A Knight on Wheels Part 50

And bounding upon the stage, the conductor turned and faced the audience with a flourish. He was none other than the missing Arfur Mow! Having chased his apologist into the wings amid shouts of delight, the great man proceeded to the serious work of the evening--a ditty ent.i.tled:--"A Glorious Death; or, How I was Drowned in the Brewery."

"What is the next item?" enquired Mr. Mablethorpe in a hollow voice, after the audience and Mr. Mow had taken a reluctant farewell of one another. "The thumbscrew, or boiling oil?"

"'High Jinks in a Parisian Cafe,'" announced Sylvia with great satisfaction.

Mr. Mablethorpe coughed.

"Be prepared to read your programmes sedulously until further notice,"

he said to his wife and daughter.

But his fears were groundless.

The only occupant of the cafe when the curtain rose was a waiter of melancholy aspect. To him entered a lady and gentleman in evening dress, arm-in-arm,--the gentleman carrying an umbrella and smoking an unlighted cigar,--who intimated in pantomime that they required an abundant and satisfying meal. The waiter responded by stepping forward and bowing so low that he fell right over on to the back of his neck, coming up again to a standing position after one complete revolution. With a deeply injured expression he went down upon his hands and knees and began to search for the obstacle over which he had tripped. Presently he found it. It was so minute as to be quite invisible to the audience, but when thrown into the wings it fell with a reverberating crash.

Any further doubts as to the nature of the entertainment were now dissipated by the gentleman in evening dress, who, instead of hanging up his opera hat in the orthodox fas.h.i.+on, gave his head a backward jerk which sent the hat flying backwards on to an adjacent gas-bracket. He next removed his evening coat, and having lighted his cigar from a candle upon the table, proceeded to give a juggling exhibition with the candle, the cigar, and his umbrella.

At this his lady friend withdrew, possibly in search of a less eccentric host. The waiter, instead of serving supper, remained a fascinated spectator of the gentleman's performance. Presently, fired with a spirit of emulation, he took a plate and a raw egg from the table,--with the exception of a property chicken the egg was the only edible thing in the restaurant,--and having thrown the egg into the air endeavoured to catch it upon the plate. He succeeded. While he was wiping his face, the lady made an unexpected reappearance. She had left her opera cloak and evening gown in the cloak-room, and was now attired in what looked like a bathing-suit of tight pink silk. Evidently having abandoned all hope of supper, she had good-naturedly decided to come and lend a hand with the juggling exhibition. She incited her companion to further enterprises. At her instigation he took the table by one leg and balanced it upon his forehead,--fortunately the chicken appeared to be clamped to the dish and the dish to the table,--keeping three plates in the air with one hand and a fourth spinning horizontally upon the ferrule of his umbrella with the other.

The waiter, discouraged and fatigued by his want of success with the egg, here opened an ingenious little door in his own stomach, revealing a small cupboard; and taking out a bottle and gla.s.s, proceeded to refresh himself in the usual manner. Then, catching the eye of the lady, who was regarding this somewhat unusual arrangement of nature with pardonable astonishment, he hastily returned the bottle and gla.s.s to their place and shut the little door. But feminine curiosity is not easily allayed. As soon as her companion had completed this performance with the table, the lady drew his attention to the phenomenon which she had just witnessed. The gentleman promptly stepped behind the shrinking waiter, and holding him firmly by the elbows, invited the lady by a nod to investigate the mystery for herself. This she did. But the opening of the door only revealed a tiny venetian blind, drawn down and bearing the legend, BAR CLOSED.

"I wonder how they _think_ of such things!" said Sylvia rapturously.

"They do that to give the juggler a rest," explained the undeceived Mr.

Rayner.

After this the band played louder and faster, and the gentleman took all the furniture within reach and proceeded to hurl it into the air, keeping it there with incredible ease through the whole of a frenzied rendering of "Il Bacio." His lady friend, quite carried away by her enthusiasm, skipped about the stage clapping her hands and uttering shrill whoops. The waiter, roused to a final effort, rushed off into the wings, to reappear with a perfect mountain of plates. These he hurled hysterically heavenward. They descended in all directions, splintering into fragments amid appreciative yells from the audience. Having caught exactly one plate out of the avalanche, the waiter displayed it to the house with great pride; and then (evidently afraid of spoiling the s.h.i.+p for want of a ha'porth of tar) produced a small coal-hammer from his pocket and smashed it to atoms. The performances concluded with a general melee, in which the gentleman and lady combined to bombard the waiter with all the plates they could lay their hands on. But he caught them, every one of them, two at a time; and then, once more unlocking the door in his waistcoat and pulling up the venetian blind, was seen generously offering liquid refreshment to his discomfited a.s.sailants as the curtain fell.

By this time the majority of Sylvia's party were enjoying themselves thoroughly. Sylvia herself was bubbling over; Julius Mablethorpe was shouting like a child, and his wife, weak with laughter, was wiping her eyes. Mr. Derek Rayner was in the seventh heaven, for his young hostess had devoted her entire attention to him and had hardly given her other companion so much as a look.

"Perhaps the chap is just a family friend, after all," he said to himself optimistically.

Philip alone was preoccupied. That morning he had received a letter from his firm, offering him what was practically a year's holiday. Sometime previously the representative of a great industrial corporation in the United States had visited England as the guest of the Britannia Company.

He had been royally entertained; several excellent understandings had been reached, and an important commercial alliance cemented. Now Philip was invited to represent the Company on a return visit. It was a signal honour and a tempting prospect. He would encounter fresh people and new ideas; he would be able to enlarge his technical knowledge, for he would go everywhere and be shown everything; and--well, he might be able to get a little further away from his thoughts. He was suffering at present from a satiety of thought, and the morning's letter had brought matters to a crisis. Numerous forces were at war within him.

