I
The Arrival
Eight hours after leaving New York City, the rickety old Pathways Bus
lurched to a bouncing halt in a small Adirondack mountain town. Peggy
Lane rose from her seat and somewhat shakily managed to collect her
handbag, a small suitcase, a hatbox, two coats, and her precious tin
make-up kit.
“I wonder if I really look like an actress or more like a walking
luggage rack?” she thought excitedly as she stepped down from the bus.
The scene that greeted her was breath-taking; Peggy gasped aloud with
delight. Before her, Lake Kenabeek lay gleaming like a jewel in the
afternoon sun. Pine trees rose everywhere and although it was summer
there was a delicious nip and tang in the air. Peggy’s heart raced with
eagerness and the familiar nervous anticipation she always felt when
approaching something new. She had been hired as resident ingénue for
eight wonderful weeks with her first summer stock company. Each week she
would be playing a different part, gaining invaluable experience, and
learning new phases of life backstage.
“And I got the job all on my own!” Peggy thought exultantly. “Just by
reading for the producers! That must mean something—at least, it means
that I’m really a professional actress now and don’t have to depend on
friends and ‘contacts’ for my work!” She smiled happily, taking a deep
breath of the fragrant, pine-scented air.
“Miss Lane?” A voice interrupted Peggy’s thoughts. She turned and saw a
spectacled, studious-looking boy about seventeen who was wearing
dungarees and a paint-smeared shirt. Offering her a slightly stained
hand, he grinned shyly. “Scene paint,” he explained, “but it’s clean.”
Peggy could hardly shake his hand, laden down as she was, and the boy
stammered with embarrassment. “Oh, I’m so sorry—I was so busy looking at
you, I didn’t notice.” He relieved her of some of her bags, giving her a
frankly admiring stare. “You sure look like a good ingénue!”
“I do?” Peggy beamed.
“Just what I had in mind.” He smiled, taking in Peggy’s trim little
figure, dark chestnut hair and fresh, mobile face. “I’m Michael Miller,
and I have the jeep waiting to take you to your hotel.”
The jeep had been painted bright blue with an eye-catching sign on the
hood. Kenabeek Summer Theater, it proclaimed in large white letters.
“Good advertising,” Michael confided as they deposited Peggy’s bags in
the rear. “But then, you’re not bad advertising either!” He nodded in
the direction of a few bystanders who were casting curious glances at
Peggy. Peggy smiled back at the townspeople, and as she climbed into the
front seat, her nervousness unexpectedly dropped away. She was really
here at last, she realized, an actress with a season’s contract—and
suddenly she felt very professional.
As they drove carefully up the winding mountain road, Peggy discovered
that Michael was one of three local boys who were to work as
apprentices—helping the scene designer, doing odd chores, and playing
small parts when needed. Michael’s father was Howard Miller, a retired
theater man, who was to do all the older character parts during the
season.
“Oh, I’ve heard of him!” Peggy exclaimed. “He’s supposed to be a
wonderful actor, and we’re lucky to have him. You know how hard it is to
get good character men for stock. Michael,” she went on eagerly, “do you
think the theater will be a success?”
Michael considered a moment. “I don’t honestly know,” he replied
thoughtfully. “This is a very small town, and actually we don’t have a
large enough population to carry a summer theater all on our own. But
one of the ideas behind this venture is to bring in more summer resort
business.”
Peggy nodded. She knew that Richard Wallace, one of the two young
producers, was a resident of Lake Kenabeek, and wanted to help improve
his town—both culturally and financially.
“Of course Richard’s Aunt Hetty is vice-president of the Chamber of
Commerce,” Michael continued, “and the Chamber of Commerce put up half
the financial backing for the theater. So we do have solid support
there. But some people here resisted the idea of a group of actors—you
know, they think that actors are a strange, Bohemian breed—” He glanced
at Peggy and laughed. “Bohemian, huh! All they need is to take one look
at you, or any of the other actors who have come up from New York.”
Peggy smiled gratefully. She knew that a lot of people didn’t realize
what honest, hard work the theater could be. But obviously this
intelligent young boy had a deep feeling for the profession and knew
that an actress’ life wasn’t only curtain calls and bouquets after the
performance.
“Yes, we do have a lovely group of people,” Peggy agreed earnestly. She
had met most of them in New York during the tryouts and been impressed,
not only by their acting ability, but by their responsible and
intelligent attitude. “And we have a really good director, wonderful
plays, and at least half the town is behind us. That should be enough if
we work hard!” she concluded with a twinkle.
Michael turned from the twisting, ribbonlike shore line and drew up in
front of a large, old-fashioned, rustic building. “Here we are,” he
announced grandly, “Kenabeek Inn! But you’re not in the main building;
your company is staying in the annex.”
Peggy followed him around the side of the inn, down a little path
fringed with fir trees. In a small clearing, well away from the kitchen
noises issuing from the rear of the inn, Peggy saw a tiny, two-story
building. There was a roofed-over patio outside with two sofas, some
chairs, and a table on which stood a hot plate and stacked cups and
saucers. Peggy smiled to herself, recognizing the sure sign of an
actors’ residence—coffee, coffee, and more coffee.
Rita Stevens came bursting out of the door, a radiant smile transforming
her rather plain features. “Margaret, ‘Peggy’ Lane—Star of Stage,
Screen, Radio, Television, and Summer Stock! Welcome!” she cried,
running up and giving Peggy a hug.
They grinned at each other happily. “Oh, I’m so glad to see you!” Rita
bubbled. “I’ve been positively frantic for some female company around
here. We’ve been up for three days and Gus has spent every single minute
at the theater—”
Rita was married to Gus Stevens, the scene designer—a lucky combination
for the company. Although young, Rita had one of those ageless faces and
a maturity which made her a perfect character woman. Peggy had liked her
the instant they met at the readings in New York.
“No women?” Peggy asked, “Hasn’t Alison Lord arrived yet?”
“Oh, no, my deah,” Rita intoned in a stagy accent. “No, our leading lady
is being flown up in someone’s private plane and isn’t expected until
tomorrow morning.” She waved a hand airily, imitating perfectly a prima
donna.
“Oh, no!” Michael grimaced in disgust. “Is she really like that?”
“No, Mike,” Peggy said with a laugh, “she’s really quite friendly and
nice—and a very good actress. Just a little theatrical, but I’m sure
you’ll like her.”
“Well, I hope so,” Michael said, obviously still doubtful. “Look, I’ve
got to scoot back to the theater. May I leave your things here, Peggy?”
“Oh, I’ll take them, Mike.” Rita grabbed some of Peggy’s luggage and
started up the stairs of the little house. “See you later, Mike.”
“And thanks for the ride and everything,” Peggy called after him.
“He’s such a sweet kid,” Rita commented as they climbed. “A wonderful
help to Gus—I have a feeling Michael may make this business his life
work. Here’s where you live, Peggy!”
They stepped into a tiny white room, sparsely furnished with only a day
bed, a large bureau, a folding screen, straight chair, and a bedside
table.
“The manager of the inn must know something about summer stock
companies,” Rita observed ruefully. “Obviously he has a good idea of
just how much time we’ll be spending in our rooms.”
Peggy looked at her questioningly and Rita laughed. “It’s your first
season, I know—but just you wait and see!”
“My trunk!” Peggy interrupted with a sudden disturbing thought. “I sent
it ahead by Railway Express. Hasn’t it come?”
“Right here, madame.” Rita folded back the screen and revealed Peggy’s
large, black wardrobe trunk, which was somewhat dented and worn, parts
of old labels still sticking to it here and there. “You know, for a girl
who hasn’t done stock before, or been on the road, this trunk is really
strange. What did you do?” she asked with a teasing smile. “Stick on
labels, and tear them off, and then jump up and down on it wielding a
hammer?”
Peggy hooted. “Rita Stevens, you have a very suspicious mind! I want you
to know that this trunk belonged to a friend of my father’s—a wonderful
woman who was in the theater years ago.” Peggy’s face softened
wistfully. “And I imagine that this battered old trunk has seen more
drama—on stage and off—than we can even imagine.”
The girls looked at it thoughtfully, a picture of the old, romantic days
of the theater—great plays, great producers, great stars—all the golden
history of the stage firing their imagination.
Peggy broke the spell, “Well, anyway, May Berriman gave it to me. She
runs the rooming house where I live in New York, you know. And believe
me, I’m grateful! Besides needing a trunk, I think of it as a symbol of
good luck. Some time soon, Rita, would you mind taking a look at my
wardrobe? I think I brought enough, but I’d like to be sure.”
“I’d love to,” Rita said. “But now let me show you where everything is
in our little annex, and then you’d better rest awhile. I’m sure you’re
tired, and we have a company call tonight.”
Alison Lord would be in the room across the hall from Peggy. Rita and
Gus were also upstairs, on the opposite side of the house. Danny Dunn,
Chris Hill and Chuck Crosby, the director, were all downstairs. The
patio was community property for coffee, line rehearsals, and just plain
relaxation. It seemed like a good arrangement. Rita showed Peggy where
she could shower and freshen up and said she would call her in time for
dinner.
But Peggy was too keyed up to take a real nap. She sat on the edge of
her bed, thinking of all the steps that had led her here, to this place,
at this time. Her love of acting, the school plays, the productions in
college, coming to New York, the long, hard work at the Dramatic Academy
and in the Penthouse Theater. She was grateful for a private room where
she could be quiet and think.
