would kiss me adieu,
The parson, the deacon, old Schnider Von Krouse,
Ned Blanc, and the young squire, too.
They called me a treasure, a sweet, roguish maid;
Now nonsense like that is amiss,
Though once ’twas a pleasure, I’m really afraid
That somebody’s too big to kiss.

Now if you should happen by moonlight to walk,
With some one you know very well,
Remember ’tis harmless to laugh and to talk,
Or sweet little stories to tell.
But oh, have a care, girls, and heed me, I pray,
For what I would counsel is this――
Refuse, though his hair curls, and promptly this say:
I’m getting, sir, too big to kiss.

Oh, no, no, no, no, sir! Allow me to pass;
Oh, no, sir, ’tis more than I dare:
That game’s out of fashion (I’m sorry, alas!)
You needn’t look cross as a bear.
Yet still I’ve an ember of pity right here,
I’ll throw you just one kiss like this,
But, sir, you’ll remember, now don’t come so near――
That really I’m too big to kiss.

――_George M. Vickers._

Waiting for the Mail.

It is strange I get no letter――
I have written twenty-four――
And the chances now decidedly are slim;
How I wish my luck was better,
I am really feeling sore,
And my cup of sorrow’s flowing to the brim.

Though my sweetheart’s tall and slender,
With a dark and roguish eye,
And a blushing cheek that shames the blooming rose.
One more letter will I send her,
Then I’ll write a last good-bye,
And so bring my dream of pleasure to a close.

If she’s caught another lover,
Just to make the moments glide,
(Which, without a doubt, she really thinks she ought,)
Then, of course, I’ll look it over,
And continue to confide――
For the best of mortals like a little sport!

But suppose this other fellow
Should, with sly and skillful art,
In the darling girl’s affections fill my place!
’Tis enough to make me bellow,――
’Tis enough to break my heart,――
’Tis enough to make me run and hide my face.

When we parted last December,
Oh, she vowed she’d share my lot;
And to me her silence is a puzzle quite:
Though I happen to remember――
And ’tis strange that I forgot――
That my darling ducky never learned to write!

――_George M. Vickers._

Ben-Hur’s Chariot Race.

The trumpet sounded short and sharp. The starters, one for each chariot, leaped down, ready to give assistance if any of the fours proved unmanageable. Again the trumpet blew, and simultaneously the gate-keepers threw[765] the stalls open. Forth from each stall, like missiles in a volley from so many great guns, rushed[766] the six contesting fours――the Corinthian’s, Messala’s, the Athenian’s, the Byzantine’s, the Sidonian’s, and Ben-Hur’s――and the vast assemblage rose[767] and, leaping upon the benches, filled[768] the circus with yells and screams.

The competitors were under view from nearly every part[769] of the circus, yet the race was not begun; they had first to make successfully the chalked line, stretched for the purpose of equalizing the start. If it were dashed upon, discomfiture of man and horses might occur; on the other hand, to approach it timidly was to incur the hazard of being thrown behind in the beginning of the race――a certain loss of the great advantage of being next the wall[770] on the inner line of the course.

Each driver looked first for the rope, then for the coveted inner line. With all six aiming at the same point[771] and speeding furiously, a collision seemed inevitable. Quick the eye, steady the hand, unerring the judgment required. The fours neared the rope together. Ben-Hur was on the extreme left[772] of the six. At Messala, who was more than an antagonist to him, he gave one searching look, and saw the soul of the man, cunning, cruel, desperate, in a tension of watchfulness and fierce resolve.

In that brief instant all his former relations with Messala came before him. First, happy childhood, when, loving and beloved, they played together. Then, manhood that brought a change in Messala, and the Roman’s inborn contempt of Jews asserted itself and broke the friendship. Then the bitter day, when, by the accidental falling of a loose tile, the Roman procurator was nearly killed, and he, Ben-Hur, was accused of willfully throwing the missile. One word from Messala would have saved the family from ruin, but the word was not spoken. Nay, more, it was Messala that urged on the Roman authorities and prevented even a fair trial of the case. It was Messala’s influence that had banished[773] him to the galleys for life, that had consigned his mother and sister to an uncertain fate, whose very uncertainty was more torture[774] than their certain death would have been. It was Messala that had stolen his property and with it had bought the silence of the authorities on the cruel deeds; and was it not money that belonged to the House of Hur that Messala was betting with in this very race? Was it human nature[775] to resist an opportunity for vengeance like this? No.[776] At whatever cost[777] he would humble his enemy.

He saw that Messala’s rush would, if there was no collision, and the rope fell, give him the wall. Therefore, he yielded it for the time. Just then the trumpeter blew a signal. The judges dropped[778] the rope. And not an instant too soon, for the hoof of one of Messala’s horses struck it as it fell. The Roman shook out[779] his long lash, loosed the reins, leaned forward, and with a triumphant shout[780] took the wall.

“Jove with _us_![781] Jove with _us_!”[781] yelled the Roman faction, in a frenzy of delight.

“Jove with us!”[782] screamed a young nobleman.

“He wins![783] Jove with us!” answered his associates.

