No Good Deed 48

To my rear, a clattering and scraping announced the taking of seats for the performance. I turned to look over my shoulder: the seats were arranged in rows for the most part, although here and there a group of four chairs clustered around a card-table. These seats' incumbents intended to hear the show at the very least. I watched at least one bearded fellow with one good eye making most fantastical contortions to look backward at the stage every few moments. It yet remained bare, save for the harmonium and a solitary oil-lamp burning downstage centre. Presently, their footwear clumping on the table tops serving as the stage, the entire troupe entered and formed a circle on stage. The two midgets had ceased hostilities, at least to the extent of placing the giant woman between them and reaching up to join hands with her. The circle formed by the actors resulted in a view of what was perhaps Cattermole's best side. I noted the inexpert patching on the xanthous material of the coat into which he had changed for the performance.

Cattermole nodded his head, the midgets bellowed, in a voice quite disproportionate to their size,

'Mucha Mierda!'

The cadaverous fellow, still in his mourning weeds gave a timid

'M-Merde!'

The giant woman sang a coloratura

'Me-er-da!' and I feared for the glass in my hand.

This was followed by the obese fellow's 'Dreck!'

Cattermole and Camborne chorused 'Break a leg!' whereupon the actor manager clapped his hands and said 'Places please!'

As might have been expected, Camborne, the crook-back, took a seat at the harmonium, and, with great flourishing of his bony arms, coaxed forth still more sounds reminiscent of the visit of a fox to a hen-house. The two midgets sat cross-legged at the tall woman's knee as she made a comfortable settle out of the enormously fat fellow's back, just as soon as he had lowered his bulk to its hands and knees. The solemn-faced mourner stood behind the tall woman, placing a hand upon her shoulder, though he had to reach upward a little to do so. The whole presented some gross parody of a familial tableau. Cattermole stood centre stage and addressed the audience:

'Ladies and Gentlemen, I superbiate at this unwonted and irreproducible opportunity, nay! I salivate at the prospect of the serendipitous good fortune that you our blessed audience are about to enjoy, namely, viz. To whit, that is to say, The Sir Garrick Cattermole Minstrel Show and Compendium. Please lay palm to palm in a cacophony of manual approbation as we offer for your delight and delectation, with scientific applications to the banjo and occasional help from the harmonium, an old favourite made famous by the Virginia Minstrels...'

The assembled crowd, including the one-eyed Jack playing poker, let out a roar of approval that seemed quite unnecessary in view of what followed. The mournful bone-rack fingered a banjo dextrously if less than tunefully, whilst the remaining members of the tableau bellowed a jaunty ditty, exhorting the excited audience to steer well clear of a somewhat boisterous party by the name of Old Dan Tucker.