“What’s the matter, old man?” inquired Matthews, looking up from a stack of letters on his desk and regarding the press agent with a bantering4 smile. “Is Bartlett out on the rampage again?”
“No,” replied Jimmy in a disgusted tone of voice. “I wish he was. He’s postin’ three sheets tellin’ what a grand little fellow I am. That’s what gets my pet Angora.”
“What’s the catch?” questioned the other.
“Oh, that’s concealed5 in the last paragraph. He starts out with a lot of hot air about how good I am and how pleased he is at the wonderful showing I’ve landed over here in Boston, and a bunch of other junk and then he—wait, I’ll read you the finish. He says—‘and being desirous of showing my appreciation6 of your efforts in a concrete way I have decided7 to intrust to you the general direction of the publicity8 campaign of ’The Ganges Princess.’ I will send someone to take over ‘Keep Moving’ on Saturday, and you will kindly9 report at this office on Monday morning.’”
Matthews, who had sauntered over to Jimmy’s desk during the reading of Chester Bartlett’s letter, looked frankly10 bewildered.
“I’m pretty dense11, I guess,” he said. “I don’t see anything in that to cause you to exhibit any signs of distress12. He’s handing you the prize job of the season on a gold platter. You couldn’t stop the papers from printing stuff about that show with an injunction from the Supreme13 Court. Don’t you realize that?”
“Oh, that part of it’s all right,” replied Jimmy. “I suppose I’ve got a nerve to put up a holler, but I can’t help it. It’s this thing of bein’ bounced about like a tennis ball that makes me sore. The minute I get sewed up with one show and the machinery14 in the little old idea factory gets all oiled up and is makin’ 286 revolutions to the minute, along comes a letter or a wire shootin’ me on to join somethin’ else. Gee15, I wish I was workin’ for myself and not for the other guy.”
Jimmy would have resented any suggestion that the look which crept into his eyes as he said this was wistful, but it was just that. He paused and gazed out of the window at the scurrying16 throng17 of early morning shoppers. Across his face there came and went the shadow of a pathetic smile, a smile that seemed to express for a moment the elation18 of holding within his grasp the very substance of things hoped for and which instantly merged19 into something that epitomized utter hopelessness. Matthews sensed his mood and put his hand on the press agent’s shoulder.
“Why don’t you take a flier on your own?” He asked. “Everybody in the business would wish you well.”
Jimmy snorted derisively20.
“What would I use for money?” he inquired sarcastically21. “Playwrights22 ain’t takin’ good wishes for advance royalties23 and you can’t slip a few kind words into the salary envelopes on Saturday night.”
“But it don’t take so much to make a start,” persisted the other. “Don’t you manage to save anything at all?”
“Sure. I’ve got almost enough cigarette coupons24 to get a gold plated safety razor or a genuine silk umbrella, and there’s 20 shares of Flying Frog copper25 stock in the tray of my trunk. That must be worth all of a dollar and eight cents, and it cost me about thirty dollars, too. Quit your kiddin’, old man. An agent has about as much chance these days of savin’ money as the Kaiser has of bein’ invited to a week-end party by the King of England.”
Jimmy stood up and began to pace slowly up and down the room. The wistful look came into his eyes again and the longing26 smile touched his mouth once more.
“Still,” he said, half to himself, “it’s kind of nice to think about ownin’ your own show even if you know you never will, and to sort of get a flash in your mind’s eye of a twenty-four sheet with ‘James T. Martin presents’ splashed across the top of it in black on yellow with red initials. ‘James T. Martin presents’—that’d certainly look immense on that low board on Broadway near Forty-fifth street that hits everybody on the big street right in the eye.”
Matthews, in response to a summons from the box-office, left him still soliloquizing under his breath and gazing pensively27 across the snow covered Common.
