Watch Yourself Go By Part 16

Sis always sang "Barbara Allen" with her eyes shut. Lin said: "Becaus'

she'd furgit it ef she looked."

Sis was in the midst of Barbara's woes when someone opened the door slightly. Her dog slipped in. Seeing his mistress before him and hearing her voice, the dog instinctively crept towards her. As her voice grew more tremulous describing Barbara's sad fate, the dog, encouraged by the kindly tones, crept nearer. Rising on his hind legs he drew his long, red tongue across her face and mouth. Sis opened her eyes and sat down in confusion and no entreaties could induce her to continue. Lin said: "I'll bet a fippennybit she thought she'd bin kissed by some feller."

Alfred did not greatly enjoy the party. He whispered to Lin: "Let's practice."

[Ill.u.s.tration: Sis Opened Her Eyes and Sat Down]

Lin ran her fingers over the keys of the melodeon. The others wanted to be coaxed as amateurs always do. There is no backwardness that requires as much persuasion to appear before an audience as that of an amateur, but when once persuaded there is no cheerfulness that exceeds that of an amateur in responding to an encore.

It was not long before the little band began their concert. As they had been rehearsing for several weeks, the opening chorus, with musical accompaniment, was rendered with such vim that the a.s.sembled guests were carried off their feet. Alfred's antics with the tambourine, Storey's manipulation of the bones, the singing, the instrumentation, were a revelation to the good people.

Alfred's reputation as an actor was known to all the guests. Urgent requests were made that he should don his costumes and perform his feats. Alfred and Lin hastened to his room, returning soon, Alfred in his clown make-up, Mrs. Young's lowers and Lin's body dress. Prolonged laughter and applause greeted his appearance.

First he essayed to sing a clown song ent.i.tled "The Song of All Songs"

which runs thusly:

"The subject of my song you have seen I dare say, As you've walked along the streets on a fine summer's day; On fences and railings wherever you go, You will see the penny ballads pasted up in a row.

I noted them down as I read them along, And I've put them together to make up my song.

There was Abraham's daughter going out on a spree With old Uncle Snow in the cottage by the sea.

Do they think of me at and I'll be easy still, Give us back our old commander with the sword of Bunker Hill."

There was a great deal more of this jingle of words, ringing in the t.i.tles of all the songs of the day. Notwithstanding, Alfred had sung it without pause or hesitation night after night with only his a.s.sociates as an audience, yet at "the sword of Bunker Hill" his voice faltered and a stage fright that could not be conquered overtook him. The words of the song had left his mouth, the tongue was paralyzed.

As many an older actor has done before and since, Alfred endeavored to conceal his confusion by stalling. It was really Alfred's first appearance before a heterogenous audience.

Alfred learned even at that early age that there is a difference in audiences. Notwithstanding his failure, with the density of perception that usually pervades an amateur's mind, Alfred changed his costume to Lacy Hare's military togs. He mistook the shouts of laughter aroused by this suit as approval of his acting. Lin relieved the situation by leading Alfred out of the room ere he had presented half of his famous impersonations.

Lin said afterwards: "I don't know what got inter thet boy. Why I allus said he had bra.s.s enuf in his face to act afore a protracted meetin' but be durned ef he warn't es bad es Joe Sanford when he stuck on the pole.

I never been more cut up in my life, fur I would a swore he was too s.p.u.n.key to git skeered."

The remainder of the program was more than successful. Everyone acquitted themselves creditably excepting Alfred. Lin sang the pathetic ballad:

"Out in the cold world, out in the street, Asking a penny of each one I meet; Shoeless I wander about through the day, Wearing my young life in sorrow away.

No one to help me, no one to love, No one to pity me, none to caress, Fatherless, motherless, sadly I roam; A child of misfortune, I'm driven from home."

Lin had a deep, sweet voice, almost a baritone. She was full of sentiment and magnetism. Deeply in earnest she sang the song with telling effect. A tear, a heartfelt tear, came from the eyes of more than one of the sympathetic group.

Uncle Joe and Uncle Jack and one or two of the elder men had been led to the cellar several times during the evening, for a more pleasant purpose than Alfred generally went there for. The hard cider was kept in the cellar, the sweet cider upstairs. Uncle Joe was as mellow as a pippin.

At the end of Lin's first chorus he threw her a handful of change. The other men threw coppers or small silver pieces. Lin, like a true artist, stood unmoved and continued her song. Alfred picked up the money and handed it to her. She disdained to receive it. How the fires of jealousy burned within Alfred's breast as he noted the triumph of Lin. How the men could become so affected as to throw her money he could not comprehend.

Before the next song, Lin lectured Alfred before the entire company, saying: "The fellur with the head drum (tambourine) in the circus minstrels never beat it in the sad tunes, only in the comic ones. Es long as ye've bin showin', a body'd think ye knowed thet much."

This calling down further humiliated Alfred.

