Lesson:

1. 'Now, boys, what shall we do?' I asked, addressing a thoughtful conclave of seven, assembled in our barn one dismal, rainy afternoon. 'Let's have a theater,' suggested Binny Wallace.


2. The very thing! But where? The loft of the stable was ready to burst with hay provided for Gypsy, but the long room over the carriage house was unoccupied. The place of all places! My managerial eye saw at a glance its capabilities for a theater.


3. I had been to the play a great many times in New Orleans, and was wise in matters pertaining to the drama. So here, in due time, was set up some extraordinary scenery of my own painting. The curtain, I recollect, though it worked smoothly enough on other occasions, invariably hitched during the performances.


4. The theater, however, was a success, as far as it went. I retired from the business with no fewer than fifteen hundred pins, after deducting the headless, the pointless, and the crooked pins with which our doorkeeper frequently got 'stuck.' From first to last we took in a great deal of this counterfeit money. The price of admission to the 'Rivermouth Theater' was twenty pins. I played all the principal characters myself,—not that I was a finer actor than the other boys, but because I owned the establishment.


5. At the tenth representation, my dramatic career was brought to a close by an unfortunate circumstance. We were playing the drama of 'William Tell, the Hero of Switzerland.' Of course I was William Tell, in spite of Fred Langdon, who wanted to act that character himself. I wouldn't let him, so he withdrew from the company, taking the only bow and arrow we had.


6. I made a crossbow out of a piece of whalebone, and did very well without him. We had reached that exciting scene where Gesler, the Austrian tyrant, commands Tell to shoot the apple from his son's head. Pepper Whiteomb, who played all the juvenile and women parts, was my son.


7. To guard against mischance, a piece of pasteboard was fastened by a handkerchief over the upper portion of Whitcomb's face, while the arrow to be used was sewed up in a strip of flannel. I was a capital marksman, and the big apple, only two yards distant, turned its russet cheek fairly towards me.


8. I can see poor little Pepper now, as he stood without flinching, waiting for me to perform my great feat. I raised the crossbow amid the breathless silence of the crowded audience—consisting of seven boys and three girls, exclusive of Kitty Collins, who insisted on paying her way in with a clothespin. I raised the crossbow, I repeat. Twang! went the whipcord; but, alas! instead of hitting the apple, the arrow flew right into Pepper Whitcomb's mouth, which happened to be open at the time, and destroyed my aim.


9. I shall never be able to banish that awful moment from my memory. Pepper's roar, expressive of astonishment, indignation, and pain, is still ringing in my ears. I looked upon him as a corpse, and, glancing not far into the dreary future, pictured myself led forth to execution in the presence of the very same spectators then assembled.


10. Luckily, poor Pepper was not seriously hurt; but Grandfather Nutter, appearing in the midst of the confusion (attracted by the howls of young Tell), issued an injunction against all theatricals thereafter, and the place was closed; not, however, without a farewell speech from me, in which I said that this would have been the proudest moment of my life if I hadn't hit Pepper Whitcomb in the mouth. Whereupon the audience (assisted, I am glad to state, by Pepper) cried, 'Hear! hear!'


11. I then attributed the accident to Pepper himself, whose mouth, being open at the instant I fired, acted upon the arrow much after the fashion of a whirlpool, and drew in the fatal shaft. I was about to explain how a comparatively small maelstrom could suck in the largest ship, when the curtain fell of its own accord, amid the shouts of the audience.


12. This was my last appearance on any stage. It was some time, though, before I heard the end of the William Tell business. Malicious little boys who hadn't been allowed to buy tickets to my theater used to cry out after me in the street,—'Who killed Cock Robin?'





ABOUT THE AUTHOR


From 'The Story of a Bad Boy,' by Thomas Bailey Aldrich.


The author was born at Portsmouth, N. H., in 1836.


When quite young his family moved to Louisiana, but he was sent back to New England to be educated, and later he located at New York.


He was a well-known writer of both prose and poetry.





DEFINITIONS


1. Conclave: A private meeting.


2. Managerial: Of or pertaining to a manager.


4. Deducting: Taking away, subtracting.


5. Career: Course of action.


8. Audience: An assembly of hearers.


9. Execution: A putting to death by law.


10. Injunction: A command.


11. Attributed: Assigned, charged.


11. Maelstrom: A whirlpool.