Exemplary householder who essayed it seemed to
have no knowledge or experience of the ways and methods of bad men.
There seemed to be no side of his character sufficiently in sympathy
with wickedness to enable him to understand and portray it. His
amateur attempts at scoundrelism quite irritated me. It sounds
conceited to say so, but I am convinced I could have given a much
more truthful picture of the blackguard myself.
"'Dear, dear me,' I kept on saying under my breath, 'he is doing it
all wrong. A downright unmitigated villain would never go on like
that; he would do so and so, he would look like this, and speak like
that, and act like the other. I know he would. My instinct tells
me so.'
"This actor was evidently not acquainted with even the rudiments of
knavery. I wanted to get up and instruct him in them. I felt that
there were little subtleties of rascaldom, little touches of
criminality, that I could have put that man up to, which would have
transformed his Judas from woodenness into breathing life. As it
was, with no one in the village apparently who was worth his salt as
a felon to teach him, his performance was unconvincing, and Judas
became a figure to laugh rather than to shudder at.
"With that exception, the whole company, from Maier down to the
donkey, seemed to be fitted to their places like notes into a
master's melody. It would appear as though, on the banks of the
Ammer, the histrionic artist grew wild."
"They are real actors, all of them," murmurs B. enthusiastically,
"the whole village full; and they all live happily together in one
small valley, and never try to kill each other. It is marvellous!"
At this point, we hear a sharp knock at the door that separates the
before-mentioned ladies' room from our own. We both start and turn
pale, and then look at each other. B. is the first to recover his
presence of mind. Eliminating, by a strong effort, all traces of
nervousness from his voice, he calls out in a tone of wonderful
coolness:
"Yes, what is it?"
"Are you in bed?" comes a voice from the other side of the door.
"Yes," answers B. "Why?"
"Oh! Sorry to disturb you, but we shall be so glad when you get up.
We can't go downstairs without coming through your room. This is
the only door. We have been waiting here for two hours, and our
train goes at three."
Great Scott! So that is why the poor old souls have been hanging
round the door, terrifying us out of our lives.
"All right, we'll be out in five minutes. So sorry. Why didn't you
call out before?"
FRIDAY, 30TH, OR SATURDAY, I AM NOT SURE WHICH
Troubles of a Tourist Agent.
