SHORT STORY

Alexandra Herald and Central Otago Gazette, Issue 402, 21 January 1904, Page 7

SHORT STORY

i. Enou the mirror in his dressing-room' —in the moat bcautifa! theatre in London i asset Hamilton-Baton g, the famous author- ; Stor-nujmger>„ . _ ,- . hJHe sstlhere trailing contentedly to himaelf and adding a last few touches to hia elaborate make-up, and finallj giving da lining-pencil' into the hands of his' dresser, tuned to his wife with a aigh of ' cep felt satisfaction. 'There, Lflf,' he said,-'I think' Hamil-ton-Sfcrong ia sufficiently lost in the personality of Csto, tfa&Bnrasn. Even if my perf. rmance does not altogether please Meeaieura the ciitics, at least my make-up . shall be blameless' * And it if, Hal, dear/ replied hia wife, without whose approva 1 Hamilton Strong would never dream of speakinga word of any put he played, and to whose decision ' be submitted every new conception, for he knew that in her he i had a competent jnd&e and a fearless critic. 'Tea, your make-up ia perfect, dear/ she said, 'and your performance ia going to be greater than anything you're done jet, and now I must run away and aeeto my sandals. I'm not aura which pair I prefer.* She blew him a Idas—she could not actually kiaa him for fear of disarranging the patriarchal beard he., was wearing—and ram lightly out of his dressmg-roOm. . Strong leaned back hi hia chair and contemplated" himself with mash satisfaction. .* , .:' 3 After years of Obteute struggliag-4:e was at lsngth on the topmost, rung of the theatrical ladder a tamous man, nattered by society and the owner of the finest theatre in London, whioh was to be opened for. the ftrat time the next night with a new play from his own pen. It was by no means his first play—in fact it was a play from his own pen that had brought aim fame and fortune years before; but public interest centred mora oa this particular play, * Marsh/ titan on any he had hitherto written, for not only was it the play which was to open the new playhouse, but it was spoken of by those who had been privileged to witness the sehearsala as one of the finest tragedies in the language. And now he sat smiling in his dressingzoom, waiting for the final dress rehearsal to commence, w? Quarter of an hour, please 1* shouted the call-boy in the passage, and Strong, gathering hia flowing draperies abent him. and bestowing a on hia 'make-up,* strode slowly •out of the room. In the corridor outside w % man stood waiting for him. He was one of the minor actors of the company, and as Strong was about to pass he plucked him gently by the sleeve. « •Onemoment, Mrßtrong,if yra please!* he said, furtively glancing around to roake sure they were alone. The corridor was empty, easing which the man placed himself ominously in Strong's path. .- 'What is it, JohnstonP* asked Strong irritably. 'Whydo yon coma bothering msnowf I cant talk business Just as Fm going on the stsge.* .^.. 'I don't ask yon to talk business,* rejoined the other, a more familiar tone creeping over his voice. 'I want to talk justice. So yen want-to know why I come bothering you now! Snail I toll youf Shall I tall yoi why P He stopped abruptly—for at that moment the 'pass door'at the end of the eorrider opened, and the business manager appeared. Btrong took advantage of his arrival to escape, *** "~ : ' -■•. -^amsiw* •I cannot talk te yen now, Mr Johnatom,* he said, in a tons intended to reach the ears of his manager, who was now advancing towards them. * Afther the rehearsal or to-morrow.' And he slipped past toe other and ran down the stens stairs. 'By •ecrgePhe said to himself, as aooß as he was out of earshot. 'Johnston's getting troublesome- Putting on airs. I shall have to put my foot down and atop all that at once—or he'll become nnc__ The mam whom ha had left looked Tfcpodily after him, and nodded curtly In response to the beninees manager's - 'greeting. •Hullo, Johnston!' said the latter. Trying to 'remember your one line I Back up* "old ; son—it rents on you to poll the show through to-morrow, you . And he passed on with a smile. 'There's'many a true word spekenin jest,* quoted Johnston when he was alone again. 'To-morrow, ehP Strong asked me to , wait rill to-morrow, too. I will. Tomcrrow all the world shall knew the truth and what there is between the great Mr Hamilton- Btrong and hm broken-do wn utility man.* And he, too, turned and descended to the stage. - Rehearsal was nowih full swing. STo hitches had as yet occurred to mar the smooth running of the new tragedy. *r In the auditorium a motley gathering of. critics, artiste, society journalists, literary men and personal friends of Strong's eat enthralled—no less by his • acting than by the beautiful blank verse in which his conception was clothed. And when the tableau curtains fell upon the firet act, one and all knew that they were witnessing a masterpiece. The second act proved equal in all respects to

