Galveston Tribune. (Galveston, Tex.), Vol. 33, No. 31, Ed. 1 Wednesday, January 1, 1913 Page: 4 of 10
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CHAPTER XVII.
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THE NEW YEAR.
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“Down With the Devil!”
CHAPTER XVI.
mister any more’n I’m a miss!
QUITE TRUE.
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A
While 1912 is now in the discard, we
still hold it in pleasant recollection.
The Mountebank and the Hunchbac
Up the Mount with shambling ste
head down-bent and the same stun
expression on his face, the mourE
bank went docilely, though not silft
ly. To one of the soldiers at his s
he spoke often, voicing that dull ft
Wouldn't it take a lot of nerve to
ask for a prettier day than this for
the first of the year?
You
pert
PER WEEK.
PER YEAR,
standing near, who unmnuzul or te.
girl, divided their attention between,
the pasteboard center of interest and
We rejoice that the world isn’t as
bad as some folks try to make us be-
lieve.
If it were not for the fear that some
citizen would feel tempted to swing a
club, we’d say something about getting
started on this year’s Christmas shop-
ping in time.
er
no
No one could have believed so much
noise was possible until 12 o’clock came
last night.
---tOc
$5.00
“The
him?”
“Knew
MEMBER OF ASSOCIATED PRESS
THE TRIBUNE receives the full day tele-
graph report of that great news organiza-
tion for exclusive afternoon publication in
Galveston.
Any erroneous reflections upon the stand-
ing, character or reputation of any person,
firm or corporation, which may appear in
the columns of The Tribune, will be gladly
corrected upon its being brought to th#
attention of the management
Published Every Week Day Afternoon at
Th# Tribune Building, 22d and Post-
office Sts., Galveston, Texas.
SHoWNG How >
T COBB, "Buck:'
HERZOG AMD
T= ResT OF
"TUEM LEARNED
Eastern Representative
OAVES J. RANDALL
2108 Brunswick Bldg.
Haw York City
THEIR TRADE —
A controversy is on as to whether the best ball players hail from large cities or small country places.
The cartoonist evidently sides with those who argue for tha country.
Entered at the Postoffice in~Galveston as
Second-Class Mail Matter.
TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTIOIN
Delivered by carrier or by mail, postage
prepaid:
West’n Regresentafives
FULLER & HENRIQUE
122 So. Michigan Bl’vd
Chicago
humming—
“For if any note
Escapes a frog’s throat
Beawre my lord’s ire!”
moxw
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"Yes; that’s the one.
Not bad!’
aK4
Ip-
now,
cook i
quit.’
I
9 S
is gwine call you mister! You ain’t
When the styles in men's hats get as
bad as possible they may begin to
improve.
2
’or instance?” “It won’t keep a
who has made up her mind to
—Detroit Free Press.
PARROT IN THE CASE.
Utica Observer.
The Denver police are depending on.
a parrot, the sole witness of a double
tragedy, to throw some light on the
circumstances and give them a clue as
to whether it was a double suicide or
a murder and suicide. But the court
that will take the testimony of a par-
rot in a case of this nature must be
curiously constituted. Would the wit-
ness stand a cross-examination?
"Moey won’t do everything.” What
htlis IHIAG OF (HE
<TAEs COMAS FRoM
“ME. RVBETOWXS
SODADS REASOAABLE
'To oS—•
SHAME ON YE.
Denison Herald. Gaby Deslys is flut-
tering around in New York and her
scant raiment worries the paragraph-
er of the Corpus Christi Caller—prob-
ably because Gaby is so far away.
If your health is good you can’t
■ maintain a grouch steadily.
A snob is the guy who devotes a lot
of time to showing the superiority
that he doesn’t possess.
“Do you think they’ll put me in a
dungeon?”
“Dungeon, indeed!” the man an-
swered not ill-naturedly. “For such as
you! . No, no! They’ll .keep the
oubliettes, calottes, and all the dark
holes for people of consequence—trait-
ors, or your fine gentry consigned by
lettres de cachet.”
“Then what do you, think they will.
him! Who better?” The
whitened head wagged. “And the Black
Seigneur? Wasn’t he left, as a child,
with me, when the old Seigneur went
to America? And,” pursing her thin
lips, “didn’t I care for him, and bring
him up as one of my own?”
“But I thought—I heard that he, the
Black Seigneur, when a boy, lived in
the woods.”
