Hardly had they gone when I heard the landlord panting up the stairs again. He entered my room without the formality of knocking, bringing with him a man as fat and red-faced as himself, but much better dressed. This personage flung himself into a chair without ceremony, and ordered the hotelkeeper to fetch up a bottle of whiskey as quickly as ever he could.
“For I understand you have been entertaining two filter fanatics,” he said, addressing himself to me with a sanguine smile, “and I want to ward off the effect of the water microbes in the room. They are fatal to the strongest system.”
Judging by the strong odour of whiskey he diffused through the room, I thought he was already sufficiently protected from attack, but I did not say so, and waited for him to disclose his business.
“My name is Gill,” he continued: “I’m the manager of Wanaunga All-Hops Brewery. I have just seen one of your play-bills announcing your intention to produce Ten Nights in a Bath Room—ha, ha! I mean bar room—in this town to-morrow night. I said to myself, this can’t go on—this must be stopped. That’s why I’m here.” He paused to light a fat cigar.
“Why, what does it matter to your brewery whether we play Ten Nights in a Bar Room or not?” I demanded.
“You know perfectly well,” he replied, blowing out a huge cloud of smoke. “By-election here in a fortnight. Keen fight between temperance candidate and liquor trade candidate. Close contest. Object of Ten Nights in a Bar Room—moral lesson on horrors of drink—all that kind of thing. You reckon on doing good business.”
I listened to this jerky harangue in amazement. “I don’t see how this election affects the liquor trade at all,” I said, temporising, for I was curious to find out how he proposed to prevent the Merry Marauders producing Ten Nights in a Bar Room. “The electors are not called upon to vote local option at a by-election.”
“You know just as well as I do,” he returned impatiently, “that this is a more important election to the liquor trade than any local option poll. If the East Coast return the temperance candidate it will strengthen the Prohibition Party in their fight at the general election at the end of the year, and they’ll probably carry national prohibition on the total prohibition bill the weak-kneed Government have been fool enough to give the fanatics. That’s a pretty look-out for a trade which has millions invested in the country—all New Zealand dry, and we ruined!”
“Even so,” I replied, “what’s it to do with the Merry Marauders? We have to live as well as brewers.”
“You do it pretty well,” he said. “Some people would swear you had come here quite innocently But you can’t deceive me. I’m too old in the horn. Besides, I know the tricks of the No-License crowd. They know me, and I know them. Perhaps you’d like to tell me that you haven’t been sent down from Auckland by the No-License lot for the special purpose of putting a spoke in our wheels here. Perhaps you’d like to tell me that they didn’t pay your fares down here for no other purpose than to play this cursed play! Perhaps you’d like to tell me that the Chairman of the organisation up there didn’t take you aside and say to you: ‘Here’s a cheque for your expenses, and here’s a letter to the chairman of the Wanaunga No-License Association. They’ll help you all they can, and between you you ought to put the Liquor Party’s pot on!’ Perhaps you’d like to tell me all that, and perhaps I wouldn’t believe you. Why, when I came here I found you had been closeted with old Baggpott and his nincompoop son for the last hour, laying your snares. But let me tell you, you can’t birdlime me.”
“You’re infernally insulting, and have the manners of a pig,” I replied, meeting vulgarity on its own level. “If you don’t behave yourself I’ll throw you out of the window.”
“That’s all right,” he responded. “Don’t get angry. What I said was not directed against you, but against that rotten No-License crowd. I must admit it’s a smart trick on their part. I suppose it’s a question of pay, pay, pay. Now, I won’t hurt your feeling by offering you money, but suppose I write you out a cheque for £50 for the Home for Decayed Actors’ Distressed Dogs, how will that suit? Will you move on to the next town? Will a cat drink cream? I’ll write you out the cheque at once.”
Before I could overwhelm the sordid-minded wretch with the moral invective that surged within me for utterance, the sudden re-entry of the landlord checked the rising tide.
