Part 24 (1/2)

”Then you may take it he don't _require_ no message, bein' toler'bly safe. As for yourself, you stick to me. Understand? Whatever happens, you stick to me.”

The Major did not understand in the least; but their conversation at this moment was interrupted by a roar of applause from all quarters of the house as Tom Taffrail, with a realistic blow from the shoulder, laid his persecutor prostrate on the deck.

”Brayvo!” grunted Bill Adams. ”The lad's nimble enough with his fives, I will say, for all his sea-lawyerin'.”

”We must 'ave him, Bill; if I take him myself we must 'ave him!”

cried Ben Jope, dancing with admiration. '”Tis no more than a mercy, neither, after the trouble he's been and laid up for hisself.”

Into what precise degree of mental confusion Mr. Jope had worked himself the Major could never afterwards determine; though he soon had every opportunity to think it out at leisure.

For the moment, as a boatswain's whistle shrilled close behind his ear, he was merely bewildered. He did not even know that the mouth sounding it was Mr. Jope's. It _ought_ to have sounded on board H.M.S. _Poseidon_.

As the crowd to right and left of him surged to its feet, he saw at intervals along the gallery, sailor after sailor leap up with drawn cutla.s.s. He saw some forcing their way to the exits; and as the packed throng, swaying backwards, bore him to the giddy edge of the gallery rails, he saw the whole audience rise from their seats with white upturned faces.

”The Press!” called someone. Half a dozen, then twenty, then a hundred voices took up the cry:

”The Press! The Press!”

He turned. What had become of Mr. Jope?

What, indeed? Cutla.s.s between teeth, Mr. Jope had heaved himself over the gallery rail, caught a pillar between his dangling feet, and slid down it to the Upper Circle; from the Upper Circle to the Dress Circle; from the Dress Circle to the Pit. A dozen seamen hurrahed and followed him. To the audience screaming, scattering before them, they paid no heed at all. Their eyes were on their leader, and in silence, breathing hard, each man's teeth clenched upon his cutla.s.s, they hounded after him and across the Pit at his heels.

It may be that this vivid reproduction of his alleged exploit off Pernambuco for the moment held Mr. Orlando B. Sturge paralysed.

At any rate, he stood by the footlights staring, with a face on which resentment faded into amaze, amaze into stupefaction.

It is improbable that he dreamed of any personal danger until the moment when Mr. Jope, leaping the orchestra and cras.h.i.+ng, on his way, through an abandoned violoncello, landed across the footlights and clapped him on the shoulder.

”Never you mind, lad!” cried Mr. Jope cheerfully, taking the cutla.s.s from between his teeth and waving it. ”You'll get better treatment along o' we.”

”What mean you? Unhand me--Off, I say, minion!”

”It'll blow over, lad; it'll blow over. You take my advice and come quiet--Oh, but we _want_ you!--an' if you hear another word about this evening's work I'll forfeit my mess.”

”Hands off, ruffian! Help, I say, there--Help!”

”Shame! Shame!” cried a dozen voices. But nine-tenths of the audience were already pressing around the doors to escape.

At a nod from Mr. Jope, two seamen ran and cut the cords supporting the drop-scene.

”Heads, there! Heads!”

The great roller fell upon the stage with a resounding bang.

With the thud of it, a hand descended and smote upon the Major's shoulder.

”Come along o' me. _You'll_ give no trouble, anyway.”

”Eh?” said the Major. ”My good man, I a.s.sure you that I have not the slightest disposition to interfere. These scenes are regrettable, of course. I have heard of them, but never actually a.s.sisted at one before; still, I quite see the necessity of the realm demands it, and the realm's necessity is--or should be--the supreme law with all of us.”