. the firat, and went just m smoothly until "'Joimaton's one line upset its 'c flu cu«—epoken by Strong himself—had to be repeated, and then Johnston, instead of delivering the line as Strong had expressly insisted 6m his doing; gave it with an entirely dilaxent irtoaation. •BtopP shouted Strong, at length losing control ef his temper. * xou have bat one line to speak in the whole play, and yon bugle that Disgraceful I At the last drees rehearsal, above all! Well go Isu± to the beginning of the act!' All eyes were fixed tn the ..delinquent, who stcod with his arms folded—scowling at Strong. All felt for the unfortunate man who had drawn" this public affront npen hj int self, althougn be appeared bet little affected. •I went trouble all the ladies and gentlemen of the company to go right trough the act again,' said Strong, who now had himself well in hand again. 'Mr. Leslie,' addressing one of the 'walking on* gentlemen, 'yen will speak that line, please. Mr Johnston, you will take Mr clTs's plsrfl *

jSp^EP^L#URpLS

%2&&*&&&& t/l * ' rorrise/ Johnston, | without vouchsafing a wor d in explanat- fiorfc gatheredvhTs. robes about him and walked off the stage. . ;- _ There waa ho rehearsal the next day. Sbong-thating wfaely decided to give hia entire eorspany a day's rest, and thestage was given over to the hands of the Btago manager and his myrmidons/who were in I * breathless state of hurry and excitement aUdajj;- . *.':.£ % - '* But the of even so important a theatrical function as the production of a new play at a great London theatre arrange themselves at last, and when Strong and his wife'drove up to the stage door in their neat .little brougham at fire .in.the" afternoon the last few stitches of alteration had been made in the costumes, the last wig had been curled and delivered, the last linjt%ht effect had been finally decided upen,the one scene in which the entire four 'acta were played finally ast for the'performance, and the whole of the theatre 'behind' deserted, save for the grizzled old hall-keeper at the stage door. *y \ . .:- Strong made his way to hia dressingroom in the best of snirita. nrra.in.nrm

»wui ux win wean 01 spines, arm-m-arm with hia wi>. . She was a vary beautiful woman, dearly i* love with her husband, and as she stood with him outside his dressing-room she felt more than usually proud of him. IHaLdear? she said, 'to-night jou will make the greatest success ot your life? .' Does that mean I'm never to make another P' he facetiously inquired Then, seeing her face fall somewhat, 'Bun along, little woaaan/ he said, and bent down and gently kissed, her. 'Good luck, dearie I I'm going in to drees now!' She turned away with a smile of pride and lore, fend he quietly entered his room. He hung up his hat and coat. Then, turning to his dressing table, he placed his heavy gold-mounted ebony walking stick against the mantel-piece, his tack being towards the door. Ah he did so, a figure came softly out of the adjoining bath-room, and crossing noiselessly on tiptoe behind Strong, locked the dressingroom door and pocketed the key. The click of the lock brought Strong round instantly. 'Who's there f he cried, switching on the electric light, ana evealing Johnston standing with his back to the door, a lurid light of passion in his eyes. fi \. y ■ kil£3jP • Good heavens, Johnston {' said Strong, with bated breath. His voice *was low and thick. ..with suppressed rageT'Hbw dare you come here P Leave the room at once—do you hear me, air—'leave my room!' Johnston did not stir. • If s no good, Strong/ he said, quietly. 'You wouldn't listen to me last night, you've got to now 1 oh, no you don't '— as Strong • made a movement towards an electric bell-push. * I'm here to have a settlement with you—once and" for all—and, by heaven, I mean to have it—here, and now? . _ ; He had advanced a few paces, and 'stood in a threatening attitude between Strong and the door. . 'Now, Strong, be reasonable,' he continued. 'There's na earfchlv armnna ni