“The Ganges Princess” was the dramatic sensation of a decade. It had been running for a solid year at the huge Hendrik Hudson Theatre in New York, having weathered a hot summer with hardly a noticeable falling off of receipts. It was Chester Bartlett’s first venture into what is technically28 known as the “legitimate field” and he had staged it with that lavish29 disregard for expense and with that keen sense of the artistic30 which had given him pre-eminence as a producer of light musical entertainment.
Written by one of America’s most flamboyant31 playwrights it told a turgid story of Oriental passion and treachery set against a spectacular background depicting32 scenes in ancient India. As sheer spectacle it quite transcended33 anything hitherto attempted in the United States. It presented a series of settings which were so flaming in their color, so permeated34 with the mystery of the East and so splendid in their suggestion of great size and vast distances that each new revelation was invariably greeted with gasps35 of amazement36 from the audience. A cast bristling37 with distinguished38 names gave verisimilitude to the somewhat bombastic39 dialogue and purely40 incidental members of the company included a troupe41 of fifty real nautch-girls, six elephants, five camels and a flock of sheep.
“The Ganges Princess” was not merely the talk of New York. It was literally42 the talk of the country and its forthcoming tour promised to be one of the most important in the history of the American theatre. It was booked for extended engagements in only a few of the larger cities, there being a comparatively limited number of places containing playhouses with stages large enough to accommodate the production and possessing auditoriums43 of sufficient size to insure financial success.
Bartlett had mapped out a plan of exploitation which was quite the most comprehensive ever undertaken in the annals of press agentry. No less than half a dozen advance couriers—the pick of the country—were to devote their energies to the advertising44 and newspaper campaign alone, while the purely business details were to be intrusted to trained experts who were to have no other duties. This would leave the purveyors of publicity free and untrammeled in their assaults upon the press and a defenseless public.
Jimmy Martin was to be generalissimo, commander-in-chief and field marshal of the combined forces and was to be entrusted45 with delegated powers such as had never before been given to anyone holding a similar position. Matthews had understated the case when he referred to the place as the prize job of the season. It wasn’t even comparable. Nothing like it had ever been known for opportunity and power, since the modern variety of press agent came into being. Jimmy realized that himself after Bartlett had finished outlining the scope of the proposed campaign.
“Go to it, my boy,” the manager said at the completion of an hour’s talk, “and remember that the azure46 dome47 of heaven is the limit and that in the bright lexicon48 of showmanship there are no such words as ‘it can’t be done.’ Do I make myself clear?”
“Absolutely,” replied Jimmy cheerfully. “I’m to sit with my feet in a mustard bath and I’m to play my cards without regard to the feelin’s, digestions49, general state of temperature or politics of anyone else in the game. I’m to see all raises and tilt50 it one for luck whenever I think the time is ripe for a killin’. Have I got the right combination?”
Bartlett laughed heartily51 at the flavory idioms which flowed so freely from Jimmy’s lips.
“Thou hast, most potent52, grave and reverend signor,” he replied, bowing low in exaggerated mock courtesy. “By the way,” he continued, getting back to business again, “there’s another thing I completely forgot. I’ve engaged a literary chap for a special stunt53, and I want you to figure out some way of getting it across so that it seems on the level.
“The general idea is to have this fellow deliver a series of lectures on India about three weeks ahead of the play date. It’ll be a camouflaged54 boost for the show. Every once in a while he’ll make some casual remark about the play which he understands is shortly to be seen in this city, et cetera, but there won’t be enough of this stuff for anyone to consider it as being at all out of the way.
“This gentleman will be under your direct and special control. It will be up to you to arrange to have lectures given in every city under the auspices55 of some literary society or social welfare group or under the patronage56 of the Daughters of the American Revolution—any kind of a crowd that’ll give the stunt prestige and distinction. I’ve written Mr. Denby to meet you at the theatre this evening.”
“Denby, eh? It can’t possibly be little old J. Herbert Denby, the highbrow kid, can it?”
“That’s the name. Know him?”
A grin of delight spread over Jimmy’s features.
