Dave Porter and his Classmates/Chapter 21
CHAPTER XXI
IN WHICH THE BOYS GIVE AN ENTERTAINMENT
"Gus, that was the bravest thing you ever did!"
And so speaking, Dave caught the other youth by the hand and shoulder and held him for a moment.
"Oh, I don't know about that," was the hesitating reply. "I—I should have smashed it when I received it."
"Where did you get the wine, if I may ask?"
"It was sent to me by Link Merwell."
"What!" Dave's manner showed his great astonishment. "Do you mean to say he sent you that, knowing that you were trying to give up the habit?"
"Yes. He says I am a fool to listen to you—said I was tied to your coat-tail—that I ought to be independent. He says a little drinking won't hurt anybody."
"Gus, he is trying to—to" Dave could not finish the sentence, for he did not want to hurt Plum's feelings.
"Yes, I know. He'd like to see me down and out, as the saying goes. He hates me because I won't chum with him any longer."
"The less you have to do with him the better, Gus."
"I know that, and just before I came out here to break that bottle I sent him a note telling him that if he sent me any more such stuff I'd break the next bottle over his head!" And Plum's face glowed with some of his old-time assertiveness.
"Well, I shouldn't blame you for that, Gus. I rather think your threat will keep him in the background for a while."
Dave could realize something of the struggle which the former bully had had, to throw the bottle of wine away. But he did not know all — how for three hours the poor lad had wavered between drinking and abstaining—and that it was only the thoughts of Dave, and of his mother and home, that had kept him in the right path.
Leading the way to the new boathouse, Dave found a spot where they would not be interrupted, and here he and Plum went to work on their dialogue, making such final changes as seemed best."
"I've had my troubles with Merwell, too," said Dave, and told about the express package. "He seems bound to bring us to grief."
"He's a bad egg—the worst in the school," was Gus Plum's comment.
It must be confessed that all the boys were a little nervous as the time approached for the entertainment. It was to take place in the large assembly room of Oak Hall, and the platform had been transformed into something of a stage, with side curtains and a drop, and a back scene hired from a distant theater and representing a garden. The room itself was decorated with flags and bunting, and looked cozy and inviting.
Promptly on time the visitors began to arrive, some from Oakdale and others from a distance. The boys to take part in the show were behind the scenes, while others showed the visitors to seats, so that Dave did not see any of his friends or relatives until later.
The programme had been divided into two parts, of five numbers each, including an opening song by all the players, and a closing farce written merely to bring in all the characters.
"Now, fellows, do your best," said Luke Watson, as the school orchestra played the overture. "Make it as near like a professional show as possible."
"Say, that puts me in mind of a story," came from Shadow. "Once some young ladies But, pshaw! I'll save that for the stage," he added, and broke off suddenly.
The opening number went very well, and then came a playlet by four of the boys representing four sailors ashore after an ocean trip of five years. The sailors did not apparently know how to act in a big city and did so many ridiculous things that the applause was long and loud.
A musical number followed, introducing banjo playing by Luke, a guitar solo by Henshaw, a cornet solo by a lad named Dixon, and then a trio by the three. Then came fancy dumbbell exercises and club-swinging by three members of the gymnasium club, and this too went very well, the exercisers keeping time to a march played by the orchestra.
The next number was Shadow's monologue, and when that youth came out everybody had to laugh before he said a word. He was dressed as an extreme dude, with big checked coat and trousers, fancy colored vest, a tremendous watch-chain, and paste diamond stud, very pointed patent leather shoes, a high standing collar, and a highly-polished silk hat.
"Ladies and gentlemen, boys, girls, and fellow-weepers," he commenced with a profound bow and a flourish of his silk hat, "I have been asked an important question, namely, What is the difference between a cat and a shotgun? Well, I don't know, excepting that both can go off, but it's only the feline that comes back. Now, that puts me in mind of a story I once heard while traveling in Egypt with Noah, looking for a typewriter which was lost overboard from the ark. A little boy went to a hardware store for his dad and hung around waiting to be waited on. At last a clerk asked, 'Well, little boy, what do you want?' 'Oh,' says the little boy, 'I want a fire engine, an' a hobby horse, an' a automobile, an' a lot o' things, but papa he wants a bottle of glue, an' he says if it don't stick he'll stick you for it!' Now, that's the same boy who went to the courthouse to get courtplaster for his mother and then went down to the henhouse to look for egg plants."
There was considerable applause over this opening, and Shadow continued:
"That hand-clapping puts me in mind of another story. A would-be actor had joined a barnstorming company, and the company opened in a little place on Staten Island where the mosquitoes are manufactured by the ton, gross, or hogshead, just as you want 'em. Well, as soon as the play commenced, the would-be actor thought he heard a lot of applause. Says he to the scene-shifter: 'We've got 'em a-going, haven't we?' 'I don't know if you have or not,' answered the sceneshifter. 'I know the mosquitoes have some of 'em a-going, by the way they're slapping at 'em!' Well, that company busted up and the would-be actor had to come home on a trolley-car because he couldn't afford the train. He had only a nickel, and that he put into his mouth, and all at once it went down. 'What's the matter?' asked the conductor. 'I—I swallowed my nickel—the only one I had!' gasped the would-be actor. 'Never mind, I'll ring it up,' said the conductor, and he did. And then the actor didn't know if he was a nickel in or a nickel out."
