Black Rock - Ralph Connor (books to read to increase intelligence txt) 📗

Rock Hotel man took it for board and whisky bill. He has it still, I suppose.’

I did not much relish the business; but I hated to see him beaten, so I ventured, ‘I have run a Punch and Judy in an amateur way at the ‘Varsity.’

He sprang to his feet with a yell.

‘You have! you mean to say it? We’ve got them! We’ve beaten them!’ He had an extraordinary way of taking your help for granted. ‘The miner chaps, mostly English and Welsh, went mad over the poor old showman, and made him so wealthy that in sheer gratitude he drank himself to death.’

He walked up and down in high excitement and in such evident delight that I felt pledged to my best effort.

‘Well,’ I said, ‘first the poster. We must beat them in that.’

He brought me large sheets of brown paper, and after two hours’ hard work I had half a dozen pictorial showbills done in gorgeous colours and striking designs. They were good, if I do say it myself.

The turkey, the magic lantern, the Punch and Judy show were all there, the last with a crowd before it in gaping delight. A few explanatory words were thrown in, emphasising the highly artistic nature of the Punch and Judy entertainment.

Craig was delighted, and proceeded to perfect his plans. He had some half a dozen young men, four young ladies, and eight or ten matrons, upon whom he could depend for help. These he organised into a vigilance committee charged with the duty of preventing miners and lumbermen from getting away to Slavin’s. ‘The critical moments will be immediately before and after dinner, and then again after the show is over,’ he explained. ‘The first two crises must be left to the care of Punch and Judy, and as for the last, I am not yet sure what shall be done’; but I saw he had something in his head, for he added, ‘I shall see Mrs. Mavor.’

‘Who is Mrs. Mavor?’ I asked. But he made no reply. He was a born fighter, and he put the fighting spirit into us all. We were bound to win.

The sports were to begin at two o’clock. By lunch-time everything was in readiness. After lunch I was having a quiet smoke in Craig’s shack when in he rushed, saying—

‘The battle will be lost before it is fought. If we lose Quatre Bras, we shall never get to Waterloo.’

‘What’s up?’

‘Slavin, just now. The miners are coming in, and he will have them in tow in half an hour.’

He looked at me appealingly. I knew what he wanted.

‘All right; I suppose I must, but it is an awful bore that a man can’t have a quiet smoke.’

‘You’re not half a bad fellow,’ he replied, smiling. ‘I shall get the ladies to furnish coffee inside the booth. You furnish them intellectual nourishment in front with dear old Punch and Judy.’

He sent a boy with a bell round the village announcing, ‘Punch, and Judy in front of the Christmas booth beside the church’; and for three-quarters of an hour I shrieked and sweated in that awful little pen. But it was almost worth it to hear the shouts of approval and laughter that greeted my performance. It was cold work standing about, so that the crowd was quite ready to respond when Punch, after being duly hanged, came forward and invited all into the booth for the hot coffee which Judy had ordered.

In they trooped, and Quatre Bras was won.

No sooner were the miners safely engaged with their coffee than I heard a great noise of bells and of men shouting; and on reaching the street I saw that the men from the lumber camp were coming in. Two immense sleighs, decorated with ribbons and spruce boughs, each drawn by a four-horse team gaily adorned, filled with some fifty men, singing and shouting with all their might, were coming down the hill road at full gallop. Round the corner they swung, dashed at full speed across the bridge and down the street, and pulled up after they had made the circuit of a block, to the great admiration of the onlookers. Among others Slavin sauntered up good-naturedly, making himself agreeable to Sandy and those who were helping to unhitch his team.

‘Oh, you need not take trouble with me or my team, Mike Slavin. Batchees and me and the boys can look after them fine,’ said Sandy coolly.

This rejecting of hospitality was perfectly understood by Slavin and by all.

‘Dat’s too bad, heh?’ said Baptiste wickedly; ‘and, Sandy, he’s got good money on his pocket for sure, too.’ The boys laughed, and Slavin, joining in, turned away with Keele and Blaney; but by the look in his eye I knew he was playing ‘Br’er Rabbit,’ and lying low.

Mr. Craig just then came up, ‘Hello, boys! too late for Punch and Judy, but just in time for hot coffee and doughnuts.’

‘Bon; dat’s fuss rate,’ said Baptiste heartily; ‘where you keep him?’

‘Up in the tent next the church there. The miners are all in.’

‘Ah, dat so? Dat’s bad news for the shantymen, heh, Sandy?’ said the little Frenchman dolefully.

‘There was a clothes-basket full of doughnuts and a boiler of coffee left as I passed just now,’ said Craig encouragingly.

‘Allons, mes garcons; vite! never say keel!’ cried Baptiste excitedly, stripping off the harness.

But Sandy would not leave the horses till they were carefully rubbed down, blanketed, and fed, for he was entered for the four-horse race and it behoved him to do his best to win. Besides, he scorned to hurry himself for anything so unimportant as eating; that he considered hardly worthy even of Baptiste. Mr. Craig managed to get a word with him before he went off, and I saw Sandy solemnly and emphatically shake his head, saying, ‘Ah! we’ll beat him this day,’ and I gathered that he was added to the vigilance committee.

