CHAPTER XXIX.
AFTER THE TRAGEDY.
The mischievous lad had been one of those who had been regalingthemselves during the performance with peanuts, and the mark whichEthan presented was more than his youthful spirit could resist.Leaning forward, he quickly dropped into the wide-open mouth of theslumbering boatman one of his choicest bits, and before Jock couldtouch the man, the explosion came.
Ethan was instantly awake, and coughing, almost strangling, staredwildly about him. For a moment even the somewhat pessimistic views towhich Hamlick was giving utterance on the stage were ignored by theaudience, and the noisy boatman was the observed of all observers.
His efforts were so violent that either strangulation or relief wasbound to result, and as the latter came, Ethan turned sharply andlooked behind him. The demure face of the lad who had been the meansof his somewhat sudden awakening did not even glance at him, andafter a brief pause Ethan solemnly resumed his seat, and Hamlickproceeded with his misty surmisings.
Perhaps the play by this time had gained full headway, and nothingcould interfere with its progress. At all events, no furtherinterruptions occurred, save those of a minor character, and after atime the end came. The audience then solemnly filed out from the room,and soon few were left besides our party and those who had taken partin the play.
In spite of the ludicrous events which had interfered somewhat withthe solemnity of the occasion, the boys were impressed with the amountof study which Tom and some of his companions had bestowed upon theparts assigned them. As Hamlick himself came forth from behind thescenes he was warmly greeted by Jock, and complimented upon thesuccess he had attained.
"And do you really think we did it all right?" inquired Tom, eagerly.
"We have had a most enjoyable evening," replied Bob, soberly. "I can'tunderstand yet why it was that you selected such a play for a popularaudience."
"That was the schoolmaster's doings," said Tom. "I thought myself itwas almost too difficult a piece; but he told us to get something goodwhile we were at it, and something it would pay us to remember, so wechose 'Hamlet.' We give something almost every year, you see. Lastyear we gave the trial scene from 'Pickwick Papers,' but the folkshere didn't seem to see the fun in it. They took it all in soberearnest, and never laughed from the beginning to the end. So this yearwe thought we'd try something in the tragedy line."
"Where do you get all the books you read, Tom?" inquired Bob.
"Some of them are in our school library and some the minister lends tous. We don't have very much besides history. I'm grateful to you," headded, turning to Bert as he spoke, "for hearing me speak my part upin the camp. It did me a sight of good."
"Don't mention it," said Bert, hurriedly.
Tom's reading had become a serious matter with our boys. Hisattainments had been so unlooked for, and, as far as the solid workwas concerned, he had done so much more than they, that no one wasinclined to belittle him now, no matter how much the young boatman'slack of familiarity with the manners and customs of "city folks" hadimpressed them upon their arrival at the camp.
"Heow was it? Pooty fair, I judge," said Ethan, who now approached thegroup, asking and answering his own question at the same time.
"The young people are to be congratulated upon the serious study theyhave given Shakespeare's masterpiece," said Mr. Clarke, before any ofthe boys could reply.
"Glad to hear ye say it," responded Ethan, who, in spite of hisapparent contempt for Tom's studies, was nevertheless interested farmore deeply than he cared to show. "I don' know much abeout sechthings myself," he continued. "I never read one o' Dickens's plays,nor Shakespeare's neither, for that matter. I had to work fur a livin'in my young days; but Tom here, he has lots o' time, and he jist keepshis nose in a book pretty much all winter. What d'ye think o' it? Willit do him any harm?" he inquired of Mr. Clarke, somewhat anxiously.
"Not a bit, not a bit," replied Mr. Clarke, cordially. "In fact, Ithink I know of some young people who might profit by his example."
"I never did think there was sech a sight o' difference between cityfolks and country folks. Neow ye've seen this same performance in theplace where you live, I take it?"
"Yes," replied Mr. Clarke.
"An' ye really think the young folks here hev done it abeout as wellas the folks down to New York, do ye?"
"There were differences, of course. You must expect that."
"Of course; of course," said Ethan, delightedly. "Mebbe ye'd like togo over to Mis' Brown's. The young folks have gone there. They're tohave some ice cream, I b'lieve. 'Twon't cost ye much, fur it's onlyeight cents a dish, two fur fifteen."
As it was not late, the invitation was eagerly accepted, an added zestbeing given when it was learned that the profits from the sale of thecream were to be added to those of the play, and that all were to beexpended for the improvement of the walks in the little hamlet. Theparty accordingly made their way down the rough stairway and along thestreet, Tom having previously left them, and soon arrived at "Mis'Brown's," or the "Widow Brown's," as she was familiarly called by herneighbors.
Her establishment was found to be a unique one. A small "store" was inthe front of the building, and on the few shelves were seen jarscontaining some toothsome, though apparently venerable, sticks ofcandy. Slate pencils, a few forlorn articles of "fancy work," spoolsof thread and such like necessities were the other parts of her stockin trade, but the sounds of revelry which came from an inner room leftno doubt in the minds of the visitors as to the place where the icecream was to be had, or as to the occupation which was then going onat the time.
Ethan boldly led the way, and as the door was opened, two long tableswere seen, upon which were dishes of the famous article for which ourparty had come, and upon which the "young folks" already there werefeasting. The unexpected entrance brought a solemn hush upon the room,and one young fellow who was standing near the head of one of thetables suddenly sank into his seat again.
"That's Tim Wynn," whispered Ethan. "He's been cuttin' up for theyoung folks, I s'pose. He's awfully funny, an' they all like to havehim 'round."
"There doesn't seem to be any place for us," suggested Mr. Clarke."Perhaps we'd better not stop to-night."