“That,” answered the old creature,
"was after. After the years he lived
with us and shared our all! Not that
we begrudged—no, no! Nor he! For
once when I sent word, pleading our
The Mountebank and the People.
In the center walked a man, dressed
as a mountebank, who bent forward,
laden with various properties—a bag
that contained a miscellany of spuri-
ous medicines and drugs, to be sold
from a stand, and various dolls for a;
small puppet theater he carried on his
back. It was not for the Governor’s
daughter, or the old woman, however,
his call had been intended. "Way
there!” he repeated to those in front
of him.
But they, yet seeking to detain,
called out: “Give the piece here!”
Like a person not lightly turned
from his purpose, he, strolling-player,
as well as charlatan, pointed to the
Mount, and, unceremoniously thrust-
ing one person to this side and anoth-
er to that, stubbornly pushed on. As
long as they were in sight the girl
watched, but when with shouts and
laughter they had vanished, swal-
lowed by the shifting host. once more
old Seigneur? You knew
GREATER TEXAS!
San Antonio Express.
Forty-one sets of twins were born
in Texas in November last, and the
birth rate for the state was nearly
four times the death rate. Of the
decedents three score had passed the
age of 90 and several had passed the
century mark. Do you understand now
why Texas is growing so fast?
The country’s New Year present
from Uncle Sam is the parcels post.
V hat the country will do with it 're-
mains to be seen.
Cut Thfs Story Out and Keep It. You’ll Want to Rea It Later it Not Now,
mountebank pleaded: “My poor dolls!
My poor theater!” Unceremoniously
they tumbled it and him over; a few,
who had seen nothing out of the or-
dinary in the little play took his part;
words were exchanged for blows, with
many fighting for the sake of fighting,
when into the center of this, the real
stage, appeared soldiers.
“What does it mean?” Impressive
in gold adornment and conscious au-
thority, the commandant himself came
down the steps. “Who dares make riot
on a day consecrated to the holy
relics? But you shall pay!” as the
soldiers separated the belligerents.
“Take those men into custody and—
who is this fellow?” turning to the
mountebank, a mournful figure above
the wreckage of his theater and poor
puppets scattered, haphazard, like vic-
tims of some untoward disaster.
“It was his play that started the
trouble,” said one of tl p officers.
“Diable!” the commandant frowned.
“What have you to say for yourself?”
“I,” began the mountebank, "I—” he
repeated, when courage and words
, alike seemed to fail him.
The commandant made a gesture.
“Up with him! To the top of the
Mount!”
“No, no!” At once the fellow’s
voice came back to him. “Don’t take
me there, into the terrible Mount!
' Don’t lock me up!”
“Don’t lock him up!” repeated some
one in the crowd, moved apparently
' by the sight of his distress. “It wasn’t
his fault!”
“No; it wasn’t his fault!” said oth-
ers.
“Eh?” Wheeling sharply, the com-
mandant gazed; at the lowering faces .
that dared question his authority;
then at his own soldiers. On the
beach he might not have felt so se-
ture, but here, where twenty, well-
armed, could defend a pass and a
mob batter their heads in vain against
He Couldn’t Dazzle Her.
The young man of the house, says
the New York Press, really was mak-
ing good in a way that delighted his
parents and brought him much flat-
tery from friends and neighbors but old
mammy, the family servant, remained
unimpressed.
One day, when he had done a par-
ticularly brilliant piece of surgical
work and delivered an especially pro-
found address before a great conven-
tion, he said to mammy:
“I am not a baby any longer, and I
think you ought to call me Mr. Charles
hereafter.” The old darky snorted her
indignation.
“Who—me?” she asked. “I ain’t nev-
An t assistant may not do all the
work, only think so.
a-cuttin’ out folkses’ inside ef I hadn’t
a-kep’ ’em limber wid smackin’, an’
you' couldn’t hear de patient’s heart
a-beatin' ef it wasn’t for me forever
washin’ yo’ ears so clean! You ain’t
nothin’ but a measly little boy to you’
ole mammy!”
EoSH! |
THAT 6OL-
DEDKED FOOl
Ej ute.!‘
60S4 — HOW
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s MAW’S
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ANOTHER DANCE.
'Beeville News.
Andre de Fanquires, the Paris "dan-
dy,” has been urged to come to the
United States to give a series of talks.