Old man Nelson was busy with his own team. He turned slowly at Mr. Craig’s greeting, ‘How is it, Nelson?’ and it was with a very grave voice he answered, ‘I hardly know, sir; but I am not gone yet, though it seems little to hold to.’

‘All you want for a grip is what your hand can cover. What would you have? And besides, do you know why you are not gone yet?’

The old man waited, looking at the minister gravely.

‘Because He hasn’t let go His grip of you.’

‘How do you know He’s gripped me?’

‘Now, look here, Nelson, do you want to quit this thing and give it all up?’

‘No, no! For heaven’s sake, no! Why, do you think I have lost it?’ said Nelson, almost piteously.

‘Well, He’s keener about it than you; and I’ll bet you haven’t thought it worth while to thank Him.’

‘To thank Him,’ he repeated, almost stupidly, ‘for—’

‘For keeping you where you are overnight,’ said Mr. Craig, almost sternly.

The old man gazed at the minister, a light growing in his eyes.

‘You’re right. Thank God, you’re right.’ And then he turned quickly away, and went into the stable behind his team. It was a minute before he came out. Over his face there was a trembling joy.

‘Can I do anything for you to-day?’ he asked humbly.

‘Indeed you just can,’ said the minister, taking his hand and shaking it very warmly; and then he told him Slavin’s programme and ours.

‘Sandy is all right till after his race. After that is his time of danger,’ said the minister.

‘I’ll stay with him, sir,’ said old Nelson, in the tone of a man taking a covenant, and immediately set off for the coffee-tent.

‘Here comes another recruit for your corps,’ I said, pointing to Leslie Graeme, who was coming down the street at that moment in his light sleigh.

‘I am not so sure. Do you think you could get him?’

I laughed. ‘You are a good one.’

‘Well,’ he replied, half defiantly, ‘is not this your fight too?’

‘You make me think so, though I am bound to say I hardly recognise myself to day. But here goes,’ and before I knew it I was describing our plans to Graeme, growing more and more enthusiastic as he sat in his sleigh, listening with a quizzical smile I didn’t quite like.

‘He’s got you too,’ he said; ‘I feared so.’

‘Well,’ I laughed, ‘perhaps so. But I want to lick that man Slavin. I’ve just seen him, and he’s just what Craig calls him, “a slick son of the devil.” Don’t be shocked; he says it is Scripture.’

‘Revised version,’ said Graeme gravely, while Craig looked a little abashed.

‘What is assigned me, Mr. Craig? for I know that this man is simply your agent.’

I repudiated the idea, while Mr. Craig said nothing.

‘What’s my part?’ demanded Graeme.

‘Well,’ said Mr. Craig hesitatingly, ‘of course I would do nothing till I had consulted you; but I want a man to take my place at the sports. I am referee.’

‘That’s all right,’ said Graeme, with an air of relief; ‘I expected something hard.’

‘And then I thought you would not mind presiding at dinner—I want it to go off well.’

‘Did you notice that?’ said Graeme to me. ‘Not a bad touch, eh?’

‘That’s nothing to the way he touched me. Wait and learn,’ I answered, while Craig looked quite distressed. ‘He’ll do it, Mr. Craig, never fear,’ I said, ‘and any other little duty that may occur to you.’

‘Now that’s too bad of you. That is all I want, honour bright,’ he replied; adding, as he turned away, ‘you are just in time for a cup of coffee, Mr. Graeme. Now I must see Mrs. Mavor.’

‘Who is Mrs. Mavor?’ I demanded of Graeme.

‘Mrs. Mavor? The miners’ guardian angel.’

We put up the horses and set off for coffee. As we approached the booth Graeme caught sight of the Punch and Judy show, stood still in amazement, and exclaimed, ‘Can the dead live?’

‘Punch and Judy never die,’ I replied solemnly.

‘But the old manipulator is dead enough, poor old beggar!’

‘But he left his mantle, as you see.’

He looked at me a moment

‘What! do you mean, you—?’

‘Yes, that is exactly what I do mean.’

‘He is great man, that Craig fellow—a truly great man.’

And then he leaned up against a tree and laughed till the tears came. ‘I say, old boy, don’t mind me,’ he gasped, ‘but do you remember the old ‘Varsity show?’

‘Yes, you villain; and I remember your part in it. I wonder how you can, even at this remote date, laugh at it.’ For I had a vivid recollection of how, after a ‘chaste and highly artistic performance of this mediaeval play’ had been given before a distinguished Toronto audience, the trap door by which I had entered my box was fastened, and I was left to swelter in my cage, and forced to listen to the suffocated laughter from the wings and the stage whispers of ‘Hello, Mr. Punch, where’s the baby?’ And for many a day after I was subjected to anxious inquiries as to the locality and health of ‘the baby,’ and whether it was able to be out.

‘Oh, the dear old days!’ he kept saying, over and over, in a tone so full of sadness that my heart grew sore for him and I forgave him, as many a time before.

The sports passed off in typical Western style. In addition to the usual running and leaping contests, there was rifle and pistol shooting, in both of which old man Nelson stood first, with Shaw, foreman of the mines, second.

The great event of the day, however, was to be the four-horse race, for