She remembered her home town of Rockport, Wisconsin, and suddenly had a
vision of that other gay little bedroom where she had often sat quietly
and thought—much as she was doing now. She remembered her mother’s kind,
attractive face and her encouragement and understanding. Her father,
too, would be glad to hear of this job, Peggy thought, and would
probably run an article about her in his paper, the _Rockport Eagle_.
She smiled, visualizing the headline—Local Girl Signed in New York—or
something like that. Thomas Lane was a good newspaper man and would try
to “hook” them with the headline. Nothing so simple as Local Girl Makes
Good.
Peggy promised herself to write them good long letters as soon as
possible. And she should write to May Berriman, and to her housemate in
New York, Amy Preston. Well, there was a lot to do—and a lot ahead.
Peggy sighed and opened a suitcase to change into something fresh for
the evening.
After dinner, Peggy, Rita, and her young husband, Gus, walked up the
road to the theater. Gus had joined them for dinner in the little
roadside restaurant where the cast had made arrangements for meals at a
percentage off the regular cost.
“Mrs. Brady, who runs the place, is anxious to do all she can for the
theater,” Rita explained.
“To say nothing of the extra customers she hopes to attract by having
real actors in her dining room,” Gus added. “Not that I’m a candidate
for glamour, you understand—”
The girls laughed. Gus had hastily donned a clean shirt and a fresh pair
of blue jeans, but the unmistakable signs of sheer hard work still
showed on his pleasant, tanned face.
Rita squeezed his hand affectionately as they hurried up the road. “I do
wish you’d let up a little,” she said. “After all, we do have nine days
before opening.”
“And it’s going to take every minute!” Gus nodded emphatically. “You
haven’t seen the auditorium yet, have you, Peggy?”
“No, I haven’t. You know,” Peggy confessed, “I was really disappointed
when I learned that we were playing in the high school. I had visions of
a rustic barn with candlelight, bats in the wings and mice for
rehearsals—”
“There is one.” Gus chuckled warmly. “Aunt Hetty has a barn that we can
remodel next summer if this season is a success. But we couldn’t afford
to do it this year. It’s better to rent the school and see what happens.
If it bothers you, Peggy,” he added, looking at her with amusement,
“hold on to the thought that we’re helping education! We are, too. The
school needs the money.”
The front doors of the school auditorium faced the highway. A large sign
for the theater gleamed brightly under the floodlights that played on
it. “It’s never too early to advertise,” Gus observed as they walked to
the back of the building.
Entering the stage door, they came through the wings and walked out on a
dark stage, only a single worklight throwing a white circle on the bare
boards. The heavy drapes were pulled back, framing the empty house, the
vacant seats ghostlike in the silence.
“Well, where is everybody?” Peggy gasped in the eerie quiet.
Gus and Rita roared. “We just thought you’d like to see the stage,
Peggy,” Gus laughed.
“You didn’t think we were going to rehearse tonight, did you?” Rita
teased, and then took Peggy’s hand. “Come on, dear, we’re only kidding.
Everybody’s down here.”
They crossed the stage, descended some stairs, and entered a door that
led directly into the school gym. “Here’s our ingénue,” Rita called as
she ushered Peggy in, “ready to work!”
Peggy blinked, coming into the sudden light and busy scene. The gym was
bright as daytime. A huge canvas ground cloth covered the floor and
several people knelt, beside cans, buckets, and paintbrushes, over the
scenery flats that were strewn from one end of the gym to the other.
Peggy had difficulty recognizing anyone. They were all spotted and
paint-smeared, in a variety of strange work clothes.
“Hi!” someone called, raising a hand with a dripping brush. Peggy peered
intently at the slight figure and dark hair, and recognized Chuck
Crosby, their intense young director. “Get to work,” he ordered with a
smile and went back to his painting.
A well-built young man with a heavy mass of light-brown hair rose with
his can and beckoned to her. Peggy picked her way through buckets and
flats, following him.
“Danny Dunn!” she said with a shock of surprise. “How on earth am I
supposed to know you under that disguise?” Danny was to do juvenile and
some character parts for the company. Now he looked like a clown as he
smiled at her with a paint-dotted mouth.
“Tomorrow is another day!” he quoted dramatically. “Tomorrow and
tomorrow—I can hardly wait! By the way, sorry I couldn’t join you all
for dinner, but I just had a sandwich here. Tell me everything
tomorrow—if I’m still alive.” He made a face, “Here, ingénue, fill a
can.”
In a clear corner near the wall, Michael Miller sat hunched over a hot
plate with a bubbling pot of melting glue. He looked like an ancient
alchemist as he stirred and poured, mixing paint, whiting, and glue into
large buckets.
“The white cliffs of Dover,” Michael muttered romantically, taking a bag
of powdered chalk and measuring it into his caldron.
“Sure, double, double, and all that,” Danny replied, nodding kindly.
“Well, just keep steady, old chap, we’re all a little tired tonight.”
“It really is the white cliffs of Dover,” Michael protested as Danny
walked away. “For the ground coat,” he added, peering up at Peggy
through his steaming glasses. “Here, have fun.” He waved her away.
For the next four hours Peggy knelt on her hands and knees, laboriously
painting flats. These were frames of white pine, over which was
stretched unbleached muslin, like a painter’s canvas. They had already
been sized with a solution of glue and water until they were drum-tight.
Over the ground coat that Peggy was painting, Gus would design wallpaper
for interiors, fireplaces, outdoor scenes. Peggy’s back ached as she
worked silently. No one said a word.
[Illustration: Painting flats.]
“A funny way to begin,” thought Peggy, sighing. She had expected a line
reading, even some work on stage. “And Chuck hardly said how-do-you-do,
and I don’t know half the people here.” She glanced around, guessing
that the young boys must be Michael Miller’s friends, and that older man
by the other wall his father, Howard Miller. He noticed Peggy looking at
him and smiled.
“Well,” Peggy decided, acknowledging him with a sigh, “if a man his age
thinks nothing of working like this until all hours of the night, I
guess I can do it too!” She worked on with renewed energy. By the time
all the flats were finished, it was after midnight.
“Rehearsal promptly at nine o’clock in the morning,” Chuck announced
crisply as they cleaned up and prepared to go home.
“Heavens to Betsy!” Peggy thought wearily as she lay in her bed, her
back aching, muscles jumping from the unaccustomed effort. “Now I know
why everyone was so quiet. They’d been at it all day—and I feel like
this after only a few hours!” Her head spun dizzily as she closed her
eyes. “Well, I’m part of a company,” she mused dreamily, “and that’s
what counts. Even if I don’t like the parts I’m given—even if I have to
do other things than act.” Plays and parts and costumes danced before
her like a mirage. “I guess this is summer stock, all right!” she
thought as she fell asleep.
II
A Serious Complication
“Not quite so serious, Peggy.” Chuck Crosby pulled on a lock of his
straight, black hair as he listened to her read. “If you don’t have a
slight tongue-in-cheek attitude, it’s not going to be funny. She is an
earnest young girl, but it’s got to be exaggerated in a comic way.”
Peggy tried again. “Dad, I’m disappointed in you,” she read. “The
world’s on fire and you’re occupied with a cigarette lighter!”
“Thank you,” Howard Miller answered dryly. He was reading the part of
Peggy’s father in their opening show, _Dear Ruth_.
The cast was having its first line rehearsal on the sunny patio of the
annex. Peggy had awakened excitedly with the expectation of working on
stage, only to find that the company would be at the annex all day. She
had wondered, in a resigned way, if she would ever see the stage at all.
But now, as they progressed to the second scene of Act One, her
disappointment was forgotten. She was concentrating on her part of
Miriam, “Dear Ruth’s” younger sister.
“We can _use_ you,” Peggy read on, addressing her father. “We can use
anybody we can get!” She read the last line in a hopeless, adolescent
fashion, timing it carefully, and the cast spontaneously laughed.
“That’s it,” Chuck cried. “That’s the quality I want.”
A pretty local girl, Mary Hopkins, who was playing the part of the maid,
Dora, didn’t come in on her cue. Everyone looked at her as she nervously
rattled her papers, looking quite lost.
“That’s your cue, Mary,” Chuck said patiently. “Miriam says, ‘We can use
anybody we can get,’ and you enter.”
“I don’t see it,” Mary replied helplessly.
“Right here.” Rita was sitting beside her and pointed it out. “Anybody
we can get.”
“But that’s not the whole line—oh, I see.” Mary blushed.
“We’re using sides, Mary,” Chuck said kindly. They were half sheets of
paper bound like a small pamphlet. “I have the master script here with
the whole play, but you’ll find only about four or five words of the
preceding speech printed on your sides. You can fill in the other words
if you find it easier.”
Peggy gave Mary an understanding smile. She had been busy writing in
speeches herself, as she found the short sides difficult to work from.
Peggy liked to think of the play as a whole, but she knew that some
actors worked better from short cue lines, and that for stock, with so
many different parts to learn each week, sides were often faster.
Rita read the part of the mother with assurance and humor. She made a
perfect partner for Howard Miller, and one could tell that she was used
to this type of part. Miriam made her exit, and then Ruth appeared for a
short scene with her father and mother. Before her next cue, Peggy had
time to examine, with a certain fascination, their leading lady.