“Here’s a nice state of affairs,” he bawled to Mr. Gill. “When I went downstairs just now I found that there Baggpott ’olding forth to me own customers in me own bar on the ’orrors of drink, as he called it, and advisin’ of them all to go and see Ten Nights in a Bar Room tomorrow hevening at the town ’all, so that they might ’ave some hidea of the ’ell waiting for them all if they didn’t turn teetotal! And his son, right hunder my very nose, went and sold two tickets out of a bundle ’e ’eld in his ’and to two of my best customers before I could get ’im out of the ’ouse! Talk about infernal cheek! And here am I, like the soft fool I was, taking in this yere crowd of Merry Merooders hunder the himpression that they belonged to hour side, and that this Ten Nights in a Bar Room was a jolly play about fun in a bar to which a self-respectin’ publican could take his darters and perhaps pick up a few points that might be useful in the business. Instead I finds I’ve bin nourishin’ a set of vipers on me hearthstone, who’ve ackually got into my ’ouse like a thief in the night, hand in glove with the water brigade of this town to take the bread out of my mouth under me own roof! But hout they go, and that hinstantly! The pure free hair of ’eaven in my’ ouse ain’t going to be corrupted by no noxious teetotalers—henemies of me and mine!”
“You needn’t say any more,” I interrupted. “I’d decided to go before you came in, and we’ll leave at once.”
“And a good riddance, too!” he retorted.
“Well, I see I came too late,” put in Mr. Gill, rising as he spoke. “You’re already in league with the enemy, and there’s no more to be said. I’ve saved my fifty quid, but I’d sooner have spent it. Good-night! I assure you there’s no ill-feeling on my part toward you, but you can hardly expect me to wish you a prosperous season here.”
He and the hotel-keeper, who was still bemoaning the iniquity of water-drinkers, left the room together, and I went in search of the members of our company. I found Barney and Mr. Baker playing a game of billiards in the billiard-room, with Mr. Morrissey marking for them. Mr. Bunne was just in the act of bringing in some drinks on a tray when I entered. I briefly explained what had happened.
“Good heavens!” ejaculated Mr. Baker; “what a punishment for our sins! A fortnight straight on end in a New Zealand temperance boarding-house is a heavy premium to pay for a successful season. I am thankful ‘The Good Gift’ is paddocked at Piatiki; he would certainly never survive the ordeal.”
“But this man Baggpott assures me this boarding-house is a very nice place,” I said.
“They all are, till you get inside them,” said Mr. Baker. “However, we’ll have to put up with it. How lucky that our things have not come up from the boat yet! I’ll call at the carrier’s on my way down to this dry paradise of yours, and tell them to send the goods on there.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Don’t forget the white flag over our new diggings.”
“Oh, bless you, I know this Marrow of yours of old, and I know his crib. I don’t know how he’s going to put us all up, unless he’s enlarged the premises since the last time I was along this way. I’ll see you at what Marrow calls his tarbelldot in half-an-hour’s time. If I’m late, have a bit of the joint kept hot for me. There’ll be only one.”
Mr. Morrissey and Mr. Bunne said they would go and tell the girls, so Barney and I walked on ahead to prepare Mr. Marrow for the number of his guests. We had no difficulty in finding it by the flag Mr. Baggpott had described, which was as large as a sheet and looked like one. The proprietor himself, an elderly man, whose perfectly bald head was violently accentuated by a rank growth of whiskers, came to the door at our knock. When he learnt whom we were he
said Mr. Baggpott had called in to say we would be along, and he obligingly assured us, as he led the way in, that the attractions of his refined Christian home were at our disposal.
When we all met at the so-called table-d’hote a little later, I speedily discovered that Mr. Baker’s slighting remarks about our new quarters were nearer the truth than Mr. Baggpott’s enthusiastic recommendation. But the meal, if of poor quality, was sufficient, and although Mr. Baker declined to allow himself to be helped from the pitcher of water (which was the sole liquid refreshment provided) with a shudder so violent as almos to overturn the table-d’hote into the laps of the boarders, I am not sufficiently an epicure to worry about trifles like these, besides having matters of much greater moment to engage my attention. Directly the meal was concluded, I asked Barney to accompany me across to Mr. Baggpott’s in order to fix up the additional programme I had promised that gentleman to issue. We left Mr. Baker behind on account of his violent prejudice against total abstainers, which I was afraid might tempt him to some indiscretion of speech prejudicial to the friendly business relations of the Wanaunga No-License Association and the Merry Marauders. Mr. Baker said he would take advantage of our absence to pump Marrow’s porridge and milk-pudding-fed herd—as he vulgarly termed our host’s clientele of paying guests—about events of local interest, so that he might get some topical items for use at the performance of Ten Nights in a Bar Room.