wmwui j_ucsa d u.j caruuv cnance ox our being either overheard or interrupted. Your dresser won't be here for a good hour yet, you know that—and if I see you make another movement towards that bell I'll brain you 1' He snatched up Strong's heavy walking stick, and the latter, seeing himself helpless, began to temporise. . * How, look here, my dear, good fellow? he began, but Johnston cut hia short 'peremptorily. 'Sit down, Strong, over there, please, and listen to what I have to say!' There was no trace in his manner now of the nervcua hesitation he had evinced on the previous day* u4 Strong felt helpless, dominated by the other's grim and xeaolun determination. - . .And so, painful as he know this interview was going to be for him, he constrained himself to obey with the "best . grace he could muster. . 'You are doubtless wondering why I am not drunk,' began Johnston. 'Well, I'm sober now, and shall be for the rest of my. life. If it hadn't been for you,' he hissed with a sudden access 5 , to fury painwitness, 'l'd have sworn off long ;■; ago; and been a respectable member of ... society to-day. Instead—look at me—.look at me, what am IP An outcast—only tolerated because you—yon of all men!—in your generous beneficence, forsooth— condescend to employ ma in the meanest capacity you can. J?or ten long years I have been your tool—nay, more, your very brain—from you has come, the accursed temptation to live on the pension you allow me in return for my brain—my brain that has put you where you are—at the top of your profession—and keeps you 'there; Answer me—curl' he blazed out , in sudJen wrath, stung by the other's silence.' ' Answer me—is it not so P Can

you deny it t Have not I—even I—the drunken, idle sot—with no soul above the pothouse—have not I written eash word of the plays that tear your name—allowing you to take the credit—the fame that should be mine—poor, weak- fool that I was—while I accepted from you the small but certain pittance upon which, as you have so often pointed out to me with ' devilish malignity, I could drink myself into oblivion nightly with mechanical regularity P . - v '- -- ■• •■'. t

1 All this hare I suffered in preference to the uncertainty of getting my plays—the plays of an unknown, without money or influence—successfully produced. ' And now, at the eleventh hour, 1 have awakened, I claim public recognition—justice—justice from you and from the world which lauds you—justice and a share of the fame which is my due—mine —do you hear me—mine,' not yours! ' bit not the truth P' And Strong could not deny it. For years bad be systematically sucked this man's brain, pandering to his weak- . nees—drink—until his passion for it had become a monomania eo routed in his nature that Strong could play upon him as a skilful musician plays upon an instrument, and now hi 3 tool —strung into tction by some dormant sense of his degradation—had suddenly turned upon him. Oh! it was bitter to feel that in the hoar of bis greatest triumph his name and fame were not only due to—but in the keeping of this drunken derelict of humanity. - ' And he sat u one turned to stone. * Answer mi, hound!' oried the other •

Answer Hi6—or—•*• *" from his Stupor* and star ting to his feet. %Tou—-to, threaten, me 1 . Tea. '«I gnawer you, it m true.* .■■pi, ■'. I' Ton hare wnttem the plays which ail the world thinks- are mine.-T?grant you that* Bat it ia I who have clothed their •dry^ea>with;nßßhigiiißvrw io *•▼• made them live and breathe. It ia 1 who have made them, known over tie civilised world—why should I budge an iacb to you P Haven't I bought you—body and soul—haven't I bought your drink-sodden brain with good hard cash P .'We made a bargain—and you are failing keep ycur part of it. You .threaten mei 1 I defy you —WW will believe'your slanderous ravings against my honourable word P Begone—before I strike you !* There waß a short, sharp struggle—the thud of a heavy blow—the fall of a man's body.

Then silence—dull and heavy —fell upon the little room—and of the two men so lately contending in the heat of passion and lusty life, one lay stiff upon the floor; the other, with wide staring eyes, stood horror-stricken at the aw f ulresult of his hastiness. .

