Read Online The Mystery Megapack by Marcia Talley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Marcia Talley
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Thubway Tham did not know the theme or the author, did not know what the play was about, and was not letting it worry him. Tham had the idea that a good many others have: namely, that a show must be good or it would not be on Broadway or anywhere near it.
Tham had consulted his program, once he had been seated, and he had found nothing except a list of actors’ names and the names of the characters they were to portray. The synopsis said that the first act was in the living room of an apartment on Riverside Drive, that the second was the same the following morning, and the third a week later. Thubway Tham could not construct a plot from that, and so he waited for the curtain and left it to the actors.
It developed that “The Under Dog” had nothing to do with canines or bench shows. It dealt with the deadly and eternal triangle, a beautiful woman and two men, one wealthy and firm in the belief that he had power, and the other a sort of weakling. Tham settled himself in his seat and tried to get the worth of the money he had spent for his ticket.
Tham liked the male star very well, but he took an instant aversion to another gentlemanly actor billed as Booth Mansfield Merton. The aversion came into being when Merton spoke his first lines. Tham could not explain it and did not attempt to try. The aversion was not because of Booth Mansfield Merton’s work. As an actor, Merton seemed to do very well. Thubway Tham’s dislike appeared to be for the man personally, and Tham never had seen him before.
The role Mr. Booth Mansfield Merton played this night did not assist Tham to have a friendly feeling for him, either. Merton spoke certain lines that made Tham gnash his teeth. Thubway Tham took the drama seriously; he forgot that the actors were playing parts, and he formed his opinion of an artist from the lines he spoke. Thubway Tham could not think of a villain as being anything other than a villain, either on the stage or off.
“A man of power should exert that power,” Booth Mansfield Merton shouted from the stage. “Every man for himself. Let the under dog fight his own battle. It only weakens him the more to extend him a helping hand. Why should I refuse to declare myself superior when I know that I am?”
Thubway Tham gasped. “Why, the thilly ath,” he whispered to himself. “The thwell-headed thimp! Thomebody thould butht him one in the nothe, tho they thould.”
Booth Mansfield Merton had a lot of speeches similar to that one, and Thubway Tham’s dislike for him slowly but deliberately turned into deep hatred. And then, unknowingly, Booth Mansfield Merton struck home.
“The reputed cleverness of the social parasite, the cunning of the man who lives by his wits, the skill of the pickpocket, for instance—all such things are mythical,” the actor vehemently declared. “A superior man can outwit any of them.”
“The Thimp,” said Tham to himself. “Thuperior, ith he? Oh, the thilly ath! If he ever cometh thouth of Fourteenth Thtreet and I thee him, he wanth to look out. I’ll thow him thome cleverneth and thkill, all right!”
Tham left the theater after the performance with the conviction that the ticket agent had robbed him by forcing him to pay good money to be insulted. He rode downtown in the subway, and though there was many a good chance to “lift a leather,” Tham did not make an attempt to work. His mind was full of the false philosophy that had come from the lips of Merton.
“Tho a pickpocket ith not clever, hey?” Tham mused. “And thith Booth Manthfield Merton ith a thuperior man who could make the betht dip in the thity look like a deuthe card, ith he? He maketh me thick. I’ll teach him to inthult people.”
* * * *
The following day being Sunday, Thubway Tham arose a little late, spent plenty of time dressing, and walked briskly down the street to the restaurant he always favored for breakfast. It appeared that all the other customers were late for breakfast also. Tham
Tham had consulted his program, once he had been seated, and he had found nothing except a list of actors’ names and the names of the characters they were to portray. The synopsis said that the first act was in the living room of an apartment on Riverside Drive, that the second was the same the following morning, and the third a week later. Thubway Tham could not construct a plot from that, and so he waited for the curtain and left it to the actors.
It developed that “The Under Dog” had nothing to do with canines or bench shows. It dealt with the deadly and eternal triangle, a beautiful woman and two men, one wealthy and firm in the belief that he had power, and the other a sort of weakling. Tham settled himself in his seat and tried to get the worth of the money he had spent for his ticket.
Tham liked the male star very well, but he took an instant aversion to another gentlemanly actor billed as Booth Mansfield Merton. The aversion came into being when Merton spoke his first lines. Tham could not explain it and did not attempt to try. The aversion was not because of Booth Mansfield Merton’s work. As an actor, Merton seemed to do very well. Thubway Tham’s dislike appeared to be for the man personally, and Tham never had seen him before.
The role Mr. Booth Mansfield Merton played this night did not assist Tham to have a friendly feeling for him, either. Merton spoke certain lines that made Tham gnash his teeth. Thubway Tham took the drama seriously; he forgot that the actors were playing parts, and he formed his opinion of an artist from the lines he spoke. Thubway Tham could not think of a villain as being anything other than a villain, either on the stage or off.
“A man of power should exert that power,” Booth Mansfield Merton shouted from the stage. “Every man for himself. Let the under dog fight his own battle. It only weakens him the more to extend him a helping hand. Why should I refuse to declare myself superior when I know that I am?”
Thubway Tham gasped. “Why, the thilly ath,” he whispered to himself. “The thwell-headed thimp! Thomebody thould butht him one in the nothe, tho they thould.”
Booth Mansfield Merton had a lot of speeches similar to that one, and Thubway Tham’s dislike for him slowly but deliberately turned into deep hatred. And then, unknowingly, Booth Mansfield Merton struck home.
“The reputed cleverness of the social parasite, the cunning of the man who lives by his wits, the skill of the pickpocket, for instance—all such things are mythical,” the actor vehemently declared. “A superior man can outwit any of them.”
“The Thimp,” said Tham to himself. “Thuperior, ith he? Oh, the thilly ath! If he ever cometh thouth of Fourteenth Thtreet and I thee him, he wanth to look out. I’ll thow him thome cleverneth and thkill, all right!”
Tham left the theater after the performance with the conviction that the ticket agent had robbed him by forcing him to pay good money to be insulted. He rode downtown in the subway, and though there was many a good chance to “lift a leather,” Tham did not make an attempt to work. His mind was full of the false philosophy that had come from the lips of Merton.
“Tho a pickpocket ith not clever, hey?” Tham mused. “And thith Booth Manthfield Merton ith a thuperior man who could make the betht dip in the thity look like a deuthe card, ith he? He maketh me thick. I’ll teach him to inthult people.”
* * * *
The following day being Sunday, Thubway Tham arose a little late, spent plenty of time dressing, and walked briskly down the street to the restaurant he always favored for breakfast. It appeared that all the other customers were late for breakfast also. Tham
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