Alison Lord had arrived that morning, making a grand and breathless
entrance at exactly nine A.M. Her luggage was still stacked in the
patio, and peering at it, Peggy raised her eyebrows. “And I thought I
had a lot!” She wondered how many costumes Alison expected to wear on
stage, but judging by the stunning outfit she was wearing for rehearsal,
Alison must intend to dress as glamorously off stage as on. Her bright
auburn hair was caught up under an eye-catching sun hat of fringed red
straw. The color exactly matched the sleeveless blouse she wore over a
beautiful pair of beige, basket-weave slacks. With her enormous straw
bag, gay sandals, and dark glasses, she looked like a visiting star. And
a really beautiful girl underneath all that, Peggy thought, noticing the
careful make-up that enhanced Alison’s features.
Peggy glanced down at her simple, peasant skirt and blouse. It was
pretty, but hardly spectacular like Alison’s attire. For a moment she
wished that she had thought of bringing more colorful everyday
clothes—was it good advertising for the theater perhaps?—but then she
laughed at herself. “You’re just a little bit envious, Peggy Lane, and
you know it! Now just forget about clothes, and tend to your knitting!”
Her cue came, and she jumped back into her part with gusto, really
enjoying it now that she had caught the flavor of Miriam. She found that
playing with Alison was fun. She was even better than Peggy remembered.
She had a certain awareness of herself, a special “here I am” quality
that would make an audience notice her. She wasn’t a very deep actress,
but she had poise and presence and moved the play along.
Chuck was pleased with the reading. He looked at his watch and called a
break. “Take five. Chris ought to be here any minute, and there’s no
point in going on now without him.”
The cast paused for coffee, waiting for their leading man to arrive.
Chris Hill, who was to play the part of Bill opposite Alison in _Dear
Ruth_, was the only cast member Peggy hadn’t met. He had been held up in
New York with a last-minute television show, and was due on the
ten-thirty bus.
“What’s he like?” Peggy asked Rita as she broke off a piece of doughnut
to share with her. The cast kept snacks in an old-fashioned icebox on
the patio.
“Oh, he’s lovely!” Rita grinned mischievously. “He’s quite tall and very
blond, tanned and terribly handsome, blue eyes, a great smile,
romantic—”
“Really! He’s all that, hm?” Peggy teased back. “Well, all I want to
know is, can he act?”
“He certainly can. I’ve worked with him before—” Rita looked at Peggy
curiously. “It will be very interesting to see your reaction to Chris.
It’s a shame that you didn’t have a chance to meet him before and more
or less prepare yourself.”
“Oh, Rita!” Peggy exclaimed, shaking her head in protest. She didn’t
know what a picture she was with the sunlight striking her dark hair and
framing her pretty face. Rita watched her, noticing the fine, high
cheekbones, straight nose, and soft, wide mouth.
“You really have a captivating quality, Peggy,” Rita said thoughtfully.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if Chris Hill is quite taken with you.”
“With me?” Peggy blurted in astonishment. “Oh, Rita, I haven’t even met
him yet, and anyway,” she added, “I’m not really interested in anyone.”
She was remembering Randy Brewster in New York, and all the fun they’d
had together in dramatic school and in the off-Broadway production
they’d been involved in. Kind, steady Randy, with the marvelous sense of
humor. It would have to be somebody quite wonderful to share the special
place that Randy occupied in Peggy’s thoughts. “Why, there’s no time for
romance here, Rita,” she said. “We’re all too busy. And besides, I
should think Alison would be more his type.”
“Um-hm. Maybe,” Rita interrupted rather mysteriously and nudged Peggy.
“You’ll soon have a chance to find out.”
Following her glance, Peggy looked up the little path and saw Chris
Hill, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, hurrying down with long,
energetic strides. His appearance was certainly everything Rita had said
and more. She glanced at Rita, her eyes wide, and Rita returned a bland
“I-told-you-so” expression.
Chris ran the last few yards, dumped his bag carelessly on the patio,
and with a wide, completely engaging smile, announced, “Reporting for
duty—on the dot, I hope!” He shook Chuck’s hand. “Svengali, how are you?
You picked a beautiful spot—it’s just great. Alison!” He leaned over her
chair, planting an audible kiss on her cheek. Peggy’s eyes popped.
“Doesn’t mean a thing,” Rita whispered to Peggy. “Watch.”
“Darling!” Alison replied extravagantly. “What kept you so long? Did you
come up by dogcart?”
Chris noticed Rita and ran over, swooping her up in a big bear hug and
giving her a kiss, too. “My favorite actress!” he laughed, standing back
and looking at her with delight. “And where’s her favorite husband?
Don’t tell me—he’s up to his ears in flats! When do I see him? Don’t
tell me—probably never!”
Rita laughed. “Such energy, Chris! How do you do it after all night on a
bus? Chris, here’s someone you haven’t met—our ingénue, Peggy Lane. Star
of Stage, Screen, Radio—”
“Television and Summer Stock!” Chris finished for her. “Don’t mind us,
Peggy, it’s an old joke from another summer company. Well!”
He stopped and Peggy couldn’t tell whether he was pausing for breath or
from the interest in her which his look seemed to indicate.
“Well!” he said again, and there was something in his voice that caused
an unexpected flurry in Peggy’s emotions.
“Hello,” Peggy said tremulously. She would never know what his next
words might have been, because just then Chuck interrupted with a call
to resume the reading.
The company sat down again, and Peggy forgot Chris Hill, the young man,
as she listened to Chris Hill, the actor. He read the part of Bill with
so much energy and interest one would think he had just returned from a
long vacation instead of a grueling bus trip. He _was_ a good actor,
Peggy thought. He brought a special kind of magic to the play, and as
they finished the first act, Peggy had a sudden feeling that _Dear Ruth_
would be a hit. Chuck couldn’t have chosen a better opening bill for the
cast. It was perfect for their company, and she looked at him with
renewed respect.
After lunch the furniture was rearranged on the patio as it would be on
stage. Chuck wanted to block the first act. Pencils in hand, they busily
scribbled on their sides, marking movements as Chuck directed them. He
had blocked the play in advance, but it was still a long process, as,
with the actors in front of him, he saw many necessary changes.
Mary Hopkins had to be told that Stage Right was her right, and not the
right of the audience. She caught on quickly, though, and very soon
Peggy noticed that she was lightly penciling in initials—C.U.L. and
D.R., instead of writing out “Cross Up Left” and “Down Right.”
Danny Dunn was enjoying himself enormously. He had the part of Albert, a
stuffy, amusing character who is engaged to Ruth before Bill captures
her heart. Peggy was struck by this boy’s amazing versatility. She had
read with him in New York and knew how well he did juvenile parts. Yet,
here he was, playing a slightly older man and doing a perfectly
wonderful job. Danny had a face almost like putty; he could do anything
with it he wished, and Peggy realized that here was a true actor—who
would never be typed, who could play anything he was given.
“Hello, Mother. Hello, Dad.” Danny made his entrance, and Peggy stifled
a laugh. He was really very funny.
They finished the second scene of Act One and Chuck called, “Curtain!”
There was a sound of hands clapping, and a voice said, “Bravo!” Peggy
looked around. She had been so engrossed in her work that she hadn’t
noticed Richard Wallace standing near the patio, looking on. Beside him
stood a tall, white-haired woman with strong, craggy features, and
sparkling blue eyes framed by a network of tiny lines.
“What a wonderful face!” Peggy exclaimed to herself, realizing that this
must be the famous Aunt Hetty.
“Bravo!” Richard repeated in a deep voice. He was a large young man,
mature for his age, with the same observant blue eyes as his aunt.
“It’s a pity to think that all this work may go to waste,” he said
bitterly, coming on to their outdoor stage.
There was a stunned silence. Peggy didn’t know what to think—was this
Richard’s way of kidding? Chuck got up to give Aunt Hetty a seat, and
plunking herself down heavily, she stated matter-of-factly, “You’re all
so good—so much better than I expected—I’ll hate to see you go!”
The cast looked blank. Chuck was struck dumb for a moment, and then he
suddenly exploded. “What are you talking about? We’re having a rehearsal
here and this is not the time for idiotic jokes!” He looked at Aunt
Hetty and controlled himself. “Excuse me, but really, Richard knows
better than to interrupt us like this.”
“It’s no joke, young man,” Aunt Hetty said bluntly. “Richard, tell them
all about it.” She peered closely at Chuck. “And you ought to know
better, Mr. Crosby, than to think we’d intrude for anything less than a
very good reason!”
“My!” Peggy thought. “It certainly isn’t wise to cross Aunt Hetty. She’s
a stubborn old girl. No wonder she got all that backing from the Chamber
of Commerce—they could hardly say no.”
“I imagine you haven’t seen this,” Richard said, holding up a newspaper
so the cast could see the front page.
The _Kenabeek Gazette_, Peggy read on the masthead, and right underneath
was a headline: Theater In School Illegal.
“I hate to bring you bad news,” Richard said as the cast gathered
around, “but the man who was responsible for this may be right.”
Peggy looked at the bottom of the column and saw that it was signed
“Ford Birmingham.”
“No, that’s just the man who wrote it,” Richard said, noticing Peggy’s
glance. “Ford Birmingham covers art, music, theater, and local features
for the paper—he’s supposed to write our reviews, too. But the man
behind this article is either Max Slade or his brother William—or both.
The Slade brothers run the local movie house and they’ve opposed this
theater from the beginning, thinking it will affect their business—”
“But it shouldn’t.” Peggy couldn’t help interrupting, and Richard agreed
with her.
