A BENEFIT PERFORMANCE
Peggy had a bright idea. Any one familiar with the Peggy disposition
would have guessed as much from a number of infallible signs. There were
periods of abstraction, characterized by long silences or random
replies. There were thoughtful little frowns, and sudden dimpling
smiles, all for no reason apparent. And when Peggy reached the point of
saying to herself in a confidential undertone, "There! That's just the
thing!" speculation ran riot in Dolittle Cottage.
But though the guessing was both varied and ingenious, it was all wide
of the mark. The announcement of Peggy's project at the breakfast-table
one morning took everybody by surprise. "Look here, girls," began Peggy,
betraying a degree of nervous excitement in her reckless salting of her
scrambled eggs, "what would you think of our giving a benefit
performance?"
"Performance of what?" asked half the table. And the other half wanted
to know, "Whose benefit?" Peggy answered the last question first.
"Lucy Haines'. She's had--that is, she isn't going to have some of the
money she was counting on for next year," Peggy flattered herself that
this discreet statement gave no hint of the heartache and humiliation
poor Lucy had undergone. "And even if we didn't make very much, a little
would help her out."
"But, Peggy, what could we do?" cried Amy, setting down her glass of
milk with an emphasis that sent part of its contents splashing over the
brim. "None of us sing any to speak of, except Priscilla, and she and
Claire are the only ones who play. I don't see--"
"Well, I've been wondering why we couldn't repeat that little farce we
gave at school last June. It wouldn't be much work, for we all know our
parts. Beside ours, there was only one that amounted to anything. I
thought maybe Claire would take that. The other characters have so
little to do that we could easily pick up girls for the parts. Lucy
herself might take one."
"And Rosetta Muriel," suggested Amy, rather maliciously. It was so
seldom Peggy really disliked anybody that the temptation to make
frequent mention of their pretentious neighbor was too much for Amy's
fun-loving disposition. Unconsciously Peggy's face assumed an expression
suggestive of just having swallowed a dose of quinine. "I suppose so,"
she agreed grudgingly, and Amy indulged in a wicked chuckle.
"But where could we give it, Peggy?" Ruth asked with animation. It was
easy to see that the suggestion had made a most favorable impression on
the company. The little comedy had been given during commencement week
and had proved the most popular feature of that festive period. The
performers had not had time to forget their parts, and a very few
rehearsals would be sufficient to assure a smooth presentation. Peggy,
delighted with the friendly reception accorded her plan, continued her
explanation.
"Why, I think they'll let us have it in the schoolhouse. It's just
standing empty all summer. I'll have to see Mr. Robbins about that, Mr.
Silas Robbins. He's the committee man who hires teachers, and everything
of that sort. And, of course, Lucy ought to know what we are planning
before we do anything further. It won't be necessary to have her name
put in the paper, or anything like that, but I'm sure the people will be
more interested if they know it is a benefit for one of their own
girls."
Lucy Haines, on learning the latest of Peggy's schemes for her advantage
seemed rather overwhelmed. As a matter of fact, she exaggerated the
generosity of the girls who had so cordially endorsed Peggy's plan. The
summer days were all very delightful, but the presentation of the little
play promised that agreeable variety without which all pleasures pall.
Indeed, Lucy's expression of gratitude, fervent if not fluent, rendered
Priscilla really uncomfortable.
"I wish you'd make her understand, Peggy," she said, "that though we're
awfully glad to help her, we're not a collection of philanthropists. I'm
afraid she doesn't understand that this play is going to be lots of
fun."
Other misunderstandings had to be cleared up before everything was
running smoothly. When Peggy called on Mr. Silas Robbins, and stated her
errand, that excellent man failed to grasp her explanation, and took her
for the manager of a theatrical troupe.
"You don't mean that you're running a show at your age! I call it a
shame. You don't look a day older than my Ettie. Haven't you got a home
and folks, child, or what is it that's druv you into this dog's life?"
Of course it was necessary for Peggy to begin at the beginning, and in
the course of twenty minutes or so, the good man began to understand. As
the extent of his blunder gradually dawned upon him, he threw back his
head and broke into a hearty guffaw whose enjoyment was contagious.
Peggy joined him, and then there was an exultant note in her laughter.
