The Howard Theatre sat smack dab in the middle of Scollay Square, Boston’s ever-changing entertainment district. Affectionately called the Old Howard, it featured various vaudeville troupes including risqué burlesque beauties with captivating stage names such as Nimble Natty Norma and The British Blondes. Colorful, tantalizing posters prominently displayed outside the theatre captured the attention of every high-spirited, adolescent boy who strolled pass - including fourteen-year-old Scott Garrett Lancer and his best friend, George Avery MacCallister.
Plans were made.
The night chosen to infiltrate the off-limits temptation, Tillie the Tassel headlined the theatre’s cultural experience. With an exploding firecracker distraction, a heavily guarded backdoor flanked and gained higher ground in the balcony, the boys’ strategy claimed victory. Sadly, success was fleeting. Before Tillie took center stage to share her mesmerizing God-given talent of dexterity, the spies’ secret position was discovered. Later, as the constable and his thick Irish accent delivered the under-aged spectators to the Garrett’s Beacon Hill brownstone, a confession uncovered the mastermind behind the plan - Harlan’s grandson. The event went down in history as one of Scott’s finer moments.
However, the evening hadn’t been a total loss. The young lads’ presence remained undetected long enough to enjoy Tillie’s opening act, The Masterful Monstroni - Magician Extraordinaire. The goatee-sporting gentleman guided his audience through the mysteries of magic with physical contrarieties and visual impossibilities including the inconceivable feat - sawing a fair damsel in half.
The boys were immediately impressed with Monstroni’s scantily clad, red-haired assistant. Not only did they appreciate her choice of attire for the evening but admired her bravery as she willingly reclined in a decorative, long, lidded box with her head popping out one end and her feet out the other. Turning her face towards the audience, the young lady actually winked as the magician proceeded to saw her in half. Fourteen-year-old eyebrows rose. A female possessing these worthy qualities was without question a rare find.
Scott came to the reasonable conclusion it was a trick saw which gave the illusion of dividing the assistant neatly in two. Having solved the mystery, his mind moved on to the highly anticipated enticing Tillie and her tassels as the draw of the magician’s blade drew its final cut. Then, without warning, Masterful Monstroni pushed the box halves apart - stepping in between the smiling face of his assistant and her wiggling toes. The unexpected sight that defied logic jammed Scott’s brain. Completely dumbfounded, the best he could verbalize was the word no.
When two familiar faces attending Engine Company No. 2 Firemen’s Ball were spotted in the lower right-hand corner of the Green River Gazette’s Gossip from Around the Globe, it was if Scott was back at the Old Howard. The unexpected sight of the photograph jammed his brain. Again, dumbfounded, the best he could verbalize was the word - “No.”
“No? I haven’t asked and you’re saying no?” His cousin had returned. Scott felt her fingers curl around the top rung of his chair’s back with her weight leaning in to look over his shoulder. “Why can’t we have a welcoming party for Seth Westcott? Food, music, dancing. Then we could ride sweet fancy Moses WHAT are we doing IN THE NEWSPAPER?!” Kinsey’s brain didn’t jam - it derailed.
Snatching the paper from Scott’s hands, his little cousin executed her own sawed in half version of Monstroni’s magic trick. The Gossip’s lower right-hand corner detached itself with a loud rrriiippp - sending the rest of the paper fluttering to the ground.
Ta-da.
Two voices echoed in Scott’s head. First his father’s...“That newspaper best be returned in pristine condition so I can eventually read it.”
...and then his own. “The Omaha trip, sir, was...uneventful.” Considering the circumstances, a personal disappearing act seemed prudent.
“Where did it come from?” Kinsey’s eyes darted back and forth - scrutinizing the newsprint photo. “How did this happen?”
A capful of wind nudged the discarded sections of Murdoch’s Green River Gazette - lifting the pages off the ground to perform their unique interpretation of levitation. Scott bent down to snag the Gazette’s headlines as it drifted under the wooden swing. “The photograph came from the Omaha Daily Bee.” Three long strides and a quick nab prevented this month’s cattle prices from gliding over the garden fence. “Will Jenkins is how it happened.”