“No, of course, it shouldn’t. Our theater could even help their business
by exposing more people to entertainment and thereby drawing them to the
movies, too. However, the Slade brothers don’t see it that way.”
“The Slade brothers don’t see much of anything at all,” commented Aunt
Hetty brusquely. “Not even their own movies, from what I gather. If they
used better judgment in selecting films, they might have better
business.”
“Why, I’ve known Max Slade for years,” said Howard Miller, coming over
to Aunt Hetty. “I realized that he didn’t exactly approve of the summer
theater, but what’s all this about our not being legal?” He ran a hand
through his handsome, graying hair, frowning.
“Read it and weep, Howard,” Aunt Hetty responded. “Apparently they’ve
found a loophole.”
“The article claims that a high school cannot legally be used by a
profit-making organization such as a summer theater,” Richard explained.
“But we’re helping the school by paying rent to them,” Chuck protested.
“Sure, but the Slade brothers aren’t concerned about the school,”
Richard continued. “They’re thinking of themselves and are willing to
use any means to get us out of town. This article says that we will be
taken to court if we don’t suspend our operation.”
“Can they?” asked Chris Hill. “I mean, wouldn’t the case be thrown out?”
“No,” Richard answered seriously, “I don’t think it would be thrown out,
because there’s a chance—a good chance—that they’re right!”
“Marvelous!” Alison Lord exclaimed ironically. “Just wonderful! And I
guess we’re just supposed to sit here and take it!”
“No, why should we?” Peggy rushed in with a sudden thought. “Why can’t
we stop the case before it even gets to court?”
“Right!” Richard smiled at her. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do,
Peggy. I’m flying up to Albany tonight to see the commissioner of
education. But,” he said earnestly, “his decision may go against us, and
you’ll all have to be prepared for that. That’s really why I’m here. If
we can’t play in the school, we can’t play at all this year. I want to
know if you’re willing to go on rehearsing on the slight chance that
we’ll be able to open. I’ll probably be gone for several days, and you
may be working for nothing. It’s up to you.”
A determined chorus of voices responded.
“Of course, we’ll work.”
“I want to go on.”
“We’ll open or else—”
“I’d like to meet this Max Slade—”
Mary Hopkins’ little voice trailed on after everyone else’s, “... and
besides all the boxes of crackerjack, I see that the script calls for
dozens of bunches of lilacs. I may be able to make them for you”—she
faltered, a little embarrassed—“I—I’m kind of good with my hands.”
Everyone applauded, and Aunt Hetty came over to give her a hug. “Good
girl, Mary. You sound like the other professionals.” She beamed at the
cast, displaying an unexpected warmth, and then, as if remembering a
role, barked gruffly, “Back to work, then!”
“Why, she’s really soft and sentimental under that brusque exterior,”
Peggy thought, watching Aunt Hetty walk stiffly away. “She’s in love
with this theater and it would break her heart to see it fold.”
Everyone wished Richard luck in the state capital as he walked away
toward the interview that meant everything to this little group of
actors.
Chuck Crosby turned to face them, and with a resolute look that
reflected the feelings of all, he firmly called, “Places!”
III
A Broadcast
The next few days were almost a mirage of feverish activity. Never had
Peggy worked so hard! Rehearsals morning and afternoon, helping Gus with
the scenery at night, and always, in back of everyone’s mind, the big
question—would the theater open at all?
“What do you think, Rita?” Peggy asked late one night when the two
exhausted girls returned to her room. They had stayed late at the
theater helping Gus, for tomorrow with the set finally up, the cast
would have its first rehearsal on stage.
“I think we’re going to open!” Rita answered hopefully. “At least I’m
working with that idea. It is disturbing not to hear from Richard again,
though.”
Richard had wired the company from Albany the disquieting news that the
commissioner of education was off on a fishing trip and could not be
reached. Now, on top of everything else, a new problem—would the
commissioner return in time? And if he did, would Richard be able to
persuade him to come to a favorable decision? It was already Sunday, and
_Dear Ruth_ was scheduled to open Thursday.
Thinking of all this, Peggy sighed loudly, unconsciously repeating the
heavy stage sigh she used in the play.
“All right, Miriam,” Rita laughed, “better be quiet or you’ll wake our
leading lady!”
Alison had returned to the annex early after rehearsal, saying that it
was about time she had some sleep.
“I do think she might have stayed to help, too,” Peggy whispered
indignantly. “After all, we’re all in this together, and I’m sure we’re
all equally tired. Gus needed the help—he’s still up there, for goodness
sake!”
“Well,” Rita said, “that’s Alison. And maybe she didn’t realize how much
was involved here.”
“Then why did she come?” Peggy persisted. “She must have known
beforehand that she’d be asked to do other things besides act.”
“Oh, a good company to work with, I suppose, and a good director and
parts that she wanted to play. Maybe she’s interested in the leading
man!” Rita laughed softly. “If there’s another reason, I’m sure I don’t
know it. Peggy,” she added eagerly, “while we’re here, why don’t I take
a look at your wardrobe? Unless you’re ready for bed—”
“I couldn’t sleep right now on a bed of down!” Peggy agreed
enthusiastically as she opened her trunk. “I’m too tired, and it always
takes me awhile to wind down. Gosh! I wonder if I’ll really be using all
these things!”
The trunk stood flat against the wall, rather like a second bureau, with
drawers on one side and hangers on the other. “I tried to think of
everything,” Peggy said. “If we don’t open, this certainly will be a
monument to wasted effort!”
The girls worked quickly through Peggy’s wardrobe. She had tried to
bring an average of three changes apiece for eight different plays,
knowing that summer audiences don’t like to see actresses wearing the
same thing twice. Besides appearing in a different costume each time,
Peggy had to think of the seasons of the plays and be prepared to dress
appropriately for spring, summer, fall, and winter.
Suits, dresses, jumpers, skirts, evening gowns, housecoats, sweaters,
blouses, shoes, hats, coats, aprons, scarfs! Rita exclaimed, “My! If
there’s anything you haven’t remembered, Peggy, I’d like to know what it
is. You’re beautifully prepared. It looks as if I might be borrowing
from you! And this would look lovely on Alison.” She lifted a
silver-sequined jacket from a bed of tissue paper. “I can just see her
in it, making a spectacular entrance!”
“Why, I’d be glad to lend it to her,” Peggy said. “I borrowed it myself.
But is that done?” She was surprised. “I mean, we all do borrow from
each other at the Gramercy Arms—my home in New York. In fact, that’s how
I managed this wardrobe. I just couldn’t have done it without help. But
somehow, well,” she confessed, “I didn’t think it would be very
professional in stock.”
“Pooh,” Rita chuckled. “Nobody ever has all the things she needs in
stock, Peggy. We all borrow from each other.”
“I doubt if Alison will want anything, anyway,” Peggy said, reflecting
on the piles of luggage Alison had brought. “Oh, Rita, here we are,
talking as if the theater will actually open, and for all we know,
Thursday night may come and we’ll all be on the bus going back to New
York!”
She sank dejectedly on her bed while Rita carefully folded the little
jacket. “We might be,” Rita conceded cheerfully, “but I don’t think we
will! You’re forgetting your trunk, Peggy. Remember? Your symbol of good
luck!” She patted it with a smile as she left the room, leaving Peggy
some of her contagious optimism.
On stage at last! Peggy could hardly believe it. She ran lightly up the
steps from the auditorium floor, crossed the stage, tried each piece of
furniture, moving back and forth—
“What on earth are you doing?” Alison called from the front row where
she was seated, holding a coffee container while she waited for
rehearsal to begin.
“Getting the feel of the set,” Peggy called happily as she ran to the
stairs up left, crossed down right, and exited. “Where’s the prop
phone?” she asked, reappearing from the wings.
“Michael’s out getting props,” Gus answered, coming on stage with a
paintbrush to put the finishing touches on the banister.
Peggy ran down to the auditorium floor again, walked up the aisle, and
stood looking at the stage. Gus had done a beautiful job, she realized
with a thrill. For their opening show an effective set was important,
and Gus had transformed the flats with a miracle of paint and
imagination. The room was so realistic that Peggy felt she could touch
the molding on the walls.
“You’d think you never saw a stage before in your life,” Alison
commented lazily, getting up and stretching.
“I feel like this every time,” Peggy said. “There’s something absolutely
magical about a good set—like moving into a brand-new home. I love it!”
“Well, let’s just hope it will be home for a week,” Alison remarked.
“Personally, I have my doubts.”
“Act One,” Chuck called, and the cast scrambled for the wings. “Places.”
At noon, Aunt Hetty presented herself at the theater and asked for two
people to do a radio interview at the station in Merion Falls about
twenty miles away.
“Anybody,” she said briskly, “as long as they’re part of the resident
company. John Hamilton wants people from New York—and we’ll be gone all
afternoon, Chuck, so give me someone you don’t need.”
“I need everybody,” Chuck said with a laugh, “but advertising is
important too, so—let’s see.” He looked around at the cast. “Peggy,
you’ll go—I need the rest of the family and Albert, but there should be
a man along, too—Chris! Your scenes with Ruth are going well—I won’t
need you today. Go along with Peggy.”
“Have fun, you lucky people,” Danny called after them. “This may be your
first and last day off!”
“And don’t let on that there’s any doubt about opening!” Chuck reminded
Chris and Peggy. “Tell them we’re doing fine!”