“Fairly well,” he chuckled57. “He tipped me off to a grand idea over in Baltimore a year or so ago. Old George B. Bookworm, eh? If he’s still doin’ his regular act I’ve got a lot of laughs comin’ to me on this trip. Say, you don’t know how good that bird’ll be for a stunt of this kind. When it comes to the uplift stuff and the literary bunk58 he’s there in seven separate and distinct languages. And innocent! Say, he could make a two year old baby look like an old offender59 with a Sing Sing past. They’ll fall for him on sight.”
The guileless Mr. Denby greeted Jimmy in the lobby of the Hendrik Hudson that night in his best professorial manner and smiled benignantly through his tortoise shell glasses.
“You will, I think, concede, Mr. Martin,” said he, proffering60 a rather limp hand, “that we give the lie direct to Mr. Kipling.”
“Eh? What’s that?” mumbled61 the other. “I don’t get you.”
Mr. Denby smiled condescendingly and replied in a tone of voice that Jimmy felt to be a bit too irritatingly suave62.
“Mr. Kipling—the poet—you know. He says, ‘East is East and West is West, and never the twain shall meet.’ Well, we are meeting on a common ground in a common cause and we are—may I venture to suggest—decidedly alien to each other in our thoughts and sympathies, are we not?”
Jimmy eyed him suspiciously before replying.
“Listen, old dear,” he said evenly, “I can never quite figure whether you’re kiddin’ me or not and I’m going to be too busy from now on to ask for diagrams. If we’re goin’ to get together you’ve got to get out the little old parachute and jump off into space. In plain English you’ve got to dive down to earth and keep both feet on the pavement. Save the flossy stuff for your lectures. Are you on?”
“Of course, of course,” stammered63 Mr. Denby. “I meant no offense64. I have an unfortunate habit of making poetic65 allusions66. I shall correct it. Believe me, my dear Mr. Martin, I shall correct it. I have much to say to you. Where shall we have a little—a little,—shall I say pow-wow—to talk over the—the ah—dope?”
“That’s the idea,” replied Jimmy, slapping the other on the back and laughing heartily. “That’s regular language. Let’s go back to the stage manager’s office and work out a plan of attack.”
The press agent led the way through a passage which ran behind the boxes to the stage and they presently found themselves dodging67 the canvas walls of a great Indian temple which were being deftly68 swung into position by a small army of stage hands and picking their steps cautiously through a cluttered69 array of papier-mache Buddhas70, canopied71 thrones and other properties. Once closeted in the little office in a far corner they began a consultation72 which lasted for more than an hour.
It was agreed that Jimmy was to travel sufficiently73 far enough ahead of J. Herbert Denby to arrange for and advertise his lectures and the press agent took pains to carefully instruct the latter as to the best methods of keeping his connection with “The Ganges Princess” company a remote and cherished secret. The subjects chosen by the lecturer were, to say the least, not calculated to arouse any suspicion. Jimmy sat entranced as J. Herbert read them off from a typewritten slip he took from his card-case.
“I shall talk first,” he said, “upon ‘The Rig-Veda—A Primitive74 Folk Song Embodying75 the Soul of an Ancient People.’ I shall follow that with a discourse76 on ‘Brahma, Vishnu and Siva—The Triple Manifestation77 of the Hindu God’ and for my third and final lecture I have chosen perhaps a more popular theme—‘Mogul versus78 Mahratta—A Study in Dynastic Conflicts.’ Do you think that program will fill the bill?”
Jimmy was plainly a little bit groggy79 and he found it difficult to articulate for a moment or two.
“Say, old scout,” he finally managed to remark. “I’m almost down for the count. You talk like an encyclopedia80. You’ll have ’em all pop-eyed when you pull that stuff. The harder it is to understand the harder they’ll fall. You’re there, George B. Bookworm, you’re there. I can see ’em passin’ flowers over the footlights already.”
J. Herbert, appreciating the sincerity81 of Jimmy’s enthusiastic approval, blushed a little and tried to appear at ease, but it was a difficult task. The two strolled out on the darkened stage and stood in the wings watching the unfolding of the final scene of the second act in which the Maharajah of Rumpore returned unexpectedly, with his followers82, from a tiger-hunting expedition to find his favorite wife in the arms of the villainous Begum of Baroda.