We found Mr. Baggpott, the elder, selling groceries to the wife of one of his fellow-townsmen, while his son, Abel, presided as salesman at the opposite counter, on which was heaped a miscellany of religious literature, ladies’ drapery, and patent medicines. Mr. Adam Baggpott greeted us graciously, and invited us to be seated till he was at leisure. He then resumed his conversation with the stout old lady he was serving, glancing archly at us as he did so, as though to invite our intention to what he was saying.
“It is strongly recommended by the medical faculty, Mrs. Tuldy,” he remarked; “and can be given to him quite secretly in his tea or his soup. Let me advise you to take a bottle.”
“You’re sure it won’t hurt him?” asked the old lady, doubtfully.
“Quite certain. I know of plenty of cases in which it has been tried, resulting in the complete cure of the patient without his knowing what brought about the reformation. It is absolutely harmless—but certain.”
“I think I’ll take a bottle,” said the old lady.
“That’s right. Abel, give me a bottle of the Secret Beer Germ Killer! Thank you. Now, Mrs. Tuldy, let me advise you at the same time to take two tickets for to-morrow night’s performance of the great temperance drama, Ten Nights in a Bar Room, in the town hall. Get your husband to accompany you, first administering to him a double dose of the ‘Killer’ in his tea. While the drug is operating on his body the drama will operate on his mind and conscience, and the effect of the two combined should restore your husband to you a free man, with his drink chains snapped asunder.”
“Very well,” said the old lady, who seemed as wax in the hands of this temperance arch-conspirator; “put them all in with the cheese and dog biscuits, please. How much will it be?”
“Cheese, nine and a half; dogs, seven and a half; ‘Killer,’ five and six; tickets, six; total, twelve and eleven,” said Mr. Baggpott, making a rapid calculation with his pencil on the parcel. “A sovereign? Thank you, and seven and one is right. Shall I send them up?”
“Oh, no, I’ll take them,” said the old lady, nervously. “If Mr. Tuldy was to open the parcel and see that bottle, I’m sure I don’t know what I’d do. Good-night, Mr. Baggpott.”
“Good-night, Mrs. Tuldy. Thank you. Mind the step. That’s how we reform the drunkard in this town, sir,” said Mr. Baggpott, turning proudly to me as the old lady disappeared outside, “and at the same time secure recruits for our glorious cause of prohibition. I shall watch for this poor slave of a swinish habit to-morrow night, and while the ‘Killer’ is burning his vitals I shall book him as a member of the No License Association. We will, under Providence, with the powerful co-operation of the ‘Killer,’ win fifty votes from the liquor trade candidate on election day if the women of this town do their duty! But come through to the sitting-room, gentlemen. Abel, join us as soon as the shop is closed.”
The preparation of the allied programme was not a difficult matter. Though it took me some time to convince Mr. Baggpott that his desire to occupy the top space with an advertisement of his business was impossible of fulfilment, we were at one (for different reasons) in giving his son all possible prominence in the bill. We ultimately achieved the following result:
WANAUNGA TOWN HALL
TO-NIGHT AND EVERY EVENING
Grand Production of the Five Act Temperance Drama
TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR ROOM!
By the brilliant All Star Dramatic Company
THE MERRY MARAUDERS
Assisted by the Wanaunga Young Water-Wagonites Bond,
and under the Special Patronage of the Wanaunga
No-License Association.
MANAGERIAL ANNOUNCEMENT EXTRAORDINARY!!
The Manager of the Merry Marauders Dramatic Co. has signal pleasure and pride in drawing the attention of the Wanaunga public to the fact that
MR. ABEL BAGGPOTT, the DISTINGUISHED YOUNG PUBLICIST AND REFORMER of this town, and WORTHY CHIEF WAGONER of the WANAUNGA YOUNG WATER-WAGONITES BOND,
has kindly consented to co-operate with the Merry Marauders in the proper presentment of this world-renowned stirring drama by appearing nightly in the part of MR. ROMAINE, THE WISE MORALIST, which part he played so successfully in the amateur production of Ten Nights in a Bar Room in this town three years ago.
