Ahead of the Show Part 4

"Look here," interrupted Mr. Wattles, "I've had just about enough of this. Are you going to get out or are you not?"

Farley backed toward the door.

"I am," he said. "Ta, ta, Wattles! Ta, ta, my young friend! But we shall meet again, and don't you forget, either of you, to paste that fact in your hat."

And he swaggered out of the room.

"The impudent scoundrel!" exclaimed Mr. Wattles. "I let him off too easy. If I am not mistaken, we shall have more trouble with him."

"Never mind about him," interrupted Al. "Do you know that it is almost eight o'clock, Mr. Wattles?"

"Good gracious! So it is! And Mrs. Anderson----"

"It's all right."

"She will appear?"

"Sure."

The manager grasped his companion's hand.

"Allston," he said, "you are a wonder."

"That's just what you want for an advance agent, isn't it?" the boy asked, with a laugh.

"Yes. Did she come with you?"

"No, but she is probably here by this time."

"How did you do it?"

"I'll tell you some other time, sir."

"That's right; we have no time to waste in talk now. I'll go and see if she has arrived. I should be in a nice fix if she changed her mind again."

"She won't, Mr. Wattles."

Scarcely hearing the last words, the manager rushed from the room.

"Well," mused Al, "if Mr. Wattles is a man of his word I am his advance agent now. It will be my fault if I don't make the best of the opportunity. But it's dollars to doughnuts that I shall have trouble with that loafer, Farley. Well, I guess I can hold my own."

He was interrupted by the sudden entrance of Mr. Wattles.

"It's all right, my boy," laughed the manager.

"You haven't seen her yet?"

"No, but I've seen Perley, and he tells me she is here, and is dressing for the part. He thinks that she is going to make a big hit."

"Of course she will," laughed Al; "she is the leader of society here, and it would be treason not to like her."

The manager smiled.

"You know something of the world," he said.

"Not as much as I would like to. But, seriously, sir, Mrs. Anderson is not such a bad actress, and I shouldn't wonder if she did make a hit."

"She'll have to be a second Ristori, if she does in that part," grinned Mr. Wattles. "There's nothing to it; but, for all that, the woman who has been playing it is wild because I have taken it away from her for one night."

"Have you explained the circ.u.mstances to her?"

"Have I? I've talked myself nearly deaf in doing so, but it was of no use."

"She must be very thick-headed if she can't see how you are placed."

"My dear boy, a woman will never see anything she doesn't want to see. But never mind about all that. I don't care particularly whether the woman is suited or not; I can fill her place at a few hours' notice. And now I must go and see how things are going. I have a good stage manager, but I have to do a lot of the work myself, for all that. And I must acknowledge that I do feel a little nervous at letting an untrained amateur appear in the piece without a rehearsal. Come with me, and we'll see if everything is going smoothly."

Al followed the manager through the long pa.s.sage way and out into a damp, dingy court, on the opposite side of which was a door bearing the inscription: "Stage Door. No Admittance."

Pa.s.sing through the sacred portals, Mr. Wattles and Al stepped upon the stage.

Al had been "behind the scenes" before; the scene that met his eyes was not an entirely unfamiliar one, and he trod the boards with the nonchalant air of a veteran.

"Well, Sparkley, how does everything go?" asked the manager of an anxious-looking elderly man, whom the boy rightly guessed to be the stage manager.

"Badly enough," was the reply. "There's been a big row, and your society amateur refuses to appear."

CHAPTER VII.

THE DEBUT.

Mr. Wattles sank into a convenient chair.

"Well," he said, with an air of stony resignation, "there's no use in fighting against fate. I give it up. We'll return the people their money and shut up the house."

"What's the matter?" asked Al.

"Why," replied Sparkley, "Miss Hollingsworth, who has been playing the part that Mrs. Anderson is billed for, has been here, and has had an interview with her successor, and got her so worked up that she absolutely refuses to appear."

"Why, I told the woman that she needn't come at all to-night!" cried Mr. Wattles.

"Well, she's here as large as life."

"Why did you let her in, Sparkley?"

"I couldn't very well refuse her admittance; she is a member of the company."

"That's so."

"Besides, I had no idea that she was going to raise a row. I think that Farley was at the bottom of the business; I saw him talking to her outside just before she came in."

"You did? That explains the whole thing. Well, I'm just going to let things take their course."

At this moment Mrs. Anderson came rus.h.i.+ng toward them, evidently greatly excited. She was closely followed by a young woman, quite as much agitated as herself.

Both women began talking at once, and it was two or three minutes before Mr. Wattles could make himself heard. When at last he succeeded in doing so, he said: "Now, ladies, if you will speak one at a time, and talk slow, I will try to straighten things out. What is the trouble, Mrs. Anderson?"

"That woman," sobbed the society belle, indicating the actress, "has grossly insulted me. I cannot, I will not play."

"Have you forgotten your promise to me, Mrs. Anderson?" interposed Al.

"No, I have not, and I am very sorry that I cannot fulfill it. But it is impossible."