They found themselves suddenly wedged in the center of a crowd of male supernumeraries who had come clattering83 down the stairs leading from the dressing84 rooms, accoutered in ancient armour85 and ready for participation86 in the stirring episode which was to bring the act to a close. Most of these “extra people,” that being their classification in the world of the theatre, were the usual assortment87 of shiftless idlers who eke88 out a precarious89 existence by doing such odd jobs on the stage and whose Oriental aspect was purely a matter of simulation. There were, however, a number of genuine East Indians among them, random90 visitors from an alien clime picked up here and there and utilized91 to give an added air of verisimilitude to the ensemble92 scenes.
One of these latter, a handsome chap under thirty, whose skin was the color of strong coffee diluted93 with rich cream and whose features had the classic regularity94 of a Grecian sculptured head, brushed against Jimmy’s elbow and apologized profusely95.
“I am very much sorry if I have caused myself to discommode96 you,” he murmured, smiling pleasantly and revealing a row of teeth of dazzling whiteness.
“That’s all right,” replied Jimmy, looking at him in surprise. “You’re a regular, I see. You don’t belong to the volunteers.”
“No, sahib, I am from the East. I am long distance from home-land of my fathers, if that is what you mean.”
Jimmy looked at him with new interest. He had an air about him, an indefinable air of distinction that attracted the attention of even the aesthetic97 J. Herbert Denby, who edged closer and entered the conversation.
“Your English is excellent,” he remarked. “You have perhaps studied in one of our universities?”
“No, sahib, not here—in Oxford98. I have been in this country but a few months. Life has been a difficult problem here in this great democracy, but I am a fatalist, sahib, and I do not make myself uneasiness as to the future. It is useless for it is written already on the scrolls99 of time.”
The next instant he swept forward on to the stage with the others in response to a signal from the stage manager who was peering through a small hole in the scenery.
“My word,” said the astonished Mr. Denby. “Fancy a chap like that being content to figure as one of the mob. He has the grand manner of an Indian prince.”
Jimmy looked up at him quickly.
“It’s moved and seconded that we make him one,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“All in favor of the motion signify their assent100 by saying ‘Aye.’ Aye! Contrary—no. The ayes have it and the motion is carried. What’ll we call him?”
“I must confess that I don’t grasp the significance of what you mean,” said the puzzled Mr. Denby.
“You will,” returned Jimmy as he led the way out to the front of the house again. “I’m goin’ to give you a little playmate on this trip if I can get Bartlett to go along. Local color stuff. You’ve slipped me another grand little idea, old man. It’s a bear.”
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1
dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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impulsively
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| adv.冲动地 | |
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3
crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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4
bantering
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| adj.嘲弄的v.开玩笑，说笑，逗乐( banter的现在分词 )；（善意地）取笑，逗弄 | |
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5
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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6
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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7
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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8
publicity
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| n.众所周知，闻名；宣传，广告 | |
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9
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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11
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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12
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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13
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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14
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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15
gee
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| n.马；int.向右！前进！，惊讶时所发声音；v.向右转 | |
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16
scurrying
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| v.急匆匆地走( scurry的现在分词 ) | |
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throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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18
elation
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| n.兴高采烈，洋洋得意 | |
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19
merged
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| （使）混合( merge的过去式和过去分词 )； 相融； 融入； 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
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derisively
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| adv. 嘲笑地，嘲弄地 | |
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sarcastically
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| adv.挖苦地，讽刺地 | |
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playwrights
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| n.剧作家( playwright的名词复数 ) | |
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royalties
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| 特许权使用费 | |
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coupons
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| n.礼券( coupon的名词复数 )；优惠券；订货单；参赛表 | |
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25
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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pensively
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| adv.沉思地，焦虑地 | |
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technically
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| adv.专门地，技术上地 | |
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lavish
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| adj.无节制的；浪费的；vt.慷慨地给予，挥霍 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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flamboyant
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| adj.火焰般的，华丽的，炫耀的 | |
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depicting
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| 描绘，描画( depict的现在分词 )； 描述 | |
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transcended
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| 超出或超越（经验、信念、描写能力等）的范围( transcend的过去式和过去分词 )； 优于或胜过… | |
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permeated
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| 弥漫( permeate的过去式和过去分词 )； 遍布； 渗入； 渗透 | |
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35
gasps
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| v.喘气( gasp的第三人称单数 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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bombastic
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| adj.夸夸其谈的，言过其实的 | |
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purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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troupe
