On her bright wavy hair was perched a cunning flat
cap of leaves, and, as she entered with Polly, leaning on her
manzanita staff, and sighing, 'Oh Jupiter, how weary are my spirits!'
one could not wish a lovelier stage picture.
And so the play went on, with varying fortunes. Margery was
frightened to death, and persisted in taking Touchstone's speeches
right out of his mouth, much to his discomfiture. Adam's beard
refused to stay on; so did the moustache of the Banished Duke, and
the clothes of Sylvius. But nothing could damp the dramatic fire of
the players, nor destroy the enthusiasm of the sympathetic audience.
Dicky sat in the dress-circle, wrapped in blankets, and laughed
himself nearly into convulsions over Touchstone's jokes, and the
stage business of the Banished Duke; for it is unnecessary to state
that Jack was not strictly Shakespearean in his treatment of the
part.
As for Polly, she enjoyed being Celia with all her might, and
declared her intention of going immediately on the 'regular' stage;
but Jack somewhat destroyed her hopes by affirming that her nose and
hair wouldn't be just the thing on the metropolitan boards, although
they might pass muster in a backwoods theatre.
'Hello! What's this?' exclaimed Philip, one morning. 'A visitor?
Yes--no! Why, it's Senor Don Manuel Felipe Hilario Noriega coming up
the canyon! He's got a loaded team, too! I wonder if Uncle Doc is
expecting anything.'
The swarthy gentleman with the long name emerged from one cloud of
dust and disappeared in another, until he neared the gate where
Philip and Polly were standing.
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