Chivalry said: "If you may not live with her, live for her; go your own way as far as you must, but do not go too far: she may need you."

Common sense said: "Why sigh after a girl who does not care for you, and never did? You are nothing to her: why offer her what you do not owe and what she cannot take?"

To-night a third voice had joined in the debate. It said: "Love is not entirely a matter of twin souls and divine pa.s.sion: it has a very material side. Life is short; we live but once: it is given to few to encounter their affinity in this world: it is foolish to waste one's youth waiting for a thing which may not exist. Why not be practical? Why not cut the Gordian knot? Marry some nice pretty girl, with no nonsense about her, and have done with it. Then you will have a comfortable home and a loyal mate, and be able to turn out some decent work."

Thousands of men, and tens of thousands of women, have debated this problem in their time; but Philip did not know this. We are apt to think that our own human experiences are unique.

Suddenly Sylvia turned to him. Her dark eyes were full of reproach.

"Philip, you are not listening a bit. This next song ought to be lovely."

Philip, apologetically conning the programme, recognised therein the name of a great singer--the latest recruit to the variety stage--who, having achieved a European reputation as the leading operatic baritone of his day, had abandoned that strenuous calling in the zenith of his drawing powers in order to earn an amba.s.sadorial income by singing selections from his repertoire--which means the hackneyed ballads beloved of the British Public--for some fifteen minutes _per diem_.

Presently the great man appeared. He began with the Toreador's song from "Carmen," which set heads nodding and toes beating time. Then came "O Star of Eve"; and last of all, "I'll Sing Thee Songs of Araby."

Struck by an unwonted stillness at his side, Philip glanced at Sylvia.

Her effervescence was gone. With a child's instant susceptibility to external influences her mood had changed: she was raptly drinking in the limpid notes that came floating to her through the smoke-laden atmosphere of the Arena Palace of Varieties. A humorous remark from Derek Rayner fell upon unheeding ears. Her eyes shone, her breath came quickly; her flower-like face was alight with tender enthusiasm.

_"And all my song shall strive to wake Sweet wonder in thine eyes!"_

crooned the singer. Certainly he had achieved his purpose in one case, Philip thought.

_"To cheat thee of a sigh!

To charm thee to a tear!"_

The words died away to nothingness in the absolute stillness of the great audience. Then, after a brief interval, came the applause, in mighty gusts. But during that interval Philip had had time to hear the sound of a long tremulous sigh close beside him.

"My reason has been saved at the eleventh hour," said Mr. Mablethorpe gratefully. "Talking of the eleventh hour, shall we go home? Nothing but the cinematograph now!"

But Sylvia insisted upon seeing the programme out. Accordingly the party sat on, what time such of the audience as still remained were plunged into darkness and a flickering travesty of life in the American backwoods was thrown upon the screen.

First came the announcement:--

_"I love you," says the Sheriff to the pretty Station Mistress._

There followed a picture of the Station Mistress at home. The only visible furniture was a writing-table, but technical detail was supplied by a lever standing up in the middle of the floor evidently designed to control the railway traffic of the district. The only other notable feature of this interior was a strong breeze. Presently the Sheriff, a theatrical-looking young man in a slouch hat and trousers like a pair of door-mats, sidled in at the door; and an interpolated line of explanatory matter enquired:--

_"Will you come riding with me?"_

Apparently the lady was willing, for next moment she was discovered in a stable-yard blowing a whistle. Instantly a horse appeared, saddled and bridled, and after performing several tricks with obvious reluctance, consented to allow itself to be mounted, and departed at full gallop, apparently to join the Sheriff.

"I guarantee that we shall meet that animal again," prophesied Mr.

Mablethorpe.

Meanwhile the plot began to obtrude. As a direct result of the Station Mistress's culpable negligence in leaving the railway traffic to direct itself, the way was now open for an attempt to hold up the "bullion express." This enterprise was engineered by a gentleman called "Mexican Steve," a.s.sisted by a gang of six. Being apparently familiar with the unbusinesslike habits of the Station Mistress, Mexican Steve very sensibly selected the Station Office as a suitable place wherein to confer with his a.s.sociates. The conference took place forthwith, the members thereof huddling close together in order to keep within the picture.

_"The express does not stop here; we must flag her,"_

said the next line of print.

"What does that mean?" enquired Sylvia.

"I fancy it means that they are going to put the signal at danger, and so stop the train," said Philip.

This, as it turned out, was a correct surmise; but much had to happen first. As the audience had fully expected, the symposium in the Station House was now interrupted by the intrusion of the Station Mistress herself, whose horror and astonishment at finding her home in the possession of Mexican Steve and party was a little unreasonable, considering that she had been absent some hours and had left the door unlocked. The ensuing melee was not depicted, the screen being suddenly changed to a railway track, with a train approaching in the distance.

There was a signal-post at the side of the line. The signal suddenly rose to danger, after which the scene was switched back to the Station Office, where Mexican Steve had just finished pulling over the lever.

The Station Mistress, it is regrettable to have to add, was sitting bound hand and foot to her own table. The rest of the gang disappeared, doubtless to hold up the train. Before joining them, Mexican Steve addressed his victim:--

_"Now, Maimie Matterson, escape if you can!"_

"And she will!" remarked Mr. Mablethorpe with conviction.

"Hus.h.!.+" said Sylvia under her breath. "Don't spoil it!" She was on tenterhooks: it was all real to her.