•These lectures will be illustrated by
Gervaid-Sou'rtellemont by colored lan-
tern slides. The former gentleman will
also introduce a new dance called the
“Maxixe” which will perhaps be the
latest craze in new dances. This may
be the death of the “Grizzly Bear,” but
it will hardly touch the “Turkey
Trot.”
was neld ny a spectacle not witnvu
novelty to her.
In the shadow of the Tower of the
King stood the mountebank she had
seen but a short time before on the
sands. Now facing the people before
his little show-house, which he had
set up in a convenient corner, he was
calling attention to the entertainment
he proposed giving, by a loud beating
on a drum.
Rub-a-dub-dub! “Don’t crowd too
close!” Rub-a-dub-dub! “Keep order
and you will see—”
“Some trumpery miracle mystery!”
called out a jeering voice.
“Or the martyrdom of some saint!”
cried another.
“I don’t know anything about any
saint,” answered the man, “unless,”—
rub-a-dub-dub!—“you mean my lord’s
lady!”
And truly the piece, as they were to
discover, was quite barren of that
antique religious flavor to which they'
objected and which still pervaded
many of the puppet plays of the day.
The Petit Masque of the Wicked Peas-j
ant and the Good Noble, it was called;!
and odd designation that at.once inter-
ested the Lady Elise, bending over the.
stone balustrade the better to see. Itj
interested, also, those official guardi-i
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ans of the peace, a number of soldiers.
and a few officers from the garrison walls, he could well afford. a confident
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PLAY LIFE’S GAME.
Selected.
Of all the games the game of life is
the greatest, and you may depend up-
on it that the score is well kept and
the records are accurate. This re-
minds me of the excellent' advice given
by Rev. Dr. Reisner of New York—
the great baseball enthusiast—“Keep
your moral training as well as your
physical training, and play the game
of life with the same thought of do-
ing your best; and no matter what
the score will be at the end, the Great
Umpire will pronounce you safe.”
OUR COUNTIES.
San Antonio Express.
• Tmsd
The Corpus Christi Caller remarks
that Texas has so many counties it is
hard to keep track of all of them,
which is a fact. Not one Texan in a
dozen, perhaps, can tell offhand how
many counties Texas has. New coun-
ties have gradually been created, the
number standing for a while at 245;
then the last legislature created
Brooks, Jim Wells, Willacy and Cul-
berson, and only one is now lacking
to make an even 250, with several so
large they probably will be cut up into
new counties later on.
Some, following the example of their
sea-faring fellows, dug half-heartedly
in the sands in the hope of eking out
the meager evening meal with a
course, salt-flavored; others, abandon-
ing themselves to lighter employment,
made merry in heavy or riotous fash-
ion, but the effect of these holiday
efforts was only depressing and in-
congruous.
“Won’t you join?” Some one’s arm
abruptly seized my lady.
“No, no!”
Unceremoniously he still would have
drawn her into the ring, but with a
sudden swift movement, she escaped
from his grasp.
“My child!” The voice was that of
a wolfish false friar who, seeing her
pass quickly near by, broke off in
threat, solicitation and appeal for sous,
to intercept her. “Aren’t you in a hur-
ry, my child?”
“It may be,” she answered steadily,
with no effort to conceal her aversion
at sight of the gleaming eyes and
teeth. “Too much so, to speak with
you, who are no friar!”
“What mean you ?” His expression,
ingratiating before, had darkened, and
from his mean eyes shot a malignant
look; she met it with fearless dis-
dain.
“That you make pretext of this
holy day to rob the people—as if
they are not poor enough!”
“Ban you with bell, book and can-
dle! Your tongue is too sharp, my
girl!” he snarled, but did not linger
long, finding the flashing glance, the
contemptuous mien, or the truth of
her words, little to his liking. That
he profited not by the last, however,
was soon evident, as with amulets and
talismans for a bargain, again he
moved among the crowd, conjuring by
a full calendar of saints, real and
imaginary, and professing to excom-
municate, in an execrable confusion
of monkish gibberish, where the peo-
ple could not, or would not comply
with his demands.
“So they are—poor enough!” Lean-
ing on a stick, an aged fishwife who
had drawn near and overheard part of
the dialogue between the thrifty rogue
and the girl, now shook her withered
head. “Yet still to be cozened! Never
too poor to be cozened!” she repeated
in shrill falsetto tones.
“And why,” sharply my lady turned
to the crone, “why are they so poor?
The lands are rich—the soil fertile.”