“Just fine!” Alison echoed, smiling grimly. Looking back at her, Peggy
realized with sudden surprise that Alison wanted to go too! Why? Peggy
wondered. Surely she didn’t think a local radio show was that important
to her career? And then Peggy recalled what Rita had said. She looked
curiously at Chris as he walked along beside her to Aunt Hetty’s car.
Maybe Rita was right and Alison _was_ interested in the leading man! Oh,
well, it wasn’t any of her business, anyway, Peggy told herself as she
got into the car.
“Sorry to take you off like this so suddenly,” Aunt Hetty was saying,
“but it’s quite important. I promised Richard to get in as much
advertising as I could while he’s gone, and John Hamilton requested this
interview on the spur of the moment.”
“Will he ask us to play a scene?” Chris questioned.
“Oh, I don’t think so. I imagine he’ll just want you to talk about what
you’ve done in the theater—personal stuff. Now you two hush and don’t
bother me with questions. I like to keep my mind on the road!”
Peggy and Chris exchanged amused glances. Aunt Hetty drove as carefully
and slowly as if she were on eggshells. Peggy could see why they would
indeed be all day getting to Merion Falls and she sat back with
resignation to enjoy the scenery. Chris winced as he watched Aunt Hetty
at the wheel, holding it so tightly with both hands that her knuckles
were actually white. He was itching to drive himself, and Peggy smiled
as she watched his inner struggle—whether or not to ask. Aunt Hetty won.
Looking at her determined shoulders from the back seat, he evidently
decided that she would never relinquish the wheel. Chris sighed in
defeat and slumped back. As he met Peggy’s twinkling eyes, they both had
to cover their laughter.
A good while later, when they finally reached Merion Falls, there was
barely time to find the radio station and John Hamilton’s studio. Aunt
Hetty plumped herself down in the booth with the engineer, and Peggy and
Chris took seats at a little table with Mr. Hamilton and a microphone.
Looking at the large clock over the booth, Mr. Hamilton shook his head.
“Four minutes to go,” he said anxiously. “I wish we had more time to
prepare, but this will have to do. I’ll just ask you both about your
background, and then you can plug your theater all you like. We want to
hear about your players and something about the plays if there’s time—”
“Can I hear some voices?” the engineer’s voice interrupted him from the
booth.
Peggy and Chris spoke into the microphone while the engineer tested
sound. “Okay. Fine,” he said. “One minute—” They watched his hand, held
up in the air while the minute hand of the clock made a full circle, and
then he brought his arm down sharply.
“Good afternoon. This is John Hamilton again, with another interview of
interest for residents of the lake area—”
Peggy was impressed, listening to this suave young man and the competent
way he handled himself at the microphone. She felt a beginning, just a
twinge, of mike fright, but then Mr. Hamilton introduced her, and as she
said a few words, Peggy felt easier. As the interview went on, she was
fascinated to hear details of Chris Hill’s background that she hadn’t
known.
“Then you’ve really been a professional actor for only two years or so?”
Mr. Hamilton was asking Chris.
“Yes, since I was discharged from the Army—but before that, of course, I
did a lot of work in college and little theaters—and in the Army I was
attached to Special Services overseas.”
“Soldier shows?”
“Partly, but my main job was ferreting out good civilian actors to work
with us—to bring about a better feeling between the local population and
the Army.”
John Hamilton laughed. “Sounds as if you were doing shows in two
languages—”
“Oh, no,” Chris said easily. “They had to be English-speaking, of
course. It was a wonderful experience all around, but then I was in a
skiing accident in Bavaria. Broke my leg. That finished both the job and
the Army for me, and I came straight to New York.”
Mr. Hamilton handled the questions and conversation so skillfully that
soon Peggy and Chris almost forgot this was a radio interview. They
spoke about theater and sketched the plot of _Dear Ruth_, talking up
Alison Lord as the star of the show.
“And the idea behind this theater, as I understand it,” Mr. Hamilton
said, “is to attract more visitors to our area, isn’t that right?”
Peggy and Chris agreed enthusiastically.
“Then certainly it should be a good thing for Lake Kenabeek,” Mr.
Hamilton went on, “and I want to wish you a lot of luck. But I’ve heard
a rumor recently that you two might set straight while we have the
opportunity here. People are saying that you are operating illegally in
the high school—”
Peggy gasped, but Hamilton didn’t give them a chance to reply just then.
“—and that you may not be able to open at all!” he continued. “Now, what
about this rumor? I’m sure our listening audience would like to hear.”
He sat back and looked at them—“as if we were two fish on a hook,” Peggy
thought, aghast at his question.
In the booth, Aunt Hetty had turned beet red and looked as though she
might explode. Chris’s mouth tightened and Peggy found that she was
becoming angrier by the moment. Of all the dirty tricks—John Hamilton
asking them here to “plug” their theater, and then bringing out this
issue! But Peggy had had enough experience with her father’s newspaper
to know how newsmen operated—and she knew how to counter. Before Chris
had a chance to reply, and in the face of Aunt Hetty gesturing
frantically from the booth to say nothing, Peggy lashed back.
“Oh, yes,” she said quite calmly. “We saw that little piece in the
paper. Rather childish, wasn’t it? Do you know that if we weren’t
renting the auditorium the high school wouldn’t make a penny this
summer? I’m sure you’ve heard of the great need for a new science lab.
By the way,” she went on in a new vein, “I wouldn’t be surprised if you
could help raise funds for the school, too—with your radio program. I’m
sure people would be glad to donate to a cause like that!”
It was John Hamilton’s turn to flush, which he did, as they looked at
each other like two sparring partners in a contest. Ignoring Peggy’s
thrust, he came back firmly to the question. “Is it true that the
theater may not open at all?”
In the booth, Peggy could see the engineer signaling thirty seconds to
go. If she hesitated, a lot of potential theatergoers might tune out
this program thinking of the Kenabeek Summer Theater as a myth, as a
good idea that failed. She couldn’t lie, but perhaps there was another
way. She thought quickly, and her pretty voice sounded young and gay as
it traveled through the microphone.
“The theater is scheduled to open this Thursday night, curtain at
eight-forty, for _Dear Ruth_. We’ll be looking forward to seeing you,
Mr. Hamilton, and we hope your listening audience will be there, too.”
Peggy had timed her speech carefully, and Mr. Hamilton had barely time
to say, “This is John Hamilton, good day.” The red light blinked off,
and they were off the air!
John Hamilton took out a handkerchief and wiped his brow. Then he looked
at Peggy, laughed good-naturedly, and shook her hand. “You were a
charming guest! And a tough opponent! But you win, I won’t say another
word about your theater until you do open—and then I’d like to have you
both back.” He shook Chris’s hand. “I know you were angry, but that’s
the news business. Sorry. I’ll be there for your opening if I can make
it.”
Aunt Hetty looked grimly at Peggy as they walked out the studio door. “I
hope you knew what you were doing, young lady,” she said under her
breath. “You shouldn’t have said a thing! If we don’t open, you’ll have
made a laughingstock of my nephew’s name and mine—to say nothing of the
theater!”
Aunt Hetty drove back in a silence so thick that Peggy and Chris didn’t
have the courage to break it. Peggy felt acutely miserable. Had she done
wrong? She leaned over to Chris and whispered, “What else could I do?
But maybe she’s right. Maybe I should have let you speak instead. Now
I’ve probably messed everything up!”
“But I would have said the same thing!” Chris whispered back. “I was
_mad_!” He nodded at Peggy warmly, and she smiled back. She liked Chris
Hill, there was no question about that. He was impulsive, but
wonderfully kind and engaging.
Aunt Hetty dropped them off in front of the high school and was about to
drive away when Danny Dunn came racing out of the stage door.
“Wait a minute!” he yelled, tearing over to the car and waving a piece
of paper in the air. “We opened it,” he panted, handing Aunt Hetty the
telegram. “It’s to you and all of us, but we couldn’t wait. Where’s that
_brilliant_ girl!” He gave Peggy a tremendous pat on the back. “We
listened to you—and we nearly had heart failure when he pinned you down.
There wasn’t time to call you at the studio, but—”
“I suppose I owe you an apology,” Aunt Hetty interrupted, handing the
telegram to Peggy, “but I still think you were taking a terrible chance.
Terrible,” she repeated, but her eyes were twinkling.
EVERYTHING OK STOP COMMISSIONER GIVES GO AHEAD STOP DETAILS ON RETURN
TOMORROW STOP HALLELUJAH RICHARD
[Illustration: Chris was still standing beside the car.]
“Oh, thank goodness!” Peggy cried. She could have almost wept with
relief, but Danny’s excitement affected them all, and instead of tears
there were hugs and handshakes and Danny pulling Peggy back to the
theater to display “the most intelligent girl who ever graced a stock
company!”
“Intelligent!” Peggy laughed. “Oh, Danny, just lucky!”
“Mental telepathy,” Danny insisted, “and that takes intelligence!”
“Have everybody come to my house after rehearsal,” Aunt Hetty called.
“We’ll celebrate the good news. That’s a nice girl,” she remarked to
Chris, who was still standing by the car. “Even if she is a little
hasty. Not that you wouldn’t have said the same thing.”
Startled, Chris stared at Aunt Hetty, who gave him an understanding
smile. Even in a whisper, it seemed, there was very little that Aunt
Hetty missed.
