Immediately the maid had disappeared, Laura sprang to her feet and
picked up John's letter. It was only with the greatest difficulty that
she had managed to curb her impatience. Eagerly she tore open the
envelope.
The letter consisted, as usual, of several pages closely written.
Things were pretty much the same, he said. It was a wonderful country,
vast and unconquered, a land where man was constantly at war with the
forces of Nature. Extraordinary finds were being made every day; one
literally picked up gold nuggets by the handful. If he and his partner
were only reasonably lucky, there was no reason why they should not
become enormously rich. He hoped his little girl was happy and
prosperous. He was sure she was true. Each night when he went to sleep
in his tent, he placed two things under his pillow, things that had
become necessary to his salvation--a Colt revolver and her sweet
photograph. He quite understood that it was difficult to secure good
engagements, especially since Brockton's backing was withdrawn, but he
advised her to take heart and accept anything she could get--for the
present. It would not be for long. When he came back, rich beyond the
dreams of avarice, she would not have to worry about theatre managers
any more.
She read the letter through hurriedly, re-read it, and then, pressing
the missive to her lips, laid it down on the table.
"Accept anything!" she murmured. "Ah, he does not understand. How
should he? If only there was something to accept!" Rising wearily, she
sighed: "Hope, just nothing but hope."
Her mouth quivered, and her bosom, agitated by the emotion she was
trying hard to suppress, rose and fell convulsively. He did not
understand. How was it possible for her to wait? She had already waited
until everything was gone--her rings, her watch and chain, even the
clothes on her back. She was absolutely penniless; unless relief came
soon she would be turned into the streets. Oh, why could he not have
guessed the truth from her letters, and come back to her?
Going to the bed, she fell face down upon it, burying her face in her
hands. A convulsive sobbing shook her entire being. It was too hard to
bear. She had tried to be brave, but her heart was breaking. Ah, if
John only knew! What did she care for riches? If only he would come to
comfort her and give her courage.
For fifteen minutes she lay there, motionless, a pathetic figure of
utter despondency. The minutes might have lengthened into hours, when
suddenly a hurdy-gurdy in the street below started to play a popular
air. Often the most trivial and commonplace incident will change the
entire current of our thoughts. It was so in this instance. The cheap
music had the effect of instantly galvanizing the young actress into
life. It suddenly occurred to her that she was ravenously hungry. She
rose from the bed, went to the wardrobe and took out a box of crackers.
Then opening the window, at the same time humming the tune of the
hurdy-gurdy, she got a bottle of milk that was standing on the sill
outside and placed it on the table. Next she went to the washstand and
rinsed out a tumbler. While thus engaged, there came a timid knock at
the door. Startled, not knowing who it could be, unwilling that
strangers should detect the traces of tears, she went quickly to the
dresser and powdered her nose. The knocking was repeated.
"Come in!" she called out, without turning round.
The door opened and Jim Weston appeared. He halted on the threshold,
holding the knob in his hand.
"May I come in?"
"Hello, Jim! Of course you may. I'm awfully glad you came. I was
feeling horribly blue. Any luck?"
The advance agent came in, closing the door carefully behind him.
"Lots of it," he grinned.
"That's good," exclaimed Laura, who was still at the mirror arranging
her hair. "Tell me."
"It's bad luck--as usual. I kind o' felt around up at Burgess's office.
I thought I might get a job there, but he put me off until to-morrow.
Somehow those fellows always do business to-morrow."
Laura closed the window, shutting out the sound of the street music,
which now could be heard only faintly. Grimly, she said:
"Yes, and there's always to-day to look after." Going up to him, she
said kindly: "I know just how you feel. Sit down, Jim."
He took a seat near the table, and accepted a dry cracker which she
offered him. As he munched it, Laura went on:
"It's pretty tough for me, but it must be a whole lot worse for you,
with a wife and kids."
The agent made a wry face.
"Oh, if a man's alone he can generally get along--turn his hand to
anything. But a woman----"
"Worse, you think?"