“Why?” more shrilly. “You must
come from some far-off place not to
know. Why? Don’t you, also, have
to pay metayage to some great lord?
And banalite here, and banalite there,
until—”
“But surely, if you applied to your
great lord, your Governor; if you toid
him—”
“If we told him!” Brokenly the
woman laughed. “Yes; yes; of course;
if—”
“I don’t understand,” said the Gov-
ernor’s daughter coldly.
Muttering and chuckling, the wom-
an did not seem to hear; had started
to hobble on, when abruptly the girl
stopped her. 1 •
“Wait, and find out!” returned the
soldier roughly, and the mountebank
spoke no more for some time; held
his head lower, until, regarding him,
his guardian must needs laugh.
“Here’s a craven-hearted fellow!)
Well, if you really want to know,
they’ll probably lock you up for the
night with the rest of rag-tag,” indi-
cating the other prisoners, a short
distance ahead, “in the cellar, or al-
monry, or auberge des voleurs; and in.
the morning, if you’re lucky and the
Governor has time to attend to such
as you, it may be you’ll escape with a
few stripes and a warning.”
“The auberge des voleurs!—the
p//(
prehension he had manifested W
first ordered into custody. /
need, that we were starving, he for-
gave—I mean, remembered me—all I
had done and,” in a wheedling voice,
“sent money—money—”
“He did?” Swiftly the girl reached
for her own purse, only to discover
she had forgotten to bring one. “But
of course,” in a tone of disappoint-
ment at her oversight, “he couldn’t
very well forget or desert one who
had so generously befriended him.”
“There are those now among his
friends he must needs desert,” the
crone cackled, wagging her head.
A shadow crossed the girl’s brow.
“Must needs?” she repeated.
“Aye, forsooth! His comrades—ta-
ken prisoners near the island of
Casque? His Excellency will hang
them till they’re dead—dead, like
some I’ve seen dangling from the
branches in the wood. He, the Black
Seigneur, may wish to save them; but
what can he do?”
“What, indeed?” The girl regarded
the Mount almost bitterly. “It is im-
pregnable.”
“Way there!” At that moment, a
deep, strong voice from a little group
of people, moving toward them, inter-
rupted.
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ILLUSTRATIONS BY R4Y UAAT=RS
COPYRIGHT 190s BY THE SOBB3-MERRILLC9,
1913 looks all right; we’ll let it
stay.
GALVESTON TRIBONE
(Established 1880.)
She turned to the crone. That per-
son, however, had walked on toward
the shore, and indecisively the Gov-
ernor’s daughter gazed after. The
woman’s name she had not inquired,
but could find out later; that would
not be difficult, she felt sure.
Soon, with no definite thought of
where she was going, she began to re-
trace her steps, no longer experienc-
ing that earlier over-sensitive percep-
tion for details, but seeing the picture
as a whole—a vague impression of
faces; in the backgrdund, the Mount—
its golden saint ever threatening to
strike!—until she drew closer; when
abruptly the uplifted blade, a domi-
nant note, above color and movement,
vanished, and she looked about, to
find herself in the shadow of one of
the rock’s bulwarks. Near by, a scat-
tering approach of pilgrims from the
sands narrowed into a compact stream
directed toward a lower gate, and, re-
membering her experience above, she
would have avoided the general cur-
rent; but no choice remained. At the
portals she was jostled sharply; no
respecters'of persons, these men made
her once more feel what it was to be
one of the great commonalty; an atom,
in the rank and file! At length reach-
ing the tower’s little square, many of
them stopped, and she was suffered to
escape—to the stone steps swinging
sharply upward. She had not gone
far, however, when looking down, she
mamsmsnanmamnazamamammanaamnezga
"where do you live?”
“There!” A claw-like finger point-
ed. “On the old Seigneur’s lands—a
little distance from the woods—”
A ITS Eoo0-
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front. "Up with you!” he cred ster
ly and gave the mountebank a co
bemptuous thrust.
For the first time the man’s apatl
the people gathered around it.
