My Actor Husband Part 9

While we were waiting for the automobile one of the women chaffed Will in the following manner: "Why, you sly, handsome pup! You never told me you were married when you were here before."

"I supposed you knew," was Will's response.

"O, you did! Um! I never say anything about being married, either, when I go away for a lark.... Never mind, I'll forgive you if you'll call me up. Where are you stopping? How long is your wife going to be in town?"

The rest was drowned in the approach of the car.

We did not go to Mamma Heward's this time. Heretofore when Will played Chicago we had lived at a theatrical boarding-house kept by a dear little old Scotch lady. Her's was one of the few good ones throughout the country. Unfortunately one had to take a long trolley ride to reach her house and Will's performances ended late. Then, too, he had heard that the table had gone off and that the service was inadequate. I imagine, however, that Will felt he had outgrown the boarding-house days. He decided upon a family hotel on the north side.

During the week I called on Mamma Heward and took Boy with me. It was the first time she had seen him and she raved over him sufficiently to satisfy even a young mother's vanity. She enquired after Will and had kept in touch with his progress. She had always been fond of him and had dubbed him Bobby Burns, whom he somewhat resembled. I saw she felt hurt by our apparent desertion and tried to a.s.sure her that we should be much happier and more comfortable with her; that if it were not for the distance from the theatre----

The dear little old lady patted my hand as if to spare me further dissemblance.

"That's the excuse they all give, but it's no farther than ever it was and the theatres are as near as ever they were," she said sadly, the Scotch burr falling musically upon the ear. "It isn't that.... They're forgetting me now they're getting up in the world. It didn't use to be too far when they couldn't pay more than eight or ten dollars a week for their board ... and the little suppers Mamma had waiting for them after the theatre...."

She sighed but there was no trace of bitterness. "It's what you must expect when you get old and worn out.... It's the way of the world and G.o.d was always harder on women than he is on men."

There was no answer I could make; I could not have spoken had there been anything to say. I felt choked and on the verge of tears. It was all so pitiful. There was an air of desolation about the place. The warmth which prosperity radiates was no longer evident. Where formerly there had been leading players, even a star or two, now there were only the lower ranks, and but few of them. Nothing remained of the good old days save the rows and rows of photographs which lined the walls, all of them autographed and inscribed "With love, to Mamma Heward." Arm in arm we reviewed this galaxy of players.

"There is ----," she said, stopping in front of a well-known actor. "And that's his first wife. She was a dear, good girl. I'm afraid Herbert didn't treat her as well as he should. Many's the time she has cried out her heart in Mamma's arms.... She's married again--no, not an actor--and she's got two boys, the littlest one the size of yours....

Now could you ever guess who that is? Yes, that's ---- when he was leading man with Modjeska. The women were crazy about him.... And he was a dear--such a kind-hearted man. I remember once how he kept the furnace going when our man got drunk and disappeared for three days. If only I had a picture of him shovelling in coal--his sleeves rolled up and spouting Macbeth at the top of his lungs.... Dear old Morry! He was his own worst enemy...."

She sighed heavily over the actor's bad end. "And there! Do you recognize that? And isn't the boy the livin' image of his father?"

I looked more closely at the photograph. Boy's resemblance to his father was even more clearly marked in some of Will's earlier pictures.

"Do you remember the first time you came to me? You hadn't been married long. You had a dog, a bull terrier pup. Let me think, now, what was his name? Yes, Billy, that's it! And do you mind how ye locked him up in your bathroom when you went to the theatre and how he ate the matting off the floor while ye was gone?"

We both laughed at the recollection, though I had not laughed at the time. I was in fear lest Billy be relegated to the cellar where he would cry out his puppy heart. But Mamma Heward was never in a bad humour. She was all kindness and consideration ... and now she was getting old and could no longer please an exacting clientele. The cost of living had gone up; rents were higher; but the little old lady could get no more for her rooms. To make both ends meet she dispensed first with one servant, then with another, until she and one frail daughter shared the entire work of the house. It was no easy matter to cook and serve a dozen breakfasts in the rooms at any and all hours; to cater and prepare meals and then to wait up until midnight that the players might have a hot supper after the performance. How many of those whom she had tided over the hard times, how many who had "stood her up" for a board bill, or whom she had nursed in times of illness, remembered her now in her time of need?

"I'm not finding fault," she said softly, breaking a long silence while we looked beyond the pictures. "I don't blame them for not coming here to live ... only--I wish they'd drop in to see me sometimes when they come to town, just for auld lang syne...."

When I told Will of my visit he looked very serious. I am sure he felt sorry we had not gone back to her. The next day we went together to see her. Will took her a bottle of port wine. Later he sent her two seats for the performance and I promised her that the next time we came to Chicago we should stay with her, even if Will were a star....