IV
A Favorable Decision
When Richard returned from Albany the next day he couldn’t find enough
words to praise Peggy for what she had said on the radio.
“But your aunt _was_ upset,” Peggy exclaimed, “and she might have been
right! Just suppose we couldn’t have opened—”
“It wouldn’t have made a bit of difference,” Richard said. “But if you
had said we might not open, think of all the audience we would have
lost!”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking of,” Peggy declared happily. “That’s
why I went ahead.”
Richard called the cast together on stage to tell them what had happened
in Albany. “I got panicky when I heard that the commissioner was out of
town—almost decided to hire a guide and try to trail him in the woods!
But then he sent a wire from some little town saying he’d return Monday,
so I decided to wait.”
“By the way,” Chuck interrupted, “you know we have dress rehearsal
tomorrow night, and the next night we open! Have you sent anything to
the papers yet? Does the town know we’re going to open?”
Richard gave Chuck an amused “where-do-you-think-I’ve-been” look. “Mr.
Crosby, I sent out at least six press releases Monday afternoon from
Albany. Not only to Lake Kenabeek, but to the New York papers, too. The
Albany paper is running a long article on this—it’s an interesting
issue, you know. I wouldn’t be surprised if we get a good press all
around. The Slade brothers may have actually helped this theater!”
Chris laughed out loud. “I’ll bet they love that idea!”
“Oh, certainly! They’ll be here with bells on Thursday night,” Alison
drawled.
Michael Miller was listening, too, covered with scene paint as usual,
and wearing his carpenter’s apron stuffed with tools. “I’ll bet anything
that when they hear about this, we’ll be hearing from them again! Those
boys don’t give up so easily!”
“Oh, now, Michael,” his father remonstrated, “they’re not as bad as all
that—”
“I want to hear what happened!” Rita urged Richard. “We don’t know how
you wangled this or what the commissioner said—”
“Well, I explained our problem to him,” Richard began. “That someone had
questioned the legality of operating a profit-making business in a
school, and that we were threatened with court proceedings if we
continued. I told him who was behind it and why—the brothers Slade and
their movie house—and I also explained that we were helping the school
by our rent. Of course, he couldn’t have agreed more with that, knowing
as much as he does about educational funds! And I ranted—really
ranted—about what the Kenabeek Summer Theater could do for this town—and
the whole area—and the school.” Richard was declaiming now as he walked
back and forth in front of the stage, and the cast was highly amused.
“So, the commissioner promised to look into the matter some time soon.”
Richard stopped dramatically. “Some time soon,” he repeated, obviously
enjoying the effect on the cast.
“Why, he’s a regular ham!” Peggy thought, grinning.
“Well, you should have seen me,” Richard continued, laughing himself. “I
got up from my seat, leaned over the desk, stared him straight in the
eye, and said, as if this was the biggest thing since the end of the Ice
Age, ‘The Kenabeek Summer Theater opens on Thursday. _This_ Thursday!’”
“What did he do? What happened?” Mary Hopkins asked breathlessly.
“He decided that he’d better do something about it!” Richard laughed.
“He was galvanized! He told his secretary to drop everything, and
together we went through a list of all the companies operating in the
state. We found that two other companies were playing in high schools!
If we couldn’t go ahead here, those theaters would have to fold, too!
“Well, it didn’t seem fair, and yet, since no one had ever before
questioned the legality of playing in a school, there was no precedent
to go by. And no time to get a court decision!” Richard was very serious
now, and the cast listened interestedly, hanging on every word. “So, the
commissioner decided that the only thing he could do legally was to
_postpone a decision_ until Labor Day! If anyone raises the question
again, they will be informed that nothing can be done about it until
after Labor Day—and by that time, of course, all the theaters will have
finished their seasons!”
“Very clever!” Mr. Miller nodded thoughtfully. “Very clever indeed!”
“Yes, but there’s one other little thing,” Richard added. “It was also
decided, in order to squelch any rumors or new questions, that this
theater will operate on a non-profit basis.”
“We are now a non-profit organization?” Chuck asked slowly.
“We are indeed,” Richard replied. “Any money left over at the end of the
season, after expenses, goes to the Kenabeek High School toward their
new science lab.”
“Well!” Chuck exclaimed, looking perfectly blank.
“Oh, what a pity!” Rita cried. “Then you two won’t make any money this
summer!” She knew that Chuck and Richard were working for nothing beyond
their living expenses. They weren’t even on regular salaries like the
rest of the company. Every penny would be poured back into the theater
to pay back the Chamber of Commerce and the individual investors.
Chuck laughed. “I had hoped to have something left over at the end of
the season, but I can’t imagine that we need the profits as much as the
school does. Actually, I’m glad about this arrangement!”
“There probably won’t be too much left over, anyway,” Richard added.
“Did you ever hear of a summer theater making a real profit on a first
season? I agree with Chuck. We just want to have a season successful
enough to warrant a return next year.”
“We won’t have a season _this_ year if we don’t get back to work!” Chuck
declared. “We have a lot to clean up today. Places for the second act,
everybody, Scene Two.”
“Congratulations, Richard,” Peggy said as she took a seat in the
auditorium. She had some time before she was due on stage, and she
wanted to watch the other actors. “I think you did a wonderful job!”
“The Chamber of Commerce is going to be awfully pleased with the way
this turned out,” Mr. Miller said, shaking Richard’s hand. “And the
School Board will be delighted.”
“Thanks, Mr. Miller,” Richard said. “I hope Max Slade will change his
mind about us now, too.”
“He might,” Mr. Miller agreed. “He just might. If I have an opportunity,
I’ll try to speak with him about it. Well, back to work, now.
Congratulations again, Richard.”
Watching him go, Peggy was struck again by the company’s good fortune in
having Howard Miller. He was such a finished actor and lent dignity to
the theater by his position with the Chamber of Commerce and the School
Board. “Mr. Miller did a lot in the theater in his time, didn’t he?”
Peggy whispered to Richard as the act began.
“He certainly did. His background’s very impressive!”
“Do you think he might be able to work something out with Max Slade?”
Peggy asked.
“It’s possible, but if he can’t,” Richard whispered with a twinkle,
“maybe I’ll sic you on the job! You did just fine with John Hamilton.”
Peggy laughed. “Oh, Richard! All I said was that _Dear Ruth_ would open
Thursday. What on earth would I say to Max Slade?”
“I would leave that entirely up to you!” Richard teased. “I’m sure you’d
think of something!”
“But not until after Thursday,” Peggy said with mock seriousness.
“No, no, certainly not until after Thursday!” Richard agreed, chuckling.
“We couldn’t take a chance on losing you opening night! He might lock
you up in the movies!”
“And I’d have to look at one of those awful pictures twelve times.” They
both laughed. “But isn’t it exciting, really?” Peggy said. “I mean the
opening—only two more days! It doesn’t seem possible.”
“Two more days,” Richard echoed thoughtfully, “and there’s such a lot to
do.”
“NO!” Chuck suddenly shouted from the orchestra, and Peggy and Richard
both jumped. “No! How many times do I have to tell you—you cannot throw
that line away!”
He ran up on stage and motioned Danny out of the way, saying, “Now watch
this! I hate to show you how to do your part, but we can’t get hung up
on this every time we play the scene!”
Peggy’s eyes opened wide. She had never seen Chuck Crosby like this
before.
“You _pause_ after you say, ‘I got to the turnstile,’ etc. _Then_ you
say, ‘I didn’t have a nickel’—and you _don’t_ throw it away! You’ll kill
your next line if it isn’t just right. Now watch.”
“I see,” Danny said when Chuck had finished. “Thanks, Chuck.”
“This is not Chekhov we’re playing, it’s a Norman Krasna _comedy_!”
Chuck said, speaking to everybody. “Now suppose we get to work! And stop
playing Alison Lord and Chris Hill and Danny Dunn—_and_ Peggy Lane,
radio heroine.” He pointed straight at her. “Let’s play _Dear Ruth_!”
He jumped off the stage and resumed his place down front. “Take it
again,” he called, “from the beginning!”
And he was right. Watching him, Peggy knew that it was time to get down
to serious work. In two days they had to have a play ready. Really
ready, not half-way. And Chuck, like all good directors, was giving them
the impetus and the drive to do it.
V
Opening Night
Thursday! Peggy woke up with a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach
and for a moment wondered why. Then she remembered—opening night!
“Oh!” she groaned and turned over, feeling the butterflies come and go
somewhere in the region of her chest. “Oh,” she moaned again and turned
over on her back.
“Good morning!” There was a knock at her door, and Rita entered bearing
a steaming cup of coffee. The cup rattled a bit in the saucer as she put
it down, spilling coffee over the sides.
“You, too?” Peggy asked, sitting upright.
“Naturally!” Rita held her arm out, showing Peggy her trembling hand.
“That’s nothing!” Peggy scoffed. “Look at this!” They compared hands,
and indeed, Peggy’s was much the shakier.
“Well, you haven’t been up as long as I have,” Rita said. “Wait awhile.”
“I know. It’ll get better, and by noon I’ll feel fine, and by dinnertime
I’ll wish I’d never thought of being an actress in the first place. Oh
dear!” Peggy steadied herself with a sip of coffee. “I wonder how Alison
feels.”
“I’d better wake her up, too,” Rita said and went out for more coffee.
In a moment she was back, and Alison, beautifully sleepy-eyed, joined
them in Peggy’s room.