Messala having passed, the Corinthian was the only contestant on the Athenian’s right, and to his side he tried to turn his four; but the wheel of the Byzantine, who was next on the left, struck the tail-piece of his chariot, knocking[784] his feet from under him. There was a crash, a scream of rage and fear, and the unfortunate Athenian fell[785] under the hoofs of his own steeds. Sanballat, a friend of Ben-Hur, turned to a group of Roman noblemen.

“A hundred sestertii on the Jew!”[786] he cried.

“Taken!”[787] answered one of the group.

“Another hundred on the Jew!” shouted Sanballat. Nobody appeared to hear him. The situation below was too absorbing, and they were too busy shouting, “Messala! Messala! Jove with us!”

While the spectators were shivering at the Athenian’s mishap, and the Sidonian, Byzantine, and Corinthian were striving to avoid involvement in the ruin, Ben-Hur drew head to the right,[788] and, with all the speed of his Arabs, darted[789] across the trails of his opponents, and took the course[790] neck and neck with Messala, though on the outside. And now, racing together, side by side, a narrow interval between them, the two neared the second goal. Making the turn here was considered the most telling test of a charioteer. A hush[791] fell over the circus. Then, it would seem, Messala observed Ben-Hur and recognized him, and at once the audacity of the man flamed out.

“Down, Eros![792] up, Mars!”[793] he shouted, whirling his lash. “Down, Eros! up, Mars!” he repeated, and gave the Arab steeds of Ben-Hur a cut, the like of which they had never known.

The blow was seen in every quarter. The silence deepened and the boldest held his breath.[794] The affrighted four sprang forward[795] as with one impulse, and forward leaped[796] the car. The car trembled with a dizzy lurch, but Ben-Hur kept his place and gave the horses free rein, and called to them in a soothing voice, trying to guide them round[797] the dangerous turn, and before the fever of the people began to abate he had back the mastery. Nor that only; on approaching the first goal he was again side by side with Messala, bearing with him the sympathy and admiration of every one[798] not a Roman. Even Messala, with all his boldness, felt it unsafe to trifle further.

On[799] whirled the cars. Three rounds were concluded; still Messala held the inside position; still Ben-Hur moved with him side by side; still the other competitors followed as before. The contest began to have the appearance of a double race, Messala and Ben-Hur in the first, the Corinthian, Sidonian, and Byzantine in the second. In the fifth round the Sidonian succeeded in getting a place outside Ben-Hur, but lost it directly. The sixth round was entered upon without change of relative position. Gradually the speed had been quickened; men and beasts seemed to know alike that the final crisis was near. The interest, which from the beginning had centred chiefly in the struggle between the Roman and the Jew, with an intense general sympathy for the latter, was fast changing to anxiety on his account. On all the benches the spectators bent forward, motionless.

“A hundred sestertii on the Jew!”[800] cried Sanballat to the Romans.

There was no reply.

“A talent, or five talents, or ten;[801] choose ye!”

“I will take thy sestertii,” answered a Roman youth.

“Do not so,” interposed a friend.

“Why?”

“Messala has reached his utmost speed. See him[802] lean over his chariot-rim, the reins loose as flying ribbons, then look at the Jew!”

“By Hercules!” replied the youth, “I see, I see! If the gods help him not, he will be run away with by the Israelite. No; not yet! Look![803] Jove with us! Jove with us!”

If it were true that Messala had gained his utmost speed, he was slowly but certainly beginning to forge ahead. His horses were running with their heads low down; from the balcony their bodies appeared actually to skim the earth; their nostrils showed blood-red in expansion; their eyes seemed straining in their sockets. The good steeds were doing their best! How long could they keep the pace? It was but the commencement of the sixth round. On they dashed! As they neared the second goal, Ben-Hur turned in behind[804] the Roman’s car. The joy of the Messala faction reached its bound. They screamed, and howled, and tossed[805] their colors, and Sanballat filled his tablets with their wagers. Ben-Hur was hardly holding a place at the tail of his enemy’s car.

Along the home-stretch――sixth round――Messala leading; next him, pressing close, Ben-Hur. Thus to the first goal, and around it, Messala, fearful of losing his place, hugged the stony wall with perilous clasp; a foot to the left[806] and he had been dashed[807] to pieces; yet when the turn was finished, no man, looking at the wheel-tracks of the two cars, could have said, “Here[808] went Messala, there[809] the Jew.” They left but one trace behind them.

And now all the people drew a long breath, for the beginning of the end was at hand. First, the Sidonian gave the scourge to his four, and they dashed[810] desperately forward, promising for an instant to go to the front. The effort ended in promise. Next, the Byzantine and the Corinthian each made the trial with like result, after which they were practically out of the race. Thereupon, all the factions except the Romans joined hope in Ben-Hur, and openly indulged their feeling.

“Ben-Hur! Ben-Hur!”[811] they shouted. “Speed thee,[812] Jew!”

“Take the wall now!”

“On![813] loose the Arabs! Give them rein and scourge!”

“Let him not have the turn on thee again. Now or never!”[814]

Either he did not hear, or could not do better, for half-way round the course and he was still following; at the second goal, even still no change.