CHAPTER X

Will's friends certainly provided one continual round of pleasure, if dissipation may be cla.s.sed under that head. I was brought to wonder how they found time for "the petty round of irritating concerns and duties"

of life. They appeared always to be dining or lunching out. One met them in the various restaurants at all hours, drinking round upon round of c.o.c.ktails, and polis.h.i.+ng them off with cognac. The Pompeian room at the Annex between five and six in the afternoon is Chicago typified. The artistic gentleman who conceived the decorative scheme of the Pompeian room had a sly sense of the eternal fitness of things. He also knew his Chicago. The great bacchic amphorae--copies of those cla.s.sic receptacles utilized as relief stations by old Romans who had wined too well--are concrete reminders of his sense of humour. I have seen more women in Chicago under the influence of liquor than in any other city in the world. This probably accounts for their low standard of morality as well as for the emotional debauches in which they indulge.

There was one couple typical of the cla.s.s of high-flyers in which Chicago abounds. The husband was a throat specialist with a splendid practice. He was popular among stage-folk. Will had met the doctor and his wife during a former engagement. The wife expressed herself as "strong for" Will. Scarcely a day pa.s.sed without a telephone message or a call from Mrs. Pease. She would drop in at the most inopportune times.

"Don't mind me," she would say, settling herself comfortably. "I've seen gentlemen in dressing-gowns before. That red is very becoming to your peculiar style of beauty, sir. Nothing if not artistic."

Mrs. Pease was a tall woman, built on the slab style. She affected mannish tailormades and heavy boots. When she sat down she invariably crossed her legs. The extremities she exhibited were not prepossessing.

She was also expert in innuendo and _double entente_. She flirted outrageously with Will and made me feel like the person in the song, "Always in the way." In fact I came to the conclusion that wherever we went I was accepted as a necessary evil--among the women. There was always a "pairing off" after dinner or supper; surrept.i.tious _rendezvous_ in the obscure cosey corners; _sotto voce_ conversations, not intended for my ears. I found myself getting the habit of talking stupid nonsense with persons in whom I was not interested, simply to cover the follies of the others.

The men flattered me. Flattery is a habit with men; they think most women expect it--and they do. After a little practice a woman can tell to a certainty just what a man is going to say under certain conditions.

How can any one be flattered by the saccharine plat.i.tudes which are ground out automatically like chewing-gum from a slot-machine? So few women have a sense of humour. They have less self-respect.

Chicago lake-wind claimed me for a victim. I came down with a bad throat. Will insisted upon my consulting his physician friend. He was a handsome chap--this popular Doctor Pease--as blonde as Will was dark, but already marked with the ravages of dissipation. He had a genial raillery which made it almost impossible to take him seriously. I did not know whether it was a part of the treatment to unbare my throat and shoulders and sound my lungs and to let his hand linger on the uncovered flesh, but I didn't like it. Neither did I believe my age, my weight and my bust measure had any connection with my throat trouble. Of course I didn't tell Will anything about it, but the next time I needed treatment I asked him to accompany me. Will liked the doctor, so I kept my own counsel.

One noon-day Mrs. Pease telephoned that they were going off on a motor trip for a tour of the country clubs, at one of which they had planned to dine. They wanted me to join them and after the matinee they would send a car to pick up Will, and return him in time for the evening performance. I told Will I did not want to go, giving the excuse that my throat was still sore. Mrs. Pease answered that the doctor said the air would do me good and that he would be responsible for me. I endeavoured to compromise by promising to meet them at the theatre after the matinee when they picked up Will, but the doctor himself came to the 'phone and Will decided for me.

When the telephone announced the arrival of the party I went down to the reception room, where I found the doctor awaiting me. He bundled me into my great fur coat and insisted upon my wearing a fur cap his wife had sent me. He cautioned me to wrap up well, as the car was an open one. When we went out, as I supposed, to join the others, I was surprised to find that the doctor was alone.

"The rest of them have gone on ahead," he answered my enquiring look. "I was detained at the office and told them not to wait on us. We'll overtake them if the car is in good shape."

I felt strangely uncomfortable as I took my seat beside him in the racing machine. He secured the robes about me with his easy familiarity and tucked me in with a good deal of care. As he seated himself at the wheel and drew on his gloves he smiled at me and asked whether I was timid. He said he made it a rule to kiss a woman whenever she screamed.

That was not a propitious beginning, I thought. The doctor drove skillfully, although recklessly.