The management wish it to be distinctly understood that in thus publicly associating himself with the noteworthy production of a noteworthy drama, MR. ABEL BAGGPOTT is actuated solely by his love for his fellow creatures, and his desire to save them from the clutches of the demon Drink. He is not receiving one penny in the way of monetary fee or reward for nightly undertaking one of the most onerous parts on the dramatic stage. His only reward will be that of his approving conscience, if, after seeing this superb drama and the great lesson it inculcates, his fellow townsmen and townswomen go to the polls on election day and strike a blow for New Zealand, Humanity, Posterity, and the Cause the young Water-Wagonites stand for, by voting thus:
GRIMSDY BUNG HENRY
WONSER, ZADOK BENJAMIN
And Return the Temperance and Prohibition Candidate at
the Top of the Poll!
This you will do if You Go and See the Horrors of Strong Drink Depicted in
TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR ROOM!!!
In Five Acts and Fifteen Powerful Tableaux!
MR. ABEL BAGGPOTT
MR. ABEL BAGGPOTT
MR. ABEL BAGGPOTT
as
MR. ROMAINE,
THE TEMPERANCE
REFORMER!!
Supported by the Full Strength of
THE MERRY MARAUDERS DRAMATIC COMPANY!
THE MERRY MARAUDERS DRAMATIC COMPANY!
See other bills for Full Cast.
Prices; 3/-, 2/-, and 1/-. A limited number of front seats may be reserved at Baggpott’s Stores for 6d. extra.
VAL VALENTINE, Manager.
‘A Drunkard No Longer—that is o’er.
Free, disenthralled, I stand a man once more!’
Mr. Baggpott, the elder, offered to get out these billsiat his own printing office. I have previously explained that it is a common practice in the New Zealand back-blocks for the leading tradesmen in small towns to make a multiplicity of businesses atone for the paucity of population. I agreed to Mr. Baggpott’s proposal in order to have the bills out by the following morning, after receiving his assurance that the high rates he quoted for the job (about double what we were in the habit of paying) were caused by the iniquitous provisions of the New Zealand Factory Act, which doubled and redoubled hourly the wages rates for printers employed after nightfall,
till their bill for a few hours extra work resembled the old horse-shoe problem total—and not from any attempt to make an extortionate profit out of the Merry Marauders. Indeed, he said, he would probably lose on the job, but he didn’t mind even if he did, when it was for the good of the cause.
These little matters having been thus arranged, we bade Mr. Baggpott and his son good-night, reminding the latter that there would be a final rehearsal of Ten Nights in a Bar Room at the hall, in the morning, which it would be necessary for him to attend. He said he was letter perfect in the part, but he would come with pleasure in order to help us in any way he could.
The bills were all over the town the following morning, and attracted considerable attention. The members of the company kept to themselves whatever they may have thought about this ‘starring’ of an amateur, with the exception of Mr. Baker, who sought me out on my way to rehearsal in order to voice a vigorous remonstrance.
“Good G—! Sir, what a falling off is here!” he ejaculated with great bitterness, indicating a row of the new bills on the wayside fence. “Talented actors and actresses, with ability and beauty, taking a back seat for a mere storekeeper—a pecksniffian purveyor of produce, purgatives and picture-postcards!”
“You know the reason just as well as I do,” I replied impatiently. “We have got to put our professional pride in our pockets for our pockets’ sake.”
“I am sadly aware of the necessity, but that does not make the degradation of the drama the less deplorable,” said Mr. Baker in firm tones. “The fact remains that the Merry Marauders are glad to advertise a teetotal grocer as the leading attraction of their show, because they know it will bring money from people that their own superior talent cannot attract. Yet time was, in this very town, when the name of Dan Baker on the posters would have brought all the residents out in a body, without their teas, in order to get good seats. But times are changed.”
The Merry Marauders Page 15