“Why, oh, why did I ever decide to be an actress in the first place?”
Alison muttered over her coffee.
Peggy and Rita went off into gales of laughter while Alison looked at
them indignantly. “It isn’t funny,” she said. “I don’t feel funny in the
least.”
“We know!” Peggy laughed. “It’s just exactly what I said a minute ago—I
mean what I said I would be saying about eight o’clock tonight!”
“Well, but you don’t have to carry the show,” Alison said, still glum.
“I’ll blow up, I know I will—or I’ll trip over the stairs coming
down—I’ll probably fall flat on my face on my first entrance. Oh, I wish
it were over! Heavens, my hair! I’ve got to wash and set my hair!” She
gulped down the last of her coffee and fled to the shower.
Peggy and Rita watched her go with real compassion—they knew exactly how
she felt!
Chuck Crosby knew what he was about when he called the cast together for
a morning reading of next week’s play, _Angel Street_. By the time the
cast had finished, they had forgotten their anxiety about opening night.
It helped to be reminded that _Dear Ruth_ was not the only play of the
season. There would be other opening nights, too. But this was the big
one—everyone felt that as the day wore on and nervousness slowly
returned.
The company gathered together at a large table for an early dinner at
Mrs. Brady’s. They seldom ate _en masse_ like this, but tonight they
did, almost huddled together for support.
“It feels like the last meal!” Danny mourned as he stirred his soup
listlessly.
“I can’t even stand the thought of food!” Alison declared, looking at
her bowl with distaste.
Even Chris was nervous. Peggy couldn’t help giggling as she watched him
break cracker after cracker into his soup until it looked like a
snowbank. He didn’t have the slightest idea of what he was doing. Rita
plowed into her food, grimly determined to put something into her
stomach, and urged Peggy to do the same.
“Never mind how you feel about it—you’ll have more energy.”
“I can’t,” Peggy said, still giggling. “I just can’t. There’s something
absolutely ridiculous about food at a time like this! Imagine—tomato
soup and _Dear Ruth_—they just don’t mix!” She started laughing again,
and everyone looked at her accusingly. “I can’t help it.” She giggled
helplessly. “I always do this—it’s just nerves. It’ll stop in a while!”
She took a deep breath, trying to calm down, but then another thought
sent her off again. “What do you imagine your husband is having for
dinner tonight?” she asked Rita. “I can just see him up at the theater,
decorating the set and eating lilacs dipped in crackerjack!”
“Oh, Peggy, please stop!” Danny protested as he choked on a mouthful of
soup. “Stop talking and eat.”
“Please!” everyone echoed, and Peggy subsided, trying to force down some
food. It was worse, though, than nervous giggles. The palms of her hands
were first icy and then hot, her stomach felt as if a thousand birds
were migrating through, and the very thought of walking on stage gave
her a shiver from head to toe.
“Well, the worst is over!” Rita said with relief as they finished dinner
and left, with Mrs. Brady’s good wishes following them.
And she was right. Somehow the food, the sparkling night air, the
familiar feeling of the auditorium, and the good smell of grease paint
in their dressing rooms relaxed everyone. This was their job—it was
opening night. In half an hour when they walked on stage, they would be
fine—and everybody knew it.
“It’s funny how the anticipation is always worse than the fact,” Rita
mused as she started to put on her make-up. “And that dinner is the most
dreadful thing of all. It’ll never be that bad again.”
“Aren’t you nervous?” Mary Hopkins asked innocently from her table. The
girls all shared one large dressing room, and the men another.
“What a question!” Peggy laughed. “Aren’t you?”
“Well, a little,” Mary replied. “Not much.”
“That’s because you’re not a professional,” Alison said. “If you ever
become one—just watch. You’re not nervous at first, but the more you
work, the more nervous you get.”
“I think that’s because in the beginning we all think we’re just
wonderful,” Peggy said, “but after a while, we realize how much we have
still to learn.”
“Zip me up, please?” Alison asked Peggy. She looked perfectly beautiful,
Peggy thought, in her pretty two-piece dress, and marvelous make-up.
Alison sat down again and took a little black candle out of her make-up
kit. She lit it and tilted it over a small tin cup.
“Is that some kind of a ritual?” Peggy asked in amazement. “What on
earth are you doing, Alison?”
“Eyelashes,” Alison replied, dipping a brush in the cup and carefully
lifting it to her eyes. “I always do this last.”
“Eyelashes!” Peggy exclaimed—and looked into the little cup. It held
black wax melted by the flame, which thickened when Alison applied it,
making her lashes look thick and long.
“I don’t like to wear false lashes,” Alison explained, “and this works
just as well if not better.”
“If you’ll put a little white at the outer corner of your eyelid,
Peggy,” Rita offered, “it will give you a young effect—and a dot of red
in the inner corner helps, too.”
Peggy tried it and it worked.
“No line under your eyes,” Rita said. “That makes you look older, and
you have to shave off about five years since Miriam is supposed to be
about fourteen. Now, bring your rouge up a little closer to your eyes
and not so far out on your cheek—you want to have a round effect.
There!” Rita looked at Peggy appraisingly. “What do you think?”
Peggy looked at herself and was pleased. She would appear about fourteen
on stage, she thought. She hadn’t been quite satisfied with her make-up
at dress rehearsal. She put on her little navy-blue jumper and white
blouse, brushed on her powder and was done.
“Telegrams!” a voice outside the door announced. “Are you decent?”
“We are, come in,” Rita said, and Richard came through with a stack of
yellow envelopes, handing them to the girls.
“I have to get out front,” Richard said, “but I know you’ll be terrific.
Break a leg!”
“Break a leg!” Mary gasped as he left. “Why—what a thing to say!”
“It means good luck,” Peggy explained as she put her telegrams in front
of her mirror. “Theater people always say that, or something like
it—it’s an old superstition.”
“I see. Why don’t you open your telegrams?” Mary asked.
“Oh, we never do,” Alison answered. “Not until after the show.”
“That’s in case any of them are bad news,” Rita explained.
“But they’re just good-luck wires, aren’t they?”
“Of course,” Peggy laughed, “but it’s another old superstition—like
whistling in the dressing room!”
“Fifteen minutes!” Gus called, rapping a tattoo on the door.
“Where’s the music?” Chuck asked, coming by. “Get that turntable going,
Gus—and better check the door buzzer again.” He came into the room.
“Alison, don’t worry about the orange juice—if you’re shaky about
drinking it tonight, let it go. Peggy, let’s see your make-up. Good!
That’s much better! Now listen—I know it’s opening night and I know it
means a lot—to all of us. And I know we’re all excited and nervous—but I
know you’re going to be just fine!
“Remember—pace it! Keep it moving! It’s a terrific comedy and it ought
to carry you along. It will, if you just keep it moving. I’ll be
watching, but I don’t think you’ll see me until after the show unless
there’s someone I can’t hear. Mary, watch that. I couldn’t hear you in
the last row last night.” He paused a moment. “What else? Guess that’s
it. Break a leg, everyone!”
As Chuck left, the girls heard the music begin, and Gus came by,
calling, “Five minutes!”
There was a sudden silence in the dressing room as everyone felt the
mounting tension. It was a different excitement, though, from their
morning nerves. Peggy began to yawn while Rita took very deep breaths
and Alison did a bending exercise. All these things helped their systems
adjust to the impending effort.
Peggy felt that she had to move. Movement always helped and it was time,
anyway. She walked backstage and took her place in the wings.
“Peggy,” a voice whispered behind her, “have a lot of fun.”
“Thanks, Michael,” Peggy replied shakily. “Do you know what kind of a
house we have?”
“I think it’s pretty good—there’s a peephole in the curtain if you want
to look.”
“No, not tonight—”
“Have fun, Dad,” Michael said to his father as Howard Miller took his
place beside Peggy.
“How do you feel, Peggy?” Mr. Miller asked.
“Nervous!” Peggy smiled. “Break a leg, Dad.”
“House lights!” they heard Gus call to Michael, who was at the
lightboard. “Music! Spots!”
Peggy took a deep breath and adjusted the little beret she wore for her
entrance. Suddenly her knees felt like water. “What’s my first line?”
she thought frantically. “I don’t remember what I’m supposed to say—”
“Curtain!” Gus said, and the heavy drapes swept back.
There was dead silence for a moment, and then Peggy heard a gasp from
the audience followed by a wave of applause for the set. It was evident
they hadn’t expected anything so charming and good.
“Morning, Mis’ Wilkins.” Mary Hopkins entered with her first line.
“Good morning, Dora,” Rita said, her voice clear and steady.
Five more lines before Peggy’s entrance. She was desperately trying to
remember her first line....
“... and that’s the last box of Kleenex,” Mary said. That was it—Peggy’s
cue.
Almost in a trance she made her entrance. “Good morning, Dora,” she
said, the words coming from somewhere—and the minute she spoke, bathed
in the bright lights of the familiar, homey set, everything connected,
everything fell into place.
Peggy began to act easily, feeling out the audience, trying to sense its
mood. It was a curious, rather tight house in the beginning. She felt
the spectators were silently saying, “Show me!”
Mr. Miller and Alison got nice hands on their entrances, but nothing
seemed to “zip” yet—the audience still seemed too polite. Peggy watched
from the wings when Chris made his entrance—and then it happened. That
magical moment when a play suddenly comes to life. Chris entered with
exuberance and power, carrying the audience right along with him, and
the play began to move. It did have pace and rhythm, just as Chuck had
said. The whole cast could feel it and the audience began to laugh. At
the end of the first act there was a resounding wave of applause.