He eyed her a moment without replying. Then he said:
"I was just thinking about you and what Burgess said."
"What was that?" asked the girl indifferently, as she sipped her milk.
The agent cleared his throat. With an air of some importance, he said:
"You know Burgess and I used to be in the circus business together. He
took care of the grafters when I was boss canvas man. I never could see
any good in shaking down the rubes for all the money they had and then
taking part of it. He used to run the privilege car, you know."
Laura looked puzzled.
"Privilege car?" she echoed.
"Yes," he went on, "had charge of all the pick-pockets--dips we called
'em--sure-thing gamblers and the like. Made him rich. I kept sort o' on
the level and I'm broke. Guess it don't pay to be honest----"
Laura gave him a quick look. In a significant tone of voice, she said:
"You don't really think that?"
The man shook his head dubiously.
"No, maybe not. Ever since I married the missis and the first kid come
we figured the only good money was the kind folks worked for and
earned. But when you can't get hold of that, it's tough."
The girl nodded, and, averting her head, looked out of the window.
"I know," she said simply.
The agent was in a loquacious mood this afternoon, and needed little
encouragement to do all the talking. He went on:
"Burgess don't seem to be losing sleep over the tricks he turned. He's
happy and prosperous, but I guess he ain't any better now than he ought
to be."
"I guess he isn't," rejoined Laura quickly. "I know I've been trying to
induce him to give me an engagement, but for some reason I get no
satisfaction. There are half a dozen parts in his new attractions that
I could do. He has never said absolutely 'no'; but, somehow, he's never
said 'yes'."
"That's odd," said her visitor, scratching his head, as if puzzled. "He
spoke about you to-day."
"In what way?" demanded the girl.
"I gave him my address, and he saw it was yours, too. He asked if I
lived in the same place."
"Was that all?"
"He wanted to know how you was getting on. I let him know you needed
work, but I didn't tip my hand you was flat broke. He said something
about you being a damned fool."
Laura looked up in surprise.
"How?" she demanded.
Weston twirled his hat round nervously, and remained silent.
"How?" she demanded again.
Thus encouraged, he proceeded:
"Well, Johnny Ensworth--you know he used to do the fights on the
_Evening Screamer_; now he's press agent for Burgess; nice fellow and
way on the inside--and he told me where you were in wrong."
"What have I done?" she asked, taking a seat in the armchair.
"Burgess don't put up the money for any of them musical comedies--he
just trails. Of course, he's got a lot of influence, and he's always
Johnny-on-the-Spot to turn any dirty trick that they want. There are
four or five rich men in town who are there with the bank-roll,
providing he engages women who ain't so very particular about the
location of their residence, and who don't hear a curfew ring at
eleven-thirty every night."
"And he thinks I am too particular?" interrupted Laura dryly.
"That's what was slipped me. Seems that one of the richest men who is
in on Mr. Burgess's address book is that fellow Brockton. You're an old
friend of his. He's got more money than he knows what to do with. He
likes to play show business. And he thought that if you----"
Rising quickly, the girl went to the wardrobe, and, taking out her hat,
picked up a pair of scissors, and proceeded to curl the feathers. The
hat was already in so deplorable a condition that this belated home
treatment was not likely to help it, but the diversion served its
purpose, which was to distract the agent's attention away from her
face.
"I didn't mean no offence," said Jim apologetically. "I thought it was
just as well to tell you where he and Burgess stand. They're pals."
Laura jumped up, and, putting the hat and scissors down on the bed,
went close up to her visitor. Confronting him, she said with angry
emphasis:
"I don't want you to talk about him or any of them. I just want you to
know that I'm trying to do everything in my power to go through this
season without any more trouble. I've pawned everything I've got; I've
cut every friend I knew. But where am I going to end? That's what I
want to know--where am I going to end?" Sitting down on the bed, she
went on: "Every place I look for a position something interferes. It's
almost as if I were blacklisted. I know I could get jobs all right, if
I wanted to pay the price, but I won't. I just want to tell you, I
won't. No!"
