IV.
"You bet I have!" Mr. Seven Sachs cordially agreed, abandoning the endof a cigarette, putting his hands behind his head, and crossing hislegs.
Whereupon there was a brief pause.
"I remember--" Edward Henry began.
"I dare say you've heard--" began Mr. Seven Sachs simultaneously.
They were like two men who by inadvertence had attempted to pass througha narrow doorway abreast. Edward Henry, as the host, drew back.
"I beg your pardon!" he apologised.
"Not at all," said Seven Sachs. "I was only going to say you'veprobably heard that I was always up against Archibald Florance."
"Really!" murmured Edward Henry, impressed in spite of himself; for therenown of Archibald Florance exceeded that of Seven Sachs as the sun themoon, and was older and more securely established than it as the sun themoon. The renown of Rose Euclid was as naught to it. Doubtful it waswhether, in the annals of modern histrionics, the grandeur and theromance of that American name could be surpassed by any renown save thatof the incomparable Henry Irving. The retirement of Archibald Florancefrom the stage a couple of years earlier had caused crimson gleams ofsunset splendour to shoot across the Atlantic and irradiate even theGarrick Club, London, so that the members thereof had to shade theiroffended eyes. Edward Henry had never seen Archibald Florance, but itwas not necessary to have seen him in order to appreciate the majesty ofhis glory. No male in the history of the world was ever morephotographed, and few have been the subject of more anecdotes.
"I expect he's a wealthy chap in his old age," said Edward Henry.
"Wealthy!" exclaimed Mr. Sachs. "He's the richest actor in America, andthat's saying in the world. He had the greatest reputation. He's stillthe handsomest man in the United States--that's admitted--with his whitehair! They used to say he was the cruellest, but it's not so. Thoughof course he could be a perfect terror with his companies."
"And so you knew Archibald Florance?"
"You bet I did. He never had any friends--never--but I knew him as wellas anybody could. Why, in San Francisco, after the show, I've walkedwith him back to his hotel, and he's walked with me back to mine, and soon, and so on, till three or four o'clock in the morning. You see, wecouldn't stop until it happened that he finished a cigar at the exactmoment when we got to his hotel door. If the cigar wasn't finished,then he must needs stroll back a bit, and before I knew where I was he'dbe lighting a fresh one. He smoked the finest cigars in America. Iremember him telling me they cost him three dollars apiece."
And Edward Henry then perceived another profound truth, his secondcardinal discovery on that notable evening; namely, that no matter howhigh you rise, you will always find that others have risen higher. Nay,it is not until you have achieved a considerable peak that you are ableto appreciate the loftiness of those mightier summits. He himself washigh, and so he could judge the greater height of Seven Sachs; and itwas only through the greater height of Seven Sachs that he could form anadequate idea of the pinnacle occupied by the unique Archibald Florance.Honestly, he had never dreamt that there existed a man who habituallysmoked twelve-shilling cigars--and yet he reckoned to know a thing ortwo about cigars!
"I am nothing!" he thought modestly. Nevertheless, though the savour ofthe name of Archibald Florance was agreeable, he decided that he hadheard enough for the moment about Archibald Florance, and that he wouldrelate to Mr. Sachs the famous episode of his own career in which theCountess of Chell and a mule had so prominently performed.
"I remember--" he recommenced.
"My first encounter with Archibald Florance was very funny," proceededMr. Seven Sachs, blandly deaf. "I was starving in New York,--trying tosell a new razor on commission,--and I was determined to get on to thestage. I had one visiting card left--just one. I wrote 'Important' onit, and sent it up to Wunch. I don't know whether you've ever heard ofWunch. Wunch was Archibald Florence's stage-manager, and nearly asfamous as Archibald himself. Well, Wunch sent for me up-stairs to hisroom, but when he found I was only the usual youngster after the usualjob he just had me thrown out of the theatre. He said I'd no right toput 'Important' on a visiting card. 'Well,' I said to myself, 'I'mgoing to get back into that theatre somehow!' So I went up toArchibald's private house--Sixtieth Street I think it was, and asked tosee him, and I saw him. When I got into his room, he was writing. Hekept on writing for some minutes, and then he swung round on his chair.