"I only told her," snapped Miss Hollingsworth, a fiery-looking, dark-haired, black-eyed woman, "that she was a rank amateur, and so she is. Why, it is an insult to give such a woman my part!"

"Yes, that's what she said," cried Mrs. Anderson, in a high-pitched voice. "I would never play the part unless she was discharged."

The manager's face lighted up.

"Will you play," he asked, "if I discharge her?"

"Yes."

"That settles it. Miss Hollingsworth, you are discharged."

"Wha-a-t?" screamed the actress.

"You heard what I said. You are given the usual two weeks' notice."

"I am discharged, I, Olga Hollingsworth, on account of this woman?"

"No, you are discharged because these exhibitions of bad temper on your part have tired me out. And now, madam," turning to Mrs. Anderson and speaking with the utmost politeness, "will you kindly return to your dressing room and complete your preparations for your appearance? You will have to go on in less than fifteen minutes."

"I will do so, sir."

And with a withering glance at the actress, the mayor's wife swept away.

"You shan't forget this evening's work in a hurry, Mr. Gus Wattles!" hissed the enraged Miss Hollingsworth. "You'll rue the day when you made d.i.c.k Farley and me your enemies!"

"So Farley is at the bottom of all this, is he?" said the manager. "I thought so."

"Never mind whether he is or not," was the actress' reply. "I wish you good-evening, Wattles. I don't want your two weeks' notice. I wouldn't play in your company again for ten times the miserable salary you paid me. Find some one else to play the part to-morrow night or shut up the house."

With these words and a vindictive glance, the woman left the theater, slamming the stage door violently behind her.

Mr. Wattles drew a long breath of relief.

"I'm glad to get rid of her," he said. "This isn't the first time she and I have had words. I'll have another woman here to play the part to-morrow night, or I'll cut it out altogether; it isn't of any importance, anyhow. And, I say, I believe that Mrs. Anderson has the making of an actress in her, after all. She's as good a kicker as if she had been in the business all her life. No danger of her suffering from stage fright; she has too good an opinion of herself. Well, I must go around to the front now. Come with me and see how things look."

The house was, as Al had predicted, packed to the doors; even standing room was at a premium. Such an audience had never been seen in the opera house before.

The souvenir spoons had proved a great success; everyone was extolling the liberality of the management.

"This is immense," chuckled Mr. Wattles, rubbing his hands. "Allston, you are a trump. I wish you could do this in every town we visit."

"Well, I'll do my best to repeat the success," smiled Al. "What can't be done in one way can in another."

"And you're the lad who can do it. But the curtain is going up. I hope Mrs. Anderson will be all right. She comes on in less than five minutes. Come up to the manager's box now; it's the only place in the house where we can get a seat."

The two elbowed their way through the crowd; and, not without some difficulty, reached the box in question. They had hardly taken their seats when Mrs. Anderson stepped upon the stage. Her appearance was the signal for a perfect whirlwind of applause.

"Well," said Mr. Wattles, as the lady stood bowing and smiling, "she is a good-looker, anyway. She's as well made up as if she'd been in the profesh for years; and, by Jove! she's as cool as a veteran! What a reception! Irving himself couldn't ask for a better one."

In fact, it was nearly or quite three minutes before the debutante could go on with her part. By this time the stage was half filled with "floral tributes," one huge piece being from the board of aldermen. When the mayor, who was seated in an opposite box, saw this, his face, which had until then worn a rather gloomy expression, lighted up, and he began to manifest some signs of interest in the performance.

As Mr. Wattles had said, the part that had been a.s.signed to Mrs. Anderson was one of very little importance. It would have been difficult to make a failure of it. The lady recited her lines well, and when she left the stage she was furiously applauded.

"That shows what the public appreciation of the drama amounts to," remarked Mr. Wattles, sarcastically, although he had applauded Mrs. Anderson as loudly as anyone. "You can't hear yourself think for the noise they make about this society woman; yet, on the same stage there is a little girl who has real talent. But they ignore her."

"You mean the young lady who plays the part of Ethel Darlington?" questioned Al.

"Yes, of course I do. I see that you, at least, know good acting when you see it; but here comes Mrs. Anderson again. Ah! that old fellow in the box over there is going to make a speech."

Al recognized in the "old fellow" referred to one of Boomville's prominent citizens--a certain Maj. Duncan.

The major, who enjoyed nothing in life more than hearing himself talk in public or in private, had risen in his seat and was signaling for silence.

In a few moments the house was so still that the fall of the traditional pin would have startled the more nervous portion of the audience.

The major, standing at the edge of the box, delivered, in a sonorous voice, a fulsome speech of praise, addressed to Mrs. Anderson, ending by presenting her with a wreath of laurels.

The lady, not in the least embarra.s.sed, made a brief reply, and was about to resume her part, when Maj. Duncan, who had remained standing, said: "But this is not all. There is here to-night a young fellow townsman of ours of whom Boomville should be proud. I refer to the gentleman seated in the proscenium box on the other side."

And the orator fixed his eyes on Al's face.