Observation had taught her that when a man is laughing, it is one of the
hardest things in the world for him to say no.
"Now, suppose we start over again, and go kind of slow," said Mr. Silas
Robbins. "I've got as far as this, that you're all high-school girls and
want to give a show. It would take a reg'lar racehorse of a brain to
keep up with that tongue of yourn."
Peggy's further explanations were characterized by the utmost
deliberation, so that Mr. Robbins had time to ask any questions that
occurred to him, and the outcome justified her expectation. Not only did
she secure the use of the school building, but Mr. Silas Robbins agreed
to purchase tickets for himself and family.
"And to think I took you for a perfessional," said Mr. Robbins, smiling
very broadly as he turned back to his waiting horses. "If there's
anything in your show funnier'n that, it'll be wuth the price. Going to
ask a quarter, be you? That's right. Folks don't appreciate a cheap
ten-cent show, the way they do one they've got to pay a good price for."
Peggy met a similarly cordial reception at the office of the _Weekly
Arena_, the country paper, on which she was relying for free
advertising. Mr. Smart, the editor, was a careworn little man, whose
frayed and faded business suit suggested that too many subscriptions
were paid in potatoes and cord wood, and too few in the coin of the
realm. He agreed to her request with a readiness Peggy thought
wonderfully kind, though it would have surprised her less, had she
realized with what eagerness Mr. Smart was continually seeking items
with a news value.
"I'll make one or two references to it in this issue," Mr. Smart
promised, "to sort of pique curiosity, you know. And next week you might
give me a little write-up of the thing. Outline the plot, without giving
away the surprises, and put it on thick about its being funny. It
_is_ funny, ain't it?"
"Oh, yes, very."
"That's the talk," said Mr. Smart approvingly. "I don't know how it is
with city people. Sometimes it seems to me that they must like to have
their feelings harrowed up, judging from the kind of plays they go to
see. But here in the country, we like to get our money's worth of
laughing. And, by the way, I suppose you understand, Miss, that it's
customary for the Press to receive two complimentary tickets."
Notwithstanding this cordial and valuable support, Peggy was to find
that the lot of an actor-manager is not altogether free from thorns.
Claire had obligingly agreed to accept the vacant _role_ in the
cast, but after one reading of the little play, a marked decrease in her
enthusiasm was observable.
"Do you know I don't like the part of _Adelaide_ a bit," she
confided to Priscilla. "I'd like to play _Hazel_. I'm going to ask
Amy if she'd mind changing with me."
Priscilla stared.
"Of course she'd mind. She knows her part and has played it once. You
couldn't ask her to learn a new one just because you prefer hers."
Claire's air of depression became more marked.
"Priscilla," she quavered, "I don't see how I'm going to play that part.
I don't know how I'll endure it."
Priscilla's amazement grew. "Why, what's wrong with it? I think it's
particularly cute."
"Why, we're quarrelling every minute, you and I. And at the end of the
second act, you say--" Claire's voice died away in a dejected whimper.
But there was little balm for her grievance in Priscilla's unfeeling
laughter.
"Well, what of it? There's nothing real about it. A quarrel in a play
isn't anything."
"It's something to me," replied Claire, in tones nicely balanced between
despondency and tenderness. "When I think of your glaring at me and
saying such cruel, cruel things, it seems as if it would almost kill
me." She found her handkerchief, and actually shed a few tears, while
Priscilla choked down her exasperation, and tried to answer with fitting
nonchalance.
"Sorry you feel that way. We might ask Dorothea Clarke, the girl who
took the part before, to come up for a week, just to play it. Though I
must say," concluded Priscilla, her irritation getting the better of her
good resolutions, "that your idea impresses me as too silly for words."
The suggestion that Claire's cooperation was not necessary to the
success of the undertaking was all that was needed. Claire had no
intention of being reduced to the position of an on-looker, while the
others enjoyed the fun and reaped the plaudits of the enterprise.
Nothing more was heard of Claire's giving up her part, but in the
rehearsals she showed such a total lack of spirit, and played the
_role_ assigned her with so unmistakable an air of injury, that
patient Peggy was driven to the verge of desperation.