"'And what can I do for you, sir?' he said.
"'Do you want any actors, Mr. Florance?' I said.
"'Are you an actor?' he said.
"'I want to be one,' I said.
"'Well,' he said, 'there's a school round the corner.'
"'Well,' I said, 'you might give me a card of introduction, Mr.Florance.'
"He gave me the card. I didn't take it to the school. I went straightback to the theatre with it, and had it sent up to Wunch. It just said,'Introducing Mr. Sachs, a young man anxious to get on.' Wunch took itfor a positive order to find me a place. The company was full, so hethrew out one poor devil of a super to make room for me. Curiousthing--old Wunchy got it into his head that I was a _protege_ ofArchibald's, and he always looked after me. What d'ye think aboutthat?"
"Brilliant!" said Edward Henry. And it was! The simplicity of the thingwas what impressed him. Since winning a scholarship at school byaltering the number of marks opposite his name on a paper lying on themaster's desk, Edward Henry had never achieved advancement by a deviceso simple. And he thought: "I am nothing! The Five Towns is nothing!All that one hears about Americans and the United States is true. Asfar as getting on goes, they can make rings round us. Still, I shalltell him about the countess and the mule--"
"Yes," continued Mr. Seven Sachs, "Wunch was very kind to me. But hewas pretty well down and out, and he left, and Archibald got a newstage-manager, and I was promoted to do a bit of assistantstage-managing. But I got no increase of salary. There were two womenstars in the play Archibald was doing then--'The Forty-Niners.'Romantic drama, you know! Melodrama you'd call it over here. He neverdid any other sort of play. Well, these two women stars were aboutequal, and when the curtain fell on the first act they'd both make abee-line for Archibald to see who'd get to him first and engage him intalk. They were jealous enough, of each other to kill. Anybody couldsee that Archibald was frightfully bored, but he couldn't escape. Theygot him on both sides, you see, and he just _had_ to talk to 'em, bothat once. I used to be fussing around fixing the properties for the nextact. Well, one night he comes up to me, Archibald does, and he says:
"'Mr.--what's your name?'
"'Sachs, sir,' I says.
"'You notice when those two ladies come up to me after the first act.Well, when you see them talking to me, I want you to come right alongand interrupt,' he says.
"'What shall I say, sir?'
"'Tap me on the shoulder, and say I'm wanted about something veryurgent. You see?'
"So the next night when those women got hold of him, sure enough, I wentup between them and tapped him on the shoulder. 'Mr. Florance,' I said,'something very urgent.' He turned on me and scowled: 'What is it?' hesaid, and he looked very angry. It was a bit of the best acting the oldman ever did in his life. It was so good that at first I thought it wasreal. He said again louder, 'What is it?' So I said, 'Well, Mr.Florance, the most urgent thing in this theatre is that I should have anincrease in salary!' I guess I licked the stuffing out of him thattime."
Edward Henry gave vent to one of those cordial and violent guffaws whichare a specialty of the humorous side of the Five Towns. And he said tohimself: "I should never have thought of anything as good as that."
"And did you get it?" he asked.
"The old man said not a word," Mr. Seven Sachs went on in the same eventranquil smiling voice. "But next pay-day I found I'd got a rise of tendollars a week. And not only that, but Mr. Florance offered me asinging part in his new drama, i
f I could play the mandolin. Inaturally told him I'd played the mandolin all my life. I went out andbought a mandolin and hired a teacher. He wanted to teach me themandolin, but I only wanted him to teach me that one accompaniment. So Ifired him, and practised by myself night and day for a week. I gotthrough all the rehearsals without ever singing that song. Cleverestdodging I ever did! On the first night I was so nervous I couldscarcely hold the mandolin. I'd never played the infernal thing beforeanybody at all--only up in my bedroom. I struck the first chord, andfound the darned instrument was all out of tune with the orchestra. SoI just pretended to play it, and squawked away with my song, and neverlet my fingers touch the strings at all. Old Florance was waiting forme in the wings. I knew he was going to fire me. But no! 'Sachs,' hesaid, 'that accompaniment was the most delicate piece of playing I everheard. I congratulate you.' He was quite serious. Everybody said thesame! Luck, eh?"