And then there fell upon him that sudden fear that falls only -on the murderer, and with a guilty shudder he dropped the heavy walking stick, its gay gold mount all greasy with blood, as footsteps sounded m the corridor without.

The footsteps were coming nearer—what could he do ?

The bath-room door was open, and he seised the body of him who lay so still at his feet, dragged it into the bath-room, and closed and locked the door. At that instant a knock sounded at the dressingroom deor. , ■

* Can I come in, Hal dear t I want to ask you something? It was Mrs Strong. For an instant his wit deserted him, but for an instant .only. Controlling himself with an iron hand—

'Not now—later!' he said, in a voice he hardly recognised as his own. 'All right, dear!' came the reply. ' It'll do later. Good luck, darling!' And to his intense relief he heard her footsteps receding in the distance.

111. The first performance proved a triumph. Never before had actor acted so realistically- never had ah actor so powerfully portrayed the terrible remorse which dogs a murderer, as 'Hamilton-Strong' on that memorable night. Great, indeed, had he been then, but he was greater now broader, more human. Now, when the tableau curtains had at length fallen for the last time, followed by Mrs Strong and a few intimate friends, he returned to that room wherein the catastrophe of his life had taken place a few hours before. Without removing his costume or makeup, he stood silently, beside his beautiful wife,'while around them elamoured and bubbled a sea of praise and compliment, punctuated by .the popping of champagne cjrks and the musical tinkle of glasses, . Then, as she Btood there—the room all gorgeous «ith the elaborate dresses of the women, and gay with the smiling faces of well groomed men—tar glance fell upon her husband's face, on which was such a look of horror that it curdled her very life blood. He was staring at the soft rich carpet near the bathroom door, and, swiftly following the direction, of his eyes with her own, she saw a strange red stain, still moist, formed a tiny pool close.to her feet. •.' •*

At this moment a rich male voice rose above the murmur of conversation.

'Ladiesand gentlemen—a toast! Fill your glasses! 'Mr and Mrs HamiltonStrong !' There followed a loud bun of talk and laughter. Glasses were filled, and the wnole room, with one accord, drank to their host and hostess.

A strange intuition told her plainer th&H any words that some terrible fate had overtaken the man who, in all the ghastly paraphernalia of coetume and make-up, sat glaring at that strange red stain upon the carpet. Presently she found herself mechanically Bhaking hands and uttering farewells to her disappearing guests, and suddenly realised that the room was empty save for herself and husband. •Hal—Hamilton!' she cried. 'What in it? My God! What has happened ?' ! •You may as well know now as later,' he said at length, in hnsky tones, throwing a key upon the table. 'Look for yourself,' he said. ' Jtf Jldo you good!' Something in his voice seemed new to her.". ■!■*"' Still wondering, she unlocked and opened the bath-room door. Then a faint cry escaped her. There, stretched upon the floor, lay Hamilton-Strong, the blood from a ; wound on his; head, staining the fair white marble an angry crimson. With a shriek she rushed back into the dressing-room. As she did so, he who was sitting there arose, and tearing off his wig and disclosed himself to her Sstonished gaza; as Johnston 1 In that: instant she saw all that had occurred. He had attacked her husband, impersonated him, and even played his part that night better than Strong himself. ij Q In that bitter moment the scales fell from her eyee and she knew her husband for what he really was—a poor trickster, living on another's brain. § * But Strong—whatever > he was -—was still her husband. * You have killed him!' she cried, ' you shall not go unpunished!' 'Yes I killed him!' panted Johnston in reply. 'ln justice—l killed him! Aye. ring for help—to-morrow all the world 1 will know the truth—will knew that it was I—not he—l—the worn-out drunkard —who wrote his fomdus plajß—will know that I should hold his place ! *Tp me the fame and the glory—to me the bay leaf and laurels—to me ■' He broke off abrubtly—swayed—gave a tiny shudder—and tumbled dead at her feet

At the iriquiat they returned an open verdict. : ; .- '•-- •0' :p ~ Sae kept his secret. And the Stagedeprived of him whom it considered its brightest ornament—never for an instant dreamed: its laurels had' been' bestowed upon an undeserving man.—Gr. Hkkon. '