The boulevard system of Chicago is an excellent one. We covered miles of smooth paving, from which the snow had been removed, before we reached the country roads. After he had "let her out a bit" and showed me what she could do, he slowed up and turned to me with a little laugh, "That's going some, isn't it?" It struck me at the time that "going some" was probably the motto on the city's escutcheon. Everybody wants to be faster than everybody else.

The air _was_ exhilarating. My face tingled from the contact with the wind. The doctor's glances made me uncomfortable. "You look like a rosy-cheeked boy," he said. "I'd like to bite you." I silently thanked the stars the car was an open one.

Farther on we stopped at a country club. The doctor said it was a long time between drinks. As we drove into the club-grounds I noticed another motor under the shed. I hoped it might belong to other members of the party. The doctor made straight for the shed. When I looked at the deep snow, and only a narrow path cleared to the club house, I apprehended some silliness on the part of my host.

Disregarding his suggestion to sit still while he put up his machine, I climbed down and picked my way over the slippery path. I had not gone far when the doctor overtook me and, seizing me from behind, lifted me in his arms. Not even the presence of the men shovelling snow prevented.

My first impulse was to free myself, and I believe I administered a kick or two. The more I remonstrated the more he laughed. The picture of making a ridiculous show of myself made me submit to being carried the rest of the way.

After ushering me into the living-room the doctor had the good sense to leave me alone for a while. By the time he appeared I had sufficiently recovered my equilibrium to receive him frostily. My dignity was lost on him. He pulled up a great armchair in front of the roaring fire and bade me drink the hot scotch the waiter at that moment brought in. A subdued t.i.tter from an obscure corner of the room sent the doctor in search of other occupants. He discovered them behind a screen.

"Aha!" he greeted them in mock-seriousness. "Discovered!"

"Stung"; responded a masculine voice. "So this is why you wouldn't join our party, eh? You sneaked off by yourselves. I didn't think anybody but me would have the nerve to try this place so soon after the snow-storm."

"Neither did we!"

"For Heaven's sake don't give us away, will you?" It was the woman who spoke.... "Who've you got with you?" she added in a lower tone.

"O, a little friend of mine," answered the doctor. "Come over and meet her. I think you know her husband--Hartley, the actor."

I fear the couple whose _rendezvous_ we had discovered were not impressed with the popular actor's wife. My conversation was limited to monosyllables. The omission, I fancy, was not serious. They had their own topic of conversation. It revolved chiefly around the tenth commandment. In fact, one might conclude with perfect a.s.surance that the seventh and the last of the commandments are the _raison d'etre_ of all conversation among that set.... I lost count of the drinks. The doctor said that in the future he would provide Maraschino cherries by the bottle for my especial delectation.

When we left the club it was dark. The doctor's friends went at the same time. They had a chauffeur. The doctor's bloodshot eyes made me wish we, too, had one. The cold air, happily, set him right. He drove more carefully than earlier in the day. Perhaps he recognized his own condition. Once he slowed down and looked at his watch.

"We're going to be late," he said. "I've half a mind to telephone that we've picked up a puncture and have gone back to town for repairs. What do you say?" He appeared to be turning the matter over in his mind, but I could see that he was not taking me into consideration.

"No, we can't do that," I said without too much emphasis. "Mr. Hartley would be worried."

He smiled at me as he replaced his watch. "Yes, I guess you're right; it will have to wait until some other time." He patted the covers above my lap. "Little Girl," he murmured, rather too tenderly. I was glad I could not see his eyes. The car shot ahead. For the next half hour I had a bewildering sense of flying over the snow-clad earth, coming now and then in contact with it as the car struck a rut. The lights, striking against the stalact.i.ted branches of the trees and foliage, scintillated like the tiara of a comic-opera star--or the Diamond Horseshoe on society night at the Metropolitan.

We were the last ones to arrive at the country club where we were to dine. This time the doctor dropped me at the door. Someone was drumming the piano as I came in. By the time I had taken off my wraps the doctor joined me. There was a general noisy greeting when we entered the great hall. Nearly all of the women I had met before. "I thought the doctor had smashed you up," one of them said. "Or punctured a tire and gone back to town," another added, giving the doctor a broad wink.

"Leila's gone back to town to get Mr. Hartley," volunteered someone else. (Leila was Mrs. Pease.)

I settled myself in a niche of the chimney-seat, hoping to thaw out eventually. I was chilled to the very depths of my being, and it was not altogether physical. There were lots and lots of c.o.c.ktails before dinner. Judging from the spirits of the company there had been a few before we arrived. When I heard that Mrs. Pease herself was driving the car in which she had gone to fetch Will, I had visions of his being dumped into a snow-bank or of colliding with a trolley. It seemed an interminable time until they appeared. We had reached the entree. There was a noisy greeting and a round of sallies.