The Old Adam: A Story of Adventure

by Arnold Bennett

  III.

  "Did you ever see such scenery and costumes?" some one addressed himsuddenly when the applause had died down. It was Mr. Alloyd, who hadadvanced up the aisle from the back row of the stalls.

  "No, I never did!" Edward Henry agreed.

  "It's wonderful how Givington has managed to get away from the childishrealism of the modern theatre," said Mr. Alloyd, "without beingridiculous."

  "You think so!" said Edward Henry judicially. "The question is, Has he?"

  "Do you mean it's too realistic for you?" cried Mr. Alloyd. "Well, you_are_ advanced! I didn't know you were as anti-representational as allthat!"

  "Neither did I!" said Edward Henry. "What do you think of the play?"

  "Well," answered Mr. Alloyd low and cautiously, with a somewhat shamedgrin, "between you and me, I think the play's bosh."

  "Come, come!" Edward Henry murmured as if in protest.

  The word "bosh" was almost the first word of the discussion which he hadcomprehended, and the honest familiar sound of it did him good.Nevertheless, keeping his presence of mind, he had forborne to welcomeit openly. He wondered what on earth "anti-representational" couldmean. Similar conversations were proceeding around him, and each couldbe very closely heard, for the reason that, the audience being franklyintellectual and anxious to exchange ideas, the management had wiselyavoided the expense and noise of an orchestra. The entr'acte was like a_conversazione_ of all the cultures.

  "I wish you'd give us some scenery and costumes like this in _your_theatre," said Alloyd as he strolled away.

  The remark stabbed him like a needle; the pain was gone in an instant,but it left a vague fear behind it, as of the menace of a mortal injury.It is a fact that Edward Henry blushed and grew gloomy, and he scarcelyknew why. He looked about him timidly, half defiantly. A magnificentlyarrayed woman in the row in front, somewhat to the right, leaned backand towards him, and behind her fan said:

  "You're the only manager here, Mr. Machin! How alive and alert you are!"Her voice seemed to be charged with a hidden meaning.

  "D'you think so?" said Edward Henry. He had no idea who she might be.He had probably shaken hands with her at his stone-laying, but if so hehad forgotten her face. He was fast becoming one of the oligarchicalfew who are recognised by far more people than they recognise.

  "A beautiful play!" said the woman. "Not merely poetic, butintellectual. And an extraordinarily acute criticism of modernconditions!"

  He nodded. "What do you think of the scenery?" he asked.

  "Well, of course candidly," said the woman, "I think it's silly. I daresay I'm old-fashioned."

  "I dare say," murmured Edward Henry.

  "They told me you were very ironic," said she, flushing but meek.

  "They!" Who? Who in the world of London had been labelling him asironic? He was rather proud.

  "I hope if you _do_ do this kind of play,--and we're all looking to you,Mr. Machin," said the lady making a new start,--"I hope you won't go infor these costumes and scenery. That would never do!"

  Again the stab of the needle!

  "It wouldn't," he said.

  "I'm delighted you think so," said she.

  An orange telegram came travelling from hand to hand along that row ofstalls, and ultimately, after skipping a few persons, reached themagnificently arrayed woman, who read it and then passed it to EdwardHenry.

  "Splendid!" she exclaimed. "Splendid!"

  Edward Henry read: "Released. Isabel."

  "What does it mean?"

  "It's from Isabel Joy--at Marseilles."

  "Really!"

  Edward Henry's ignorance of affairs round about the centre of theuniverse was occasionally distressing--to himself in particular. Andjust now he gravely blamed Mr. Marrier, who had neglected to post himabout Isabel Joy. But how could Marrier honestly earn his three poundsa week if he was occupied night and day with the organising andmanagement of these precious dramatic _soirees_? Edward Henry decidedthat he must give Mr. Marrier a piece of his mind at the firstopportunity.

  "Don't you know?" questioned the dame.

  "How should I?" he parried. "I'm only a provincial."

  "But surely," pursued the dame, "you knew we'd sent her round the world.She started on the _Kandahar_, the ship that you stopped Sir JohnPilgrim from taking. She almost atoned for his absence at Tilbury.Twenty-five reporters, anyway!"

  Edward Henry sharply slapped his thigh, which in the Five Townssignifies, "I shall forget my own name next."

  Of course! Isabel Joy was the advertising emissary of the MilitantSuffragette Society, sent forth to hold a public meeting and make aspeech in the principal ports of the world. She had guaranteed tocircuit the globe and to be back in London within a hundred days, tospeak in at least five languages, and to get herself arrested at leastthree times en route. Of course! Isabel Joy had possessed a very fairshare of the newspapers on the day before the stone-laying, but EdwardHenry had naturally had too many preoccupations to follow her exploits.After all, his momentary forgetfulness was rather excusable.

  "She's made a superb beginning!" said the resplendent dame, taking thetelegram from Edward Henry and inducting it into another row. "Andbefore three months are out she'll be the talk of the entire earth.You'll see!"

  "Is everybody a suffragette here?" asked Edward Henry simply, as hiseyes witnessed the satisfaction spread by the voyaging telegram.

  "Practically," said the dame. "These things always go hand in hand,"she added in a deep tone.

  "What things?" the provincial demanded.

  But just then the curtain rose on the second act.