This brought forth more applause, and Shadow continued to tell one story or joke after another, in rapid succession, until the entire audience was roaring. When he made his bow and disappeared behind a side curtain his monologue was voted by all one of the hits of the evening.
"It was all right," said Dave. "I only hope our playlet goes as well."
The playlet came in the middle of Part Two, and the stage was set with a table, two chairs, and several other things. The table was a small one stored in a side room, and the chairs were common kitchen chairs. They were brought out by Chip Macklin and Frank Bond, who had been chosen to do all kinds of errands.
"I just met Link Merwell in the side room," said Chip, when he came out with the table. "He looks as sour as can be. I guess he wishes the show would be a failure—because he wasn't asked to take part."
"Yes, he'd like to make it a failure," answered Dave; and then, for the time being, turned his whole attention to the play and gave his enemy no further thought.
Dave and Plum had gotten themselves up with great care, as a German immigrant and a darky, and when one shuffled on the stage after the other there was a good deal of laughing. The playlet revolved around the question of getting situations as a butler and a footman in a fashionable residence, and the lines were humorous in the extreme, and both Dave and Gus got about all the fun possible from them.
"Oh, how very, very funny!" cried Laura, and could hardly control her laughter.
"It certainly is funny," answered Jessie, and then she glanced over to where Vera Rockwell was sitting with some friends. She saw Vera applauding vigorously and it piqued her just a little. She clapped her hands, too, but her heart was not as light as it might have been had Vera not been there.
In the course of the playlet, Dave had to stand on one of the chairs and then mount to the table, to show how he would play the part of a footman. As he got up on a chair there was an unexpected crack, and down went the back part, letting him fall most unexpectedly.
It takes a quick-witted person to do just the right thing in a case of emergency. Dave had not looked for this fall, and the play did not call for it. Like a flash he felt that this was some trick of Link Merwell. But just as quickly as the accident came he resolved to make the best of it. In a very comical way he rolled over twice, stood partly on his head and then sat up with a dazed expression.
"Oxcuse me!" he said, in a German tone of voice. "I tidn't know dot chair vos so tired owid he tidn't vont to hold me alretty." Then he picked up the broken chair. "Vell, of you ton't vont to sthand up, chust lay down," and he flung the broken article behind him.
This brought forth an extra round of applause and in the midst of this Dave began to climb up the second chair. That too he felt to be "doctored," and he went up with care and thus managed to stand on top without breaking off the legs which had been nearly cracked through. Then from the chair he went to the table. He knew what to expect now and began to prepare for it.
"Dis coach vos got von palky horse," he said. "Chust you hold der animile alretty, yah! "
"Dat wot I will, brudder Carl," answered Plum, in negro dialect, and wondering what was to come next, for those lines were not in the playlet.
"Now, dot is der vay I goes me riding py der Park," went on Dave, beginning to wabble on the 
Down went the back part, letting him fall most
unexpectedly.—Page 207.
shaky table. "Whoa mit dot hoss! Tidn't I told you he vos baiky?" For the table was growing weaker and weaker.
"Say, dun yo' know dat hoss has got de dumb ager?" demanded Plum. "Wot yo' want to give him is a dose of Plaster of Paris Pills fo' Peevish People. If dat hoss should"
"He's running avay! Call der fire engines and der hoss-pistol vagons!" bawled Dave, and made a movement as if on a runaway coach. Then, as the table settled with a final crash, he whispered to Plum: "Make believe stop the horse and quarrel over it." Then he leaped forward, caught an imaginary horse by the tail and struggled to hold back. Gus was equally quick-witted and leaped to the head of the same imaginary horse and stretched up and down, as if he had hold of the bridle. Then the two boys backed and "shied" all over the stage, overturning the second chair, at which Dave yelled, "Dere goes dot peanut stand alretty!" Then of a sudden the two young actors faced each other.
"Wot's de mattah wid you? Da ain't no hoss heah!"
"Yah, dot's so—he runt avay alretty!"
"Yo' is a fine footman, getting scared at a hoss wot ain't no hoss."
"Veil, of he vosn't no hoss vy you cotch him py der headt, hey?"
"Dat's because yo' was a fool an' I had to follow yo' I mean at yo'"
"I know vot you mean. You mean you vos der fool und der hoss"
"Look heah now, Mr. Dutchy, I wants yo' to understand dat I ain't no fool."
"Vell, Mr. Vight, I dake your vord for dot, hey? Now, vot you do ven you vos a putler, hey?"
And from that point the playlet went on as originally intended; the two finally winding up when a postman's whistle was heard and each got a letter from the same man, stating the one to arrive first at a certain house could have a job. Both started at the same time and each tripped the other up. Then both left the stage on hands and knees, each trying to keep the other back. It was a truly comical wind-up, and when the curtain went down there was a thunder of applause.
"Dave, it was great!" cried Roger. "You acted the Dutchman to perfection, and Plum was the darky to a T!"
"That's true," added Phil. "But say, didn't you change that coach scene some?"
"Well, rather," put in Gus. "We had to do it on account of"
"Link Merwell," finished Dave. "That's another black mark I am going to put down to his account."