“The Daily Bee?”
“Yes, Kinsey.” Scott’s foot came down on Political Views from Sacramento before it joined the cattle beyond the fence. “The morning we left the newspaper had covered the firemen’s ball.” Gossip from Around the Globe - minus the lower right-hand corner - along with an advertisement stating Dr. Graham’s horse ointment cures lumbago were rescued from the sage bush.
“You knew about this and did nothing?”
‘Did nothing?’ With an arm full of crumpled, dusty papers, Scott stopped, turned and stared at his cousin. The vision of throwing this cocksure critic over his shoulder, carrying her to San Francisco and tossing her on the first steamer back to Melbourne seemed to be the only reasonable response to her finger-pointing. The deliberate approach of his formidable expression inspired the little faultfinder to take a few unbalanced steps backward which resulted in a less than graceful landing. ‘The Howard Theatre is proud to present Cousin Kinsey and her Two Left Feet.’
Scott hunkered down to be eye level with his accuser and plucked the paper’s photograph from her hand to hold it inches from her nose. “I can’t fix what I didn’t break.” The gathered sections were dumped into Kinsey’s lap with a directive. “Make this mess -” Pointing to Murdoch’s newspaper. “Look...pristine.”
Scott stood to do his own examination of the Green River Gazette photo. He assessed the quality wasn’t as clear as the original posted in the Daily Bee - a possible lucky break.
“There’s a boot print on the picture of the governor.” Kinsey painstakingly attempted to achieve the unattainable by smoothing out the paper’s creases and wrinkles,
A pitched eyebrow accented Scott’s sidelong glance and political opinion. “He never looked better.” Returning his attention back to the newspaper article in his hand, he read the caption Will Jenkins decided to add. “Kicking up their heels in Omaha.” Kinsey’s favored reaction to an unpopular deal of a day’s cards seemed appropriate. “Bloody hell.” Jenkins also cleared up any question on the identity of the couple by printing Mr. and Mrs. Lancer take a holiday in Nebraska. At least Will refrained from quoting the Daily Bee’s description of newlyweds. The editor no doubt arm-wrestled his conscious for hours over the decision.
True. Scott didn’t break this but he certainly needed to fix it and quickly. Moving to cast a shadow over Kinsey folding and refolding Murdoch’s traumatized publication, he extended his hand. “Time’s up. This best pass my inspection.” A squinted survey of the surrendered newspaper commenced.
“Please accept my apology, Scott. My words were thoughtless and uncalled for.”
“Be certain to taste your words before you spit them out.”
“Emerson?”
“S. G. Lancer.”
“Scott, I am truly sorry.”
Surprisingly, at first glance, no one would guess the torture the newspaper had been subjected to. Unfortunately, most people, including his father, preferred to open the paper to read it. “This is against my better judgment, but you’re forgiven.” Scott’s free hand reached down to assist his cousin off the ground. “Your next assignment, Miss Furlong, is to return the newspaper to the side table in the Great Room and do so undetected.”
“What if I’m caught?”
“Confess then pray.” Scott folded the paper’s photograph and tucked in his pocket. “I’m going to visit the editor of the Green River Gazette and have a friendly discussion to clear up some confusion.”
“No. Wait. It should be me. I went to Omaha. I insisted on attending the firemen’s ball.” Kinsey’s tone was one of a judge and jury. “I’m the one who broke this.”
‘Ah, ScottyGarrett. Will ye listen to the seriousness in the young lass’ voice?’
Scott nodded. ‘I hear it, Winnie.’
‘Ye done taught her another one of life’s lessons - take responsibility for yer actions.
Do I need ta remind ye how long it took ye ta learn that one?’
‘No ma’am. Reminding won’t be necessary’
‘And do I need ta remind ye what ta do now?’
‘Again, Winifred, not necessary. Thank you.’
Scott cleared his throat. “Correct. To some extent, you broke this. And now, Freckles, I’m going to fix it.” A smile spoke that his forgiveness was complete. “Because it’s what big brothers do.”
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