Chuck couldn’t wait out front as he had said he would. He came running
backstage with a huge grin. “It’s great,” he cried, slapping everybody
on the back. “It’s great—just great! Keep it up—keep it moving—it’s
great!” Vocabulary had apparently deserted Chuck Crosby, and his praise
made the actors very happy. They knew how he felt out there, watching
his actors, as nervous as they were, and probably praying that they
would come through. Directing was a big responsibility.
There were six curtain calls! Richard presented Alison Lord with a big
bouquet of flowers from the Chamber of Commerce—a nice gesture for a
special opening, and by the way the applause went on and on, the cast
knew that this audience didn’t want to leave. A sure indication that
they had really had a wonderful time!
Gus finally turned on the music, the curtains closed on the company, and
opening night of _Dear Ruth_ was over.
Almost over. There was to be a party later in the dining room of the
Kenabeek Inn, and now there were congratulations and backstage visitors,
and the exhilaration that always follows a good show.
As she rubbed cold cream on her face in the dressing room, Peggy finally
read her telegrams. BREAK A LEG LITTLE ONE, from her big brother, David,
now off in San Francisco on an assignment for his news service. BEST
WISHES FOR A GRAND OPENING STOP WE KNOW YOU AND THE COMPANY WILL BE
WONDERFUL, from Mother and Dad. A wire from May Berriman and all the
girls in New York; and another from Randy Brewster, THINKING ABOUT A
VERY SPECIAL ACTRESS.
The telegrams brought family and friends backstage as if they were right
here, congratulating her now. Peggy looked at Rita, remembering the way
they had felt in the morning. “Did I ever say I didn’t want to be an
actress?” she asked, and they laughed, comparing absolutely steady hands
this time.
VI
Chance Encounter
There was no review of _Dear Ruth_ in the _Kenabeek Gazette_ the next
day! The cast sat around the patio after blocking the first act of
_Angel Street_, glum and disheartened. The wonderful elation of last
night’s opening had left them.
“Isn’t Ford Birmingham going to review us at all?” Peggy wondered
unhappily. “Isn’t it his job? Doesn’t he have to?”
“Oh, he’ll probably write a token piece—it would be too obvious if he
didn’t,” Chuck answered grimly. “But I imagine he won’t do it until the
middle of the week when we’re almost finished with _Dear Ruth_. By that
time we’ll have lost an audience—people will lose interest in our
theater.”
“But didn’t he like the play?” Alison demanded. “Everyone else simply
loved it!”
“He wasn’t there,” Chuck said shortly. “He didn’t come last night, and I
doubt if he’ll come at all. Max Slade must have that man wrapped around
his little finger! We had an audience last night only because of our own
advertising and publicity. But people expect reviews! And if Birmingham
doesn’t give us one next week on opening night—I’ll write one myself!”
“Oh, you can’t!” Peggy said anxiously. “If you do, he’ll be sure to
bring it out in the paper, and then we’ll seem like amateurs!”
Chuck sighed. “I know, Peggy. I wouldn’t, of course, but I just don’t
see any other way!”
“Well, for heaven’s sake!” Alison protested. “He can’t write a review
unless he comes to see a play!”
“Sure he can,” Chris Hill returned. “Easy. He’ll write about two lines
to the effect that _Dear Ruth_ opened at the high school last Thursday,
and in the cast were..., et cetera and et cetera. By saying nothing
he’ll create the impression we were terrible!”
Peggy looked uneasily at Chris. He was terribly angry. She had a
momentary vision of him storming into the offices of the _Kenabeek
Gazette_ and demanding to have it out with Mr. Birmingham. She wasn’t
far wrong.
“Why don’t I go to see him?” Chris fumed. “I’d love to see that guy
and—”
“—tell him just exactly what you think of him!” Chuck finished. “Yes, I
know. So would I, but that’s probably what they expect us to do, so we’d
better not. Better sit tight.”
“Just what is the connection between Max Slade and Birmingham?” Peggy
persisted. “It seems very mysterious to me. I can’t imagine why a
newspaperman would be working hand in glove with a theater manager—it
doesn’t make sense. Newsmen usually just want news! Period!”
“Who knows?” Chuck shrugged. “All I know is that we’ll be able to judge
from the house tonight how it’s going to go from now on without a
review. It’s too early to tell—maybe people will come anyway. But if
they don’t, I can tell you this theater isn’t going to last long!”
Watching Chuck, Peggy felt worried. She noticed that Chris was looking
at their director too, and catching his eye, she knew that he felt as
she did. This meant so much to Chuck, and he had worked so hard. If
there were only something she could do....
“Peggy,” Chuck said, as if in answer to her thought, “would you mind
going with Danny and Mike Miller this afternoon to hunt for furniture?”
He was going to work on the second act of _Angel Street_, in which Peggy
didn’t appear. “You don’t have to—I know you need a rest—but if you feel
like it, it would be a great help.”
“I’d love to!” Peggy beamed cheerfully. “Really, I would. It’ll give me
a chance to see the town.”
Chuck smiled gratefully. “Well, if you’re sure—”
“Anything that’s Victorian?” Peggy asked as she collected her sides and
pencil, dropping them into the large knitting bag she carried to
rehearsals.
“Mike has the furniture and prop list up at the theater,” Chuck said.
“I’d like you to keep an eye out for decoration. Knickknacks and
pictures and maybe a statue—you know.”
“They shouldn’t be hard to find here,” Peggy called gaily as she left
the annex. “These houses look as if they’re stuffed with Victorian
antiques!”
“Thanks, Peggy.” The cast went back to rehearsal, and Peggy started up
to the theater.
“We need a chaise longue, a desk, two tables, four straight chairs, two
easy chairs, and a hall table plus extras.” Danny Dunn checked the list
as Michael Miller turned the little blue jeep out of the school driveway
and down the main road.
“Are you sorry not to be in _Angel Street_?” Peggy asked him. Danny
would not be playing next week and had taken the job of stage-managing
instead, giving Gus an opportunity to concentrate on the set alone.
“Not a bit!” Danny grinned. “You know I’ve played Sergeant Rough before,
and although I enjoyed doing it, I felt I was a little young. It will be
a real treat to see Howard Miller in the part. I think he’ll be
fabulous!”
Peggy chuckled. Danny’s remarks were always liberally peppered with
words like _fabulous_, _terrific_, _fantastic_, _out of this world_.
Danny asked why she laughed and Peggy told him.
“Well,” he pronounced expansively, “the theater _is_ a little bit out of
this world—and I’m in the theater. So where am I?”
“Passing the office of that ‘fantastic’ paper, the _Kenabeek Gazette_,”
Michael informed him, laughing. “There it is, children, look your fill.”
Peggy and Danny whipped around in their seats to look. “The building
looks just like my father’s newspaper in Rockport,” Peggy said, “only a
little smaller. I wonder if Ford Birmingham is in.”
“Well, you won’t have a chance to find out,” Michael said. “I’m taking
you across town to see Mary Hopkins’ mother. Mary said they might have
some things we could use.”
Peggy looked eagerly around the little town of Lake Kenabeek as they
drove through. It was only a few buildings on either side of the main
highway. A post office, drugstore, general store, and sporting goods
shop, the newspaper building, and a couple of restaurants. The
residents’ houses and cottages were almost all off the main highway, on
twisting roads, hidden behind the profusion of pine trees and thick
forest growth.
Peggy wished she could have just a few minutes to stroll around.
“Goodness,” she said, “I’ve been here ten days, and this is the first
time I’ve been into town since I got off that bus!”
“You mean ten years!” Michael retorted. “I’ve felt at least ten years go
by since I first saw you that afternoon!”
Danny and Peggy laughed. Looking at Michael, though, Peggy realized that
he wasn’t far wrong about himself. He had grown up in the past week! And
he seemed to be having more fun. He wasn’t as serious and shy as he had
been at the start. For his sake, Peggy was glad of the change.
“The jeep has aged, too,” Danny commented. “Don’t I detect a cough in
the engine?”
“Oh, no, that’s only her way of saying hello.” Michael patted the wheel
as if the jeep were alive. “Look—there it is—the ogre!” Michael pointed
to the movie house and shook a fist playfully as they drove by.
“Well, you certainly don’t seem too worried about the state of affairs!”
Danny commented.
“I’m not!” Michael responded. “I have absolute faith in the ultimate
triumph of the Kenabeek Summer Theater! Hey!” Michael suddenly braked
the jeep and pulled to the side of the road. “Bladen’s Antiques! I’d
forgotten about them. This is the one antique store in the area, Peggy.”
They looked at the little house at the side of the road. Outside, by the
gate, was a huge iron elk carrying the shop’s sign on his antlers. The
yard was strewn with marble pedestals, bird cages hanging from trees,
and a huge red sleigh with massive iron runners. There was even a small
weather-beaten totem pole leaning rather precariously to one side.
“Is that the real thing?” Peggy asked Michael.
“Well, if it wasn’t when they put it up, it’s certainly an antique by
now! No, it’s not a real Indian one, Peggy. It’s a fake, like a lot of
souvenir items up here. But we don’t pretend they’re real.”
“Think we might borrow one of those pedestals?” Peggy asked. “We could
use one on