Bill Storey followed in a tuneful baritone, singing:

"Oh, the old home ain't what it used to be, de banjo and de fiddel am gone, An' no more you'll hear the darkies singing among de sugar cane an' corn.

Great changes hab come to de poor colored man, but dis change makes him sad an' forlorn, For no more we hear de darkies singing among de sugar cane an'

corn."

Then all sang the chorus:

"No, the old home ain't what it used to be, (etc.)"

This number met with great approval. Professional jealousy surged through Alfred's breast. He hated everyone who had been successful.

Thoughts of all kinds of revenge ran through his mind. He would tell mother that the ten pound rib roast was bought only to get eight bones for Bill Storey and four bones was all he could rattle on at one time.

Alfred felt that the whole company had conspired against him, that they were the cause of his not being appreciated.

Supper was announced. Yes, supper, and they all sat down to a table; none of your society lunches, juggled on your knees, as served at the fas.h.i.+onable functions of today. When Uncle Wilse called down blessings upon all, even those sitting around the fire in the other room, who could not find places at the first table, bowed their heads reverently.

Cold roast chicken, pickles, sweet preserves, doughnuts, jellies, fine and red, cold claw, beets, hot mince pie, pound cake, layer cake, apples, tea, coffee and cider.

It took mother and Lin all day to prepare the repast. Fun and jokes were pa.s.sed at and upon one another and everybody was happy, everybody but Alfred. With jealousy gnawing his vitals he sat between two big, grown-up men, unnoticed save when he requested some edible pa.s.sed to him. He almost made up his mind to forsake the amus.e.m.e.nt profession and take his mother's advice to study to become a doctor.

Supper over, good nights were said. Guest after guest departed. One garrulous gentleman remained; he was noted for his staying qualities. He would visit a family in the country near his home and keep them up until after midnight, which was a terrible breach of etiquette in those days when country folks went to bed with the chickens and town people who stayed up after eleven were looked upon with suspicion.

The mother had caught herself nodding several times, the father was yawning, Lin could scarcely keep her eyes open, and Alfred had taken two or three naps. The prolonged visit had become almost unbearable to all except the lone guest who kept up a commonplace conversation, just sufficiently animated to keep him awake. In the middle of one of his dryest sentences Lin jumped up and said:

"Come on folks, let's go to bed, I expect Uncle Wilse wants to go home."

CHAPTER NINE

Never mind the pain For gladness will outlive it.

When your neighbor needs a smile Don't hesitate to give it.

Then came sorrow into the life of Alfred. The father was ill for many months; war came with its blighting influences, bringing ruin to many, prosperity to a few.

The father's family were Virginians, the mother's Marylanders. True to their traditions they believed in the people of the South, not favoring secession, however. In the white heat of continued controversy relatives became enemies.

To add to their troubles Brownsville was visited by the most disastrous fire in its history. Alfred's folks lost everything, even to their wearing apparel. Alfred was the most fortunate member of the family. He entered and re-entered the burning home after he had been warned not to do so. At every return from the blazing house he carried some of his boyish belongings.

Lin, in recounting the thrilling scenes of the night of the fire, said: "Ef the men hed hed any sense all the things could hev been got out. Jim Lucas and Tom Brawley jes piled the bedsteads, bureaus, looking gla.s.ses and arm-cheers out of the third story winders an' durn ef I didn't see Tom Brawley k.u.m out of the house with a arm load of pillurs wrapped up in a blanket. Hit takes a fire or a dog fight to show whuther peepul hev got eny judgment or not."

On his last trip out of the house Alfred carried his dog "Bobbie," two pet frizzly chickens, the uniform Lacy Hare and Aunt Betsy fas.h.i.+oned, Mrs. Young's part of his clown suit and the head-drum or tambourine.

Lin fairly snorted when she saw the boy approaching; "Now look at the dratted, fickle boy, leavin' his Sunday-go-to-meetin' clothes to perish fur them ole show duds. Hit beats the bugs jes to think thet boy 'ud run into thet house blazin' like a lime kiln from top to bottom. A body'd thot he'd tried to save somethin' thet would a done us good. But no; all he thinks about is them ole show things. It's a wonder he didn't try to get the melodeon out eny way."

The condition of the family was changed in one night from prosperity to near-poverty. The mother resolutely refused all proffered aid from relatives with whom relations had been strained. To Uncle Joe's and Betsy's offer she returned the message: "If we were Southern sympathizers before the fire, we are not beggars now."

Lin was as defiant as the mother: "Huh, yes. Ef we'd let 'em help us now, the fust election k.u.m up they'd throw it up to us. Uncle Billy is a candidate fer county jedge, I reckon he wants a few votes. The Lord will purvide a way." She added: "Jus tell Joe an'

Betsy an' all the rest of 'em thet we'll hoe our own row yit a while. No siree-horse-fly-over-the-river-to-Green-County, we don't want no abolishunist to help us."

Alfred could not fully comprehend the feelings that influenced the members of the family in the stand they took, but anything his mother said or did always met with his loyal support.