Nervous and restless, she again rose, and, going to the fireplace,
rested her elbow on the mantel. The advance agent coughed and nodded
his head approvingly.
"That's the way to talk," he said. "I don't know you very well, but
I've watched you close. I'm just a common, ordinary showman, who never
had much money, and I'm going out o' date. I've spent most of my time
with nigger minstrel shows and circuses, but I've been on the square.
That's why I'm broke." Rather sadly he added: "Once I thought the
missis would have to go back and do her acrobatic act, but she couldn't
do that, she's grown so deuced fat." Rising and going up to Laura, he
said: "Just you don't mind. It'll all come out right."
"It's an awful tough game, isn't it?" she said, averting her face.
She wiped away the tears that were silently coursing down her wan
cheeks. Then, going to the table, she took up the glass, poured the
unused milk back in the bottle, and replaced the biscuits in the
wardrobe.
"Tough!" exclaimed the agent. "It's hell forty ways from the Jack. It's
tough for me, but for a pretty woman with a lot o' rich fools jumping
out o' their automobiles and hanging around stage doors, it must be
something awful. I ain't blaming the women. They say 'self-preservation
is the first law of nature,' and I guess that's right; but sometimes
when the show is over and I see them fellows with their hair plastered
back, smoking cigarettes in a holder long enough to reach from here to
Harlem, and a bank-roll that would bust my pocket and turn my head, I
feel as if I'd like to get a gun and go a-shooting around this old
town."
"Jim!" protested Laura.
"Yes, I do," he insisted hotly; "you bet!"
"That wouldn't pay, would it?"
"No; they're not worth the job of sitting on that throne in Sing Sing,
and I'm too poor to go to Matteawan. But all them fellows under
nineteen and over fifty-nine ain't much use to themselves or any one
else."
"Perhaps all of them are not so bad," said Laura meditatively.
"Yes, they are," he insisted angrily; "angels and all. Last season I
had one of them shows where a rich fellow backed it on account of a
girl. We lost money and he lost his girl; then we got stuck in Texas. I
telegraphed: 'Must have a thousand, or can't move.' He just answered:
'Don't move.' We didn't."
"But that was business."
"Bad business," he nodded. "It took a year for some of them folks to
get back to Broadway. Some of the girls never did, and I guess never
will."
"Maybe they're better off, Jim."
"Couldn't be worse. They're still in Texas. Wish I knew how to do
something else--being a plumber or a walking delegate--they always have
jobs."
"I wish I could do something else, too, but I can't. We've got to make
the best of it."
Weston rose and took his hat.
"I guess so. Well, I'll see you this evening. I hope you'll have good
news by that time." He started to open the door, and then came back a
step, and in a voice meant to be kindly, he said: "If you'd like to go
to the theatre to-night, and take some other woman in the house, maybe
I can get a couple of tickets for one of the shows. I know a lot of
fellows who are working."
The girl smiled sadly; tears filled her eyes.
"No, thanks, Jim; I haven't anything to wear to the theatre, and I
don't----"
He understood. His face broadened into a sympathetic smile, and,
putting his arm affectionately round her waist, as a father might with
his daughter, he said kindly:
"Now, you just cheer up! Something's sure to turn up. It always has for
me, and I'm a lot older than you, both in years and in this business.
There's always a break in hard luck some time----"
Laura dried her eyes, and tried to force a smile.
"I hope so," she said. "But things are looking pretty hopeless now,
aren't they?"
"Never mind," he said, as he went toward the door. "I'll go and give
Mrs. F. a line o' talk and try to square you for a couple of days more,
anyway. But I guess she's laying pretty close to the cushion herself,
poor woman."
"Annie says a lot of people owe her."
"Well, you can't pay what you haven't got. And even if money was
growing on trees, it's winter now. I'm off. Maybe to-day is lucky day.
So long!"
"Good-by," smiled Laura.
"Keep your nerve," he said, as he closed the door behind him.