Circumspectly • the . little
tell to his side, while an expressiem
apologetically abject, as if to atone f
that momentary fierce impulse, over
spread his dull visage. “Oh, I’ll go,’!
lie said in accents servile. And prq
seeded hurriedly to gather up the r$
mains of his theater and dolls. "I
willing to go.” I
There is a sort of beckoning forward
in the begining of a new year, an in-
vitation. to turn away from the long
association with that which has not
fulfiled expectations and turn to
whatever lends a hope of something
better. While in reality the new years
is nothing more than the tearing from
the calander of another day, we are
the happier for deluding ourselves into
the belief that we have now put behind
us the trials and disappointments, the
failures and follies of another twelve-
month and have set out with a clean
slate to make a better record in the year
ahead. It is a harmless conciet, this be-
lief in the turning of a new leaf and to
paraphase a familiar quotat on: it is
better to have resolved and failed than
to have not resolved at all.
Whether it be the fact or not/ we
turn from the old year with the im-
pression that in so doing we leave be-
hind us many things we would not
care to carry in mind because we de-
sire to make our efforts stand for
larger results than in the year just
closed; if the last hours of the dying
year have given us moments for re-
flection and introspection we have con-
fessed to ourselves that we are not
such big men and women as we have
tried to make the world believe we
were, that failure has marked too
many of our enterprises because we
have not thrown into it the personality
that counts.for success: the association
is unpleasant and we would part com-
pany with a companion that has not
been all that we had hoped he would
be.
But with the new year ahead, what
may we not accomplish, there is hope
and inspiration in the very thought
of a fresh start. Let’s join sentiment,
with the poet Tennyson:
Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying clouds, the frosty light;
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.
Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow;
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.
Ring out the grief that saps the mind’.
For those that here we see no more;
Ring out the feud of rich and poor;
Ring in redress to all mankind.
Ring out a slowly dying cause,
And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.
Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out, my mournful
Rhymes,
But ring the fuller minstrel in.
Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right;
Ring in the common love of good.
Ring out old shapes of foul disease.
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.
Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that'is to be.
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(9ALVFSTON "BIBUNE: WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 1. 1913.
Lhe MOU, g)
By FREDERIC S ISNAM
A FAo¥
* VILLE
JI seemed to desert him; his arm sh
, Piay! back like lightning, but almost at onc
opened; a scene in Which my lord, in
a waistcoat somewhat frayed for one
of his station, commands the lazy peas
•GMeamM
CrY • a:
BoY
thieves’ inn!” said the man. “What '
is that?” ।
“Bah! You want to know too much! |
If now your legs only moved as fast I
as your tongue—” And the speaker i
completed the sentence with a sig- '
nificant jog on the other’s shoulders.
Whereupon the mountebank quick-
ened his footsteps, once more ceased )
his questioning. It was the soldier
who had not yet spoken, but who had
been pondering a good deal on the j
way up, who next broke the silence.
“How did it end, Monsieur Mounte-
bank?—the scene with the devil, I
mean.”
The man who had begun to breathe
hard, as one not accustomed to climb-
ing, or wearied by a long pilgrimage
to the Mount, at the question ven- .
tured to stop and rest, with a hand on
the granite balustrade of the little
platform they had just reached. “In
the death of the peasant, and a comic j
chorus of frogs,” he answered. )
“A comic chorus!” said the soldier, i
“That must be very amusing.” I
“It is,” the mountebank said, at the
same time studying, from where he |
stood, different parts of the Mount
with cautious, sidelong looks; “but my ’
poor frogs!—all torn! trampled!”
“Well, well!” said the other not un-
kindly. “You can mend them when
you get out.”
“ ‘When! ‘ If I only knew when that
would be! What if I should have to
stay here like some of the others?— |
pour etre oublie!—to be forgotten?” )
“If you don’t get on faster,” said
the soldier who had first spoken, “you )
won’t be buried alive for some time
to come, at least!”
“Pardon!” muttered the mounte-
bank. “The hill—it is very steep.”
“You look strong enough to climb a
dozen hills, and if you’re holding back
for a chance to escape—”
"No, no!” protested the man. “I had
no thought—do I not know that if I
tried, your sword—”
“Quite right. I’d—”
“There, there!” said the other sol-
dier, a big, good-natured appearing fel-
low. “He’s harmless enough, and,” as
once more they moved on, “that tune
of yours, Monsieur Mountebank,” ab-
ruptly; “it runs in my head. Let me
see—how does it go? The second ,
verse, I mean—” J
"Beat! beat! I
Mid marsh-muck and mire, I
For if any note I
Escapes a frog’s throat, I
Beware my lord’s ire!” 1
"Are the verses your own?” I
“Oh, no! I’m only a poor play* 2
said the mountebank humbly. “ I
an honest one,” he added afte: |
pause, “and this thieves’ inn, J |
sieur?” returning to the subject of 1
possible fate, “this auberge des |
leurs—that sounds like a bad F
for an honest lodging.” i
“It was once under the old monks,,
who were very merry fellows; but
since the Governor had it restored, it
has becomp a sober and quiet place.
It is true there are iron bars instead
of blinds, and you can’t come and go,
as they used to, but—”
"Is that it—up there?” And the
mountebank pointed toward a ledge of
rock, with strong flanking buttresses,
outjutting beneath a mysterious-look-
ing wall and poised over a sparsely-
wooded bit of the lower Mount. “The
gray stone vuilding you can just see
above the ramparts, and that opening
in the cliff to the /right, with some-
thing running down—that looks like
planking—
( (To Be Continued?
ant to beat the marsh with a stick
that the croaking of the frogs may not),
disturb at night the rest of his noble
spouse, seemed designed principally
to show that obedience, submission!
and unquestioning fealty were the
great lord’s due. On the one hand,
was the patrician born to rule; on the
other, the peasant, to serve; and no \
task, however onerous, but should be y
gladly welcomed in behalf of the mas-' j
ter, or his equally illustrious lady. The
dialogue, showing the disinclination of.
the bad peasant for this simple em-
ployment and the good lord’s noble so-
licitude for the nerves of his high-
born spouse, was both nimble and wit-
tyr especially those bits punctuated
by a cane, and the sentiment: "Thus
all bad peasants deserve to fare!” and.
culminating in an excellent climax to
the lesson—a tattoo on the peasant’s;
head that sent him simultaneously,)
and felicitously, down with the cur-)
tain. -
“What think you of it?” At my
lady’s elbow one of the officers turned
to a companion.
“Amusing, but—” And his glance
turned dubiously toward the people.
Certainly they did not now show prop-)
er appreciation either for the literary;
merits of the little piece or the pre-
cepts it promulgated in fairly sound-
ing verse.
“The mountebank!” From the crowd
a number of discontented voices rose.
“Come out, Monsieur Mountebank!”
“Yes, Monsieur Mountebank, come
out; come out!”
With fast-beating heart the Lady
Elise gazed; as in a dream had she,
listened—not to the lines of the pup- |
pet play;, but to a voice—strangely fa-
miliar, yet different—ironical; scoff-
ing; laughing! She drew her breath
quickly; once more studied the head,
in its white, close-fitting clown’s cov-
ering; the heavy, painted face, with
red, gaping mouth. Then, the next
moment, as he bowed himself back—
apparently unmindful of a missile
some one threw and which struck his
little theater—the half-closed, dull
eyes met hers; passed, without sign
or expression!—and she gave a nerv-
ous little laugh. What a fancy!
“Act second!” the tinkling of a bell
prefaced the announcement, and once
more was the curtain drawn, this
time revealing a marsh and the bad
peasant at work, reluctantly beating
the water to the Song of the Stick.
“Beat! beat! ;
At his lordship’s command;
For if there’s a croak,
For you’ll be the stroke.
From no gentle hand.”
A merry little tune, it threaded the
act; it was soon interrupted, however,
during a scene where a comical-look-
ing devil on a broomstick, useful both
for transportation and persuasion,
came for something which he called
the peasant’s soul. Again the bad
peasant protested; would cheat even
the devil of his due, but his satanic
Majesty would not be set aside.
“You may rob your master,” he said,
in effect; “defraud him of banalite,
bardage and those other few taxes
necessary to his dignity and position;
but you can’t defraud Me!” Where-
upon he proceeded to wrest what he
wanted from the bad peasant by force
—and the aid of the broomstick!—ac-
companying the rat-a-tat with a well-
rhymed homily on what would certain-
ly happen to every peasant who
sought co deprive his lord of feudal
rights. At this point a growing rest-
iveness on the part of the audience
found resentful expression.
“That for your devil’s stick!”
“To the devil with the devil!”
“Down with the devil!”
The cry, once started, was not easy
to stop; men in liquor and ripe for
mischief repeated it; in vain, the
$18
• ; I ng
M
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Galveston Tribune. (Galveston, Tex.), Vol. 33, No. 31, Ed. 1 Wednesday, January 1, 1913, newspaper, January 1, 1913; (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth1409722/m1/4/: accessed May 21, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; crediting Rosenberg Library.