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| n.剧团，戏班；杂技团；马戏团 | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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auditoriums
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| n.观众席( auditorium的名词复数 )；听众席；礼堂；会堂 | |
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44
advertising
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| n.广告业；广告活动 a.广告的；广告业务的 | |
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45
entrusted
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| v.委托，托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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46
azure
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| adj.天蓝色的，蔚蓝色的 | |
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47
dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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48
lexicon
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| n.字典，专门词汇 | |
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49
digestions
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| n.消化能力( digestion的名词复数 )；消化，领悟 | |
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50
tilt
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| v.(使)倾侧；(使)倾斜；n.倾侧；倾斜 | |
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51
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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52
potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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53
stunt
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| n.惊人表演，绝技，特技；vt.阻碍...发育，妨碍...生长 | |
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54
camouflaged
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| v.隐蔽( camouflage的过去式和过去分词 )；掩盖；伪装，掩饰 | |
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55
auspices
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| n.资助，赞助 | |
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56
patronage
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| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
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57
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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58
bunk
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| n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位；废话 | |
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59
offender
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| n.冒犯者，违反者，犯罪者 | |
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60
proffering
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的现在分词 ) | |
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61
mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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62
suave
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| adj.温和的；柔和的；文雅的 | |
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63
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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64
offense
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| n.犯规，违法行为；冒犯，得罪 | |
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poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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allusions
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| 暗指，间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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dodging
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| n.避开，闪过，音调改变v.闪躲( dodge的现在分词 )；回避 | |
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deftly
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| adv.灵巧地，熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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cluttered
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| v.杂物，零乱的东西零乱vt.( clutter的过去式和过去分词 )；乱糟糟地堆满，把…弄得很乱；（以…） 塞满… | |
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Buddhas
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| n.佛，佛陀，佛像( Buddha的名词复数 ) | |
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canopied
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| adj. 遮有天篷的 | |
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consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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embodying
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| v.表现( embody的现在分词 )；象征；包括；包含 | |
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discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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manifestation
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| n.表现形式；表明；现象 | |
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versus
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| prep.以…为对手，对；与…相比之下 | |
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groggy
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| adj.体弱的；不稳的 | |
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encyclopedia
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| n.百科全书 | |
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sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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clattering
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的现在分词形式） | |
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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armour
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| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
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participation
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| n.参与，参加，分享 | |
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assortment
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| n.分类，各色俱备之物，聚集 | |
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eke
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| v.勉强度日，节约使用 | |
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precarious
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| adj.不安定的，靠不住的；根据不足的 | |
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random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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utilized
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| v.利用，使用( utilize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ensemble
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| n.合奏(唱)组；全套服装；整体，总效果 | |
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diluted
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| 无力的，冲淡的 | |
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regularity
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| n.规律性，规则性；匀称，整齐 | |
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profusely
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| ad.abundantly | |
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discommode
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| v.使失态，使为难 | |
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aesthetic
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| adj.美学的，审美的，有美感 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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scrolls
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| n.（常用于录写正式文件的）纸卷( scroll的名词复数 )；卷轴；涡卷形（装饰）；卷形花纹v.（电脑屏幕上）从上到下移动（资料等），卷页( scroll的第三人称单数 )；（似卷轴般）卷起；（像展开卷轴般地）将文字显示于屏幕 | |
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assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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