"I should say so," said Edward Henry, gradually beginning to beinterested in the odyssey of Mr. Seven Sachs. "I remember a funny thingthat happened to me--"
"However," Mr. Sachs swept smoothly along, "that piece was a failure.And Archibald arranged to take a company to Europe with 'Forty-Miners.'And I was left out! This rattled me, specially after the way he likedmy mandolin-playing. So I went to see him about it in his dressing-roomone night, and I charged around a bit. He did rattle me! Then I raidedhim. I would get an answer out of him. He said:
"'I'm not in the habit of being cross-examined in my own dressing-room.'
"I didn't care what happened then, so I said:
"'And I'm not in the habit of being treated as you're treating me.'
"All of a sudden he became quite quiet, and patted me on the shoulder.'You're getting on very well, Sachs,' he said. 'You've only been at itone year. It's taken me twenty-five years to get where I am.'
"However, I was too angry to stand for that sort of talk. I said tohim:
"'I dare say you're a very great and enviable man, Mr. Florance, but Ipropose to save fifteen years on your twenty-five. I'll equal or betteryour position in ten years.'
"He shoved me out--just shoved me out of the room.... It was that thatmade me turn to play-writing. Florance wrote his own plays sometimes,but it was only his acting and his face that saved them. And they weretoo American. He never did really well outside America except in oneplay, and that wasn't his own. Now, I was out after money. And I stillam. I wanted to please the largest possible public. So I guessed therewas nothing for it but the universal appeal. I never write a play thatwon't appeal to England, Germany, France, just as well as to America.America's big, but it isn't big enough for me.... Well, as I wassaying, soon after that I got a one-act play produced at Hannibal,Missouri. And the same week there was a company at another theatrethere playing the old man's 'Forty-Niners.' And the next morning thetheatrical critic's article in the Hannibal _Courier-Post_ was headed:'Rival attractions. Archibald Florance's "Forty-Niners" and new play bySeven Sachs.' I cut that heading out and sent it to the old man inLondon, and I wrote under it, 'See how far I've got in six months.'When he came back he took me into his company again.... What price that,eh?"
Edward Henry could only nod his head. The customarily silent SevenSachs had little by little subdued him to an admiration as mute as itwas profound.
"Nearly five years after that I got a Christmas card from old Florance.It had the usual printed wishes,--'Merriest possible Christmas, and soon,'--but underneath that Archibald had written in pencil, 'You've stillfive years to go.' That made me roll my sleeves up, as you may say.Well, a long time after that I was standing at the corner of Broadwayand Forty-fourth Street, and looking at my own name in electric letterson the Criterion Theatre. First time I'd ever seen it in electricletters on Broadway. It was the first night of 'Overheard.' Florancewas playing at the Hudson Theatre, which is a bit higher up Forty-fourthStreet, and _his_ name was in electric letters too, but further offBroadway than mine. I strolled up, just out of idle curiosity, andthere the old man was standing in the porch of the theatre, all alone!'Hullo, Sachs,' he said, 'I'm glad I've seen you. It's saved metwenty-five cents.' I asked how. He said, 'I was just going to sendyou a telegram of congratulations.' He liked me, old Archibald did. Hestill does. But I hadn't done with him. I went to stay with him at hishouse on Long Island in the spring. 'Excuse me, Mr. Florance,' I saysto him. 'How many companies have you got on the road?' He said, 'Oh!I haven't got many now. Five, I think.' 'Well,' I says. 'I've got sixhere in the United States, two in England, three in Austria, and one inItaly.' He said, 'Have a cigar, Sachs; you've got the goods on me!' Hewas living in that magnificent house all alone, with a whole regiment ofservants."