But she marched down one of the pews, and took her seat.
The place was crowded with a whooping, whistling, excited audience.
The curtain was down. James had let it out to his fellow tradesmen,
and it represented a patchwork of local adverts. There was a fat
porker and a fat pork-pie, and the pig was saying: "You all know
where to find me. Inside the crust at Frank Churchill's, Knarborough
Road, Woodhouse." Round about the name of W. H. Johnson floated a
bowler hat, a collar-and-necktie, a pair of braces and an umbrella.
And so on and so on. It all made you feel very homely. But Miss
Pinnegar was sadly hot and squeezed in her pew.
Time came, and the colliers began to drum their feet. It was exactly
the excited, crowded audience Mr. May wanted. He darted out to drive
James round in front of the curtain. But James, fascinated by raking
in the money so fast, could not be shifted from the pay-box, and the
two men nearly had a fight. At last Mr. May was seen shooing James,
like a scuffled chicken, down the side gangway and on to the stage.
James before the illuminated curtain of local adverts, bowing and
beginning and not making a single word audible! The crowd quieted
itself, the eloquence flowed on. The crowd was sick of James, and
began to shuffle. "Come down, come down!" hissed Mr. May frantically
from in front. But James did not move. He would flow on all night.
Mr. May waved excitedly at Alvina, who sat obscurely at the piano,
and darted on to the stage. He raised his voice and drowned James.
James ceased to wave his penny-blackened hands, Alvina struck up
"Welcome All" as loudly and emphatically as she could.
And all the time Miss Pinnegar sat like a sphinx--like a sphinx.
What she thought she did not know herself. But stolidly she stared
at James, and anxiously she glanced sideways at the pounding Alvina.
She knew Alvina had to pound until she received the cue that Mr. May
was fitted in his pug-dog "Costoom."
A twitch of the curtain. Alvina wound up her final flourish, the
curtain rose, and:
"Well really!" said Miss Pinnegar, out loud.
There was Mr. May as a pug dog begging, too lifelike and too
impossible. The audience shouted. Alvina sat with her hands in her
lap. The Pug was a great success.
Curtain! A few bars of Toreador--and then Miss Poppy's sheets of
music. Soft music. Miss Poppy was on the ground under a green scarf.
And so the accumulating dilation, on to the whirling climax of the
perfect arum lily. Sudden curtain, and a yell of ecstasy from the
colliers. Of all blossoms, the arum, the arum lily is most mystical
and portentous.
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