Nor were her troubles confined to Claire. Rosetta Muriel who had been
offered an unexacting part in the cast, confided to Peggy her intentions
in regard to costume. "I'm going to have an apple-green silk. The
skirt'll be scant, of course, and draped a little right here. And which
do you think would be stylisher, a square neck or--"
Peggy had by now recovered herself sufficiently to interrupt. "Why,
you're cast for a parlor-maid."
"I know it," said Rosetta Muriel, indifferently.
"You can't dress in apple-green silk. You ought to have a plain black
dress and a little white apron."
Rosetta Muriel flushed and tossed her head.
"I don't know what difference that makes. If you're going on the stage
you want to look as nice as you can, I should think."
"One can look very nice in a black dress and a white apron. I'm going to
be a frumpy old woman, with the worst rig you ever saw. But of course,"
concluded Peggy firmly, perceiving that Rosetta Muriel was inclined to
argue the point, "If you'd rather not take the part, I can probably find
some one else. But whoever takes it, will have to be dressed suitably."
That argument was as effective with Rosetta Muriel as it had been with
Claire. She yielded as the other girl had done, and as ungraciously.
"It's easy enough to see through that," she told herself angrily. "Those
city girls want to be the whole thing. They're afraid to let me dress up
nice, for fear folks will look at somebody else." And it argues well for
the strength of Rosetta Muriel's vanity that for the moment she actually
believed her preposterous charge.
Plans for the play absorbed the leisure of the cottagers. Little else
was talked of. To Jerry Morton had been assigned the responsibility of
organizing an orchestra of local talent, and he came twice a day or
oftener, to report progress or ask counsel. The tan shoes, whose
excessively pointed toes betrayed that probably they were as old, if not
older than Jerry himself, but which in Jerry's estimation were
synonymous with unpretentious elegance, appeared so frequently that the
razor-like tips began to look somewhat scarred and battered, as if they
might perhaps retire from active service in ten years' time, or so. But
the tan shoes were not Jerry's only concession to the social amenities.
An unwonted attention was given to grimy knuckles and finger-nails. More
than once he made his appearance with his usually frowsy hair as sleek
as the coat of a water rat, and dripping, in further likeness to the
animal mentioned. Peggy, whose original interest in Jerry had been
intensified by the favorable impression he had made on Graham, hailed
these signs of awakening with satisfaction, and laid plans to bring
about still more startling changes.
The little comedy did not require much in the way of scenery. But to
present even a simple home scene on the schoolhouse platform,
necessitated considerable planning, to say nothing of hard work.
Arrangements were made for extra benches to put back of the battered
desks, for the _Weekly Arena_ had exhibited a noble determination
to earn the two complimentary tickets, and Peggy felt sure of a full
house. Farmer Cole had agreed to lend Joe for the important day, and it
looked as if the hired man would not find his post a sinecure.
"If ever a place was misnamed," Aunt Abigail remarked one day, "this is
the spot. Dolittle Cottage. Do-_little_ Cottage," she repeated,
with an emphasis calculated to make her meaning apparent to the most
obtuse. "In the course of a few weeks we have become a preparatory
school and an orphan asylum." She looked significantly at Peggy who sat
on the steps, feeding the speckled chicken from a spoon. "And our last
development is a theatrical agency. Well, I can't say that it is exactly
my idea of a quiet, restful summer."
The hour of preparation was at its height, and the great occasion less
than a week away, when Peggy received news which sent her already
buoyant spirits climbing like a rocket. The rural delivery had brought
her several letters, and as Priscilla noticed, she pounced first on a
missive in a business-like envelope, with a typewritten address. She had
hardly read two lines before she interrupted herself with a joyous
squeal.
"Girls, isn't it glorious! Elaine is coming Saturday."
"Elaine! Why, I thought she said she couldn't." Priscilla's answer was a
little less spontaneous than usual.
"Her mother and Grace have been invited somewhere, and they insisted on
her coming here. She's worked so hard, and they feel she needs a
change." Peggy was reading down the page, her bright face aglow with
anticipation, but Priscilla's look indicated no corresponding pleasure,
and she answered with a non-committal murmur, when Peggy added, "She'll
be here for the play. I'm so glad."
And Priscilla struggling to express a degree of satisfaction in the
prospect, did not guess how soon she would echo Peggy's words from the
bottom of her heart.