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Updated: June 9, 2025
Crossthwaite turned angrily to me. "Why, you are getting as reactionary as old Mackaye himself!" "I am not and he is not. I am ready to die on a barricade to-morrow, if it comes to that. I haven't six months' lease of life I am going into consumption; and a bullet is as easy a death as spitting up my lungs piecemeal.
"Ah!" quoth the little attorney, rubbing his hands, "you should have seen and after the row in '42! They were the boys for the Bull Ring! Gave a barrister as good as he brought, eh, Mr. Mackaye? My small services, you remember, were of no use, really no use at all quite ashamed to send in my little account.
At last, after perhaps a year or more, I summoned up courage to tell my story to Sandy Mackaye, and burst out with complaints more pardonable, perhaps, than reasonable. "Why have I not as good a right to speak to her, to move in the same society in which she moves, as any of the fops of the day?
My neighbors on the other side quarreled with my wife and then moved out. Spot was the cause of it. And that is why I am disappointed in Stephen Mackaye. I had no idea he was so mean a man. Copyright, 1910, by the Macmillan Company. Reprinted by special permission of the publisher. VII. When Lincoln Licked a Bully By Irving Bacheller
Locke, there's the ten pounds as I promised you. Why, whor is my pooss?" The policeman solemnly handed it to him. He took it, turned it over, looked at the policeman half frightened, and pointed with his fat thumb at Mackaye. "Well, he said as you was a conjuror and sure he was right." He paid me the money.
Having no Shaw in America, no man who can write brilliant prefaces and essays about his own plays until the man in the street is obliged perforce to regard them as literature, we find ourselves in the condition of benighted France. Which of our playwrights are taken seriously by the pundits? Augustus Thomas and Percy MacKaye: Thomas the dean, and MacKaye the poet laureate.
Mackaye is his inability to escape from his opinions. He is far too self-conscious, much too much preoccupied with theory, both in drama and in poetry. He can write nothing without explaining his motive, without trying to show himself and others the aim of poetry and drama. However morally noble all this may be and it surely is that it hampers the author.
Week after week, month after month, summer after summer, I scored the days off, like a lonely schoolboy, on the pages of a calendar. Not till I was released did I learn from Sandy Mackaye that my cousin George was the vicar of his church, and that he was about to marry Lillian Winnstay. IV. In Exile
And all the while, like tens of thousands of my class, I had no man to teach me. Sheep scattered on the hills, we were, that had no shepherd. What wonder if our bones lay bleaching among rocks and quagmires, and wolves devoured the heritage of God? Mackaye had nothing positive, after all, to advise or propound.
I, with one Captain Van Braam, became a hostage. Monsieur Coulon Villiers, the French commander, gave his bond that we should be delivered up when an officer and two cadets, who were prisoners with us, should be sent on. It was a choice between Mr. Mackaye of the Regulars and Mr. Washington, or Mr. Van Braam and myself.
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