The Abilene reflector. [volume] (Abilene, Kan.) 1883-1888, 1885-08-13
A MODEL FATHER"
Story Of g Schening Tragedian
and His Pretty Daughter.
Low Cunning and Selfish Ambition on
the One Hand, and Innocent Purity
and DutifuI Devotion on
the Other.
By DAVID CHRISTIE MURRAY.
CHAPTER III.-CoNTINUED.


so finely. 1t was a tradition in that
school of tragedy to which Mr.. Mont
gomery Bassett belonged that at GER
tain portions of the play the actor him
self should be SO wrought upon that it
should be dangerous to interrupt the
flow of his emotions, even behind the
scenes, where the spirit of the part was
to be kept up by much solemn striding
to and fro, and many savage eXecra-
tory murmurs. The eminent tragedian
had always supported this tradition,
and now, with a genuine mental pas
sion added to an assumed mental pas
sion which had grown almost real
through years of habit, he was dreadful
to the supernumeraries, and tie car
penters read terrors IN his eye. Mr..
Bassett's last five nights at that house
were long remembered, and became a
tradition of the local stage. When on
the Thursday night he played OthellO,
the rising young artist who was cast for
Iago suffered terribly at his hands
The great tragedian's deep voice throb-
bed with anguish and rage as he took
that Iago by the throat and shook him
at the line:
- If thou dOst SANDER her and torture me-"
He hauled the young man about the
stage, and dashed him hither and thith-
-er with prodigious strength and vio-
lence, and the stage manager at the
flies almost whispered as he addressed
the leading lady with the statement that
Bassett was in force tonight There is
probably not much more humbug be-
hind the scenes than there is elsewhere
But there is little humbug there, and
everybody agreed to believe that Mr.
Montgomery Bassett was not acting
when he left the boards, but that he
was absolutely inflated with the passion
of the part, and could not help striding
stagily, and scowling and muttering,
and folding and unfolding his arms, as
he awaited his cue in the slips or his
call in the cramped limits of his dress
ing room. So that the great tragedian
began to make capital of his remorse.
and to draw satisfaction from his own
misery of spirit.
Mary had expected reply from Jack
on Wednesday morning, and had
watched the postman on his rounds.
When his knock came down the street,
her heart would flutter until it had gone
by, and had faded out of hearing on
the other side, and then for a while she
would be listless. Wednesday passed
and Thursday came, but no letter, and
she began to be nervous about
Jacks health, and to have fancies about
railway accidents and street disasters.
Thursday night found her at the thea
ter. where she watched the play with
little interest, ard her mind was with
her lover all the evening.
The dOor-keeper knew her, and she
IAN round to her fathers room in the
pause before the last act. She found
him in his paint and his stage Jewels,
pacing up and down and muttering,
and there was a scent of Scotch whisky
in the air.
wait here" he said, abruptly, when
he saw her, and left the room at once to
wander in semi-darkness about the back
of the stage. or to stand still with fold
ed arms, staring gloomily at the work
people until they shook under his gaze;
and The leading lady, hearing of his
mood, chose to think him dangerous,
and fatty refused to play the part out
llC SsINt a piOiLicS OhO
stage-manager to murder her more
gently than he had shaken IagO.
Mr.. BaSsett," said the Stage-man-
ager, Miss Montmorency is afraid of
You. You are in such magnificent form
tonight, sir, that the poor thing is
actually trembling at the thought of
the bolster s.
= 'Tell her." said the great man, in his
magnificent hollow tones, THAT she
need not fear me, l will deal gently
with her" And he took to striding TO
and fro again, with his chronic humLug
and his logged artistic rage, and his
real fears and miseries all mounting so
high in a mingled tide within him that
he felt absolutely proud of himself. rs
if he were really dark and noble GRIM
inal of fiction, like the COrsair of Lord
Byron,
Mary was not unused to this sort of
display, and was not surprised at it.
She knew her fathers reputation, and
had great pride in it, and she was ac-
custonled to hear him talking with his
friends of that artistic passion which at
times controlled him. Sitting there,
she noticed that the house was unusually
SuCbt II uAltll uOh ICiliSll
ably demonstrative, and its present
quiet argued triumph. When at last
the applause broke out at the fall of the
curtain, it sounded through the whole
building like hurricane. Mary slip
ped out of the room and saw her father
answer three times to the resounding
plaudits of the audience. This pleased
her so that for the moment she forgot
her little nervous anXietieS, and thrilled
and glowei with pride in him.
Since Macready played here last"
said the stage-manager, Il assure you,
Miss Bassett, there has been no such
performance witnessed here"
The company applauded behind the
scenes $hen the great man came back
after hh inal bow, and he saluted them
in solemn silence. He signed to his
daughter to await him, and the stage
manager politely entertained her in the
green-room until Othello appeared, pale
and languid, in his glossy bloadcloth
and spotless linen. to escort her home.
"You had great triumph tonight,
papa, she said. taking his arm as they
came upon the street.
t'Id0not care to speak Of it." said
Mr.. BaSsett Il have other things to
think of" The girl was discounted.
without knowing why. The little fears
and anxieties about Jack began to come
back again. and to assume larger pro-
portions. Her elastic step grew dull on
. sudden. and she walked in silence.
Their lodgings were not far from the
theater, and were soon reached.
'sMsry. said her father, facing her in
the s;tting-room; 81 have heard very