"I'll fix ye out in a minit," said Ethan, hastily. "Here's the widow,now. Mis' Brown, can't ye find a place for these folks? They want someo' yer ice cream, an' every one counts neow. Mebbe they'll buy enoughto get another plank or two for the walks."
The hint was not to be lost, and speedily another table was preparedby placing two planks across some "horses," and as soon as chairs hadbeen brought, the party all seated themselves and were speedilyserved, Ethan himself taking one of the chairs upon Mr. Clarke'sinvitation.
Miss Bessie whispered to Ben, who was seated beside her, that "itwasn't ice cream at all, it was only frozen corn starch;" but whateverthe name may have been, the dishes were speedily cleared, Ethan'sdisappearing the most rapidly of all, as with heaping spoonfuls heswallowed the treat, apparently unmindful of its chilling temperature.
"I guess ye don't get nothin' better'n that deown to New York," heremarked with satisfaction, as he glanced up at Mr. Clarke.
"We never have anything just like this," replied Mr. Clarke, kindly."Have some more, Ethan?"
"Thank ye, sir. I don' mind if I do, if it's all the same to you.Here!" he suddenly added, as if he had been struck with a suddenthought, "there's some lemingade, too. It's only three cents a cup,and I'll stand treat for the crowd."
"Permit me," said Mr. Clarke, quickly; and "lemingade" was at onceadded to the replenished dishes.
"Your young people are to be congratulated, Ethan," said Mr. Clarke,when all at last arose from the table. "You have quite a good-sizedfund for your village improvements. Have you any idea how much theyhave made?"
"I don't s'pose they can tell jest yet. Prob'ly fifteen or twentydollars."
"You can add this to the sum, with my compliments, then," said Mr.Clarke, as he slipped a ten dollar bill into the as
tonished boatman'shand.
Almost too surprised by the gift to express his thanks, Ethanresponded to their "good night," and the party at once departed fortheir yacht.
It was a glorious summer evening they discovered when the boat movedout from the dock and began to speed over the silent river. In themoonlight the rushing waters glimmered like silver, and the low-lyingshores cast shadows which were reflected almost as in the light ofday. The silent stars twinkled in the clear heavens, and the air ofeternal peace seemed to rest over all.
The young people were enjoying themselves too keenly to be silent longeven amidst such surroundings, and as the experiences of the eveningwere recounted, in every way so novel and different from anything theyhad ever seen before, their laughter rang out over the great river,and seemed to be caught up and sent flying by the very rocks andshores which they passed.
At last Miss Bessie started a song: "And every little wave has hisnight-cap on," and for a time all other things were forgotten; whileMr. and Mrs. Clarke joined in the spirit of the frolic as if they,too, were as young as their young companions.
Altogether the evening had been such an enjoyable one that it wasalmost with a feeling of disappointment that the boys at lastperceived in the distance the white tents on Pine Tree Island. Thesongs had ceased now, and Bob said:--
"Mr. Clarke, I meant to have asked you to tell us the rest of thatstory about the pirate of the St. Lawrence."
"Who? Bill Johnston?" asked Mr. Clarke.
"Yes, I believe that was his name."
"Oh, well, that story will keep until next time."
"Yes, but the summer is almost gone now, and there won't be many 'nexttimes.' We'll be going home soon."
"Not for some weeks yet, I trust. September is the most glorious ofall the months on the river. When the leaves begin to turn, and thenights are so cool that you need a fire on the hearth in your cottage,and the air is so bracing that it is a delight just to breathe it, andthe ducks begin to come, and you can vary your fishing with gunning,why, that's the best time of all the year. My nearest neighbors haveeven stayed here all winter, once or twice."
"It must be a wild sight here then," suggested Jock. "When the ice isso thick you can drive over it with a horse and sleigh, and the windsweeps down the river at the rate of sixty miles an hour, it must begreat fun to be here, and feel that you've got a good warm snug place,and can still see it all."
"Better to see it than feel it, I fancy," laughed Mr. Clarke. "I enjoythe river as much as any one, but I know where to draw the line.Still, if I could bottle up some of the September air and take it backto town with me, to use when occasion demanded, I should not object."
Miss Bessie and Ben had been taking no part in the generalconversation, apparently being much more interested in one of theirown.
"I want to ask you a question," she had said to Ben, who was seatednext to her.
"Say on," responded Ben. "I'm all ears."
"Not quite all," replied the girl, glancing at Ben's long form as shespoke. "But what I want to know is whether you are really going toenter the canoe races next week?"
"Why?"
"Because."
"Oh, well, I'll have to tell you, you have such good reasons forasking. No one in the world, or at least in the camp, knows it; but Iam going in."
"Aren't you afraid?"
"Afraid of what?"
"Oh, of falling into the water, or being beaten, or I don't knowwhat."
"That remains to be seen," said Ben, sitting suddenly erect. "Now onegood turn is said to deserve another, so as you've had a turn at me,I'll take mine now."
"What do you mean?"
"Are _you_ going into the races?"
"Yes," replied Miss Bessie, after a brief hesitation. "That is, if myfather is willing; but I don't want you to tell any one about it,either."
"Madam, I shall be silent. Do you recall the words of the immortal'Hamlick' to-night on that subject?"
"No. What were they?"
"'Let us go in together; And still your fingers on your lips, I pray.'"
"Agreed," responded Miss Bessie. "I'll not tell about you, and you'renot to tell about me."
"Oh you'll not tell," retorted Ben. "I never saw a girl yet who woulddo that."
The conversation was suddenly interrupted, for the yacht was nowapproaching the dock. To the surprise of the boys, they discoveredthat some one was in the camp, and hastily bidding their friends goodnight, they all turned and ran swiftly toward the tents.