Lovey Mary
Copyright© 2024 by Alice Caldwell Hegan Rice
Chapter 11: The Christmas Play
“Not failure, but low aim, is crime.”
As the holiday season approached, a rumor began to be circulated that the Cabbage Patch Sunday-school would have an entertainment as well as a Christmas tree. The instigator of this new movement was Jake Schultz, whose histrionic ambition had been fired during his apprenticeship as “super” at the opera-house.
“I know a man what rents costumes, an’ the promp’-books to go with ‘em,” he said to several of the boys one Sunday afternoon. “If we all chip in we kin raise the price, an’ git it back easy by chargin’ admittance.”
“Aw, shucks!” said Chris. “We don’t know nothin’ ‘bout play-actin’.”
“We kin learn all right,” said Billy Wiggs. “I bid to be the feller that acts on the trapeze.”
The other boys approving of the plan, it was agreed that Jake should call on the costumer at his earliest convenience.
One night a week later Lovey Mary was getting supper when she heard an imperative rap on the door. It was Jake Schultz. He mysteriously beckoned her out on the steps, and closed the door behind them.
“Have you ever acted any?” he asked.
“I used to say pieces at the home,” said Lovey Mary, forgetting herself.
“Well, do you think you could take leadin’ lady in the entertainment?”
Lovey Mary had no idea what the lady was expected to lead, but she knew that she was being honored, and she was thrilled at the prospect.
“I know some arm-exercises, and I could sing for them,” she offered.
“Oh, no,” explained Jake; “it’s a play, a reg’lar theayter play. I got the book and the costumes down on Market street. The man didn’t have but this one set of costumes on hand, so I didn’t have no choice. It’s a bully play, all right, though! I seen it oncet, an’ I know how it all ought to go. It’s named ‘Forst,’ er somethin’ like that. I’m goin’ to be the devil, an’ wear a red suit, an’ have my face all streaked up. Billy he’s goin’ to be the other feller what’s stuck on the girl. He tole me to ast you to be her. Your dress is white with cords an’ tassels on it, an’ the sleeves ain’t sewed up. Reckon you could learn the part? We ain’t goin’ to give it all.”
“I can learn anything!” cried Lovey Mary, recklessly. “Already know the alphabet and the Lord’s Prayer backward. Is the dress short- sleeve? And does it drag in the back when you walk?”
“Yep,” said Jake, “an’ the man said you was to plait your hair in two parts an’ let ‘em hang over your shoulders. I don’t see why it wouldn’t be pretty for you to sing somethin’, too. Ever’body is so stuck on yer singin’.”
“All right,” said Lovey Mary, enthusiastically; “you bring the book over and show me where my part’s at. And, Jake,” she called as he started off, “you tell Billy I’ll be glad to.”
For the next ten days Lovey Mary dwelt in Elysium. The prompt-book, the rehearsals, the consultations, filled the spare moments and threw a glamour over the busy ones. Jake, with his vast experience and unlimited knowledge of stage-craft, appealed to her in everything. He sat on a barrel and told how they did things “up to the opery-house,” and Lovey Mary, seizing his suggestions with burning zeal, refitted the costumes, constructed scenery, hammered her own nails as well as the iron ones, and finally succeeded in putting into practice his rather vague theories. For the first time in her life she was a person of importance.
Besides her numerous other duties she prepared an elaborate costume for Tommy. This had caused her some trouble, for Miss Hazy, who was sent to buy the goods for the trousers, exercised unwise economy in buying two remnants which did not match in color or pattern.
“Why didn’t you put your mind on it, Miss Hazy?” asked Lovey Mary, making a heroic effort to keep her temper. “You might have known I couldn’t take Tommy to the show with one blue leg and one brown one. What must I do?”
Miss Hazy sat dejectedly in the corner, wiping her eyes on her apron.
“You might go ast Mis’ Wiggs,” she suggested as a forlorn hope.
When Mrs. Wiggs was told the trouble she smiled reassuringly. Emergencies were to her the spice of life; they furnished opportunities for the expression of her genius.
“Hush cryin’, Miss Hazy; there ain’t a speck of harm did. Mary kin make the front outen one piece an’ the back outen the other. Nobody won’t never know the difference, ‘cause Tommy can’t be goin’ an’ comin’ at the same time.”
The result was highly satisfactory, that is, to everybody but Tommy.
He complained that there “wasn’t no room to set down.”
On Christmas night the aristocracy of the Cabbage Patch assembled in the school-house to enjoy the double attraction of a Christmas tree and an entertainment. Mr. Rothchild, who had arranged the tree for the last ten years, refused to have it moved from its accustomed place, which was almost in the center of the platform. He had been earnestly remonstrated with, but he and the tree remained firm. Mrs. Rothchild and all the little Rothchildren had climbed in by the window before the doors were open in order to secure the front seats. Immediately behind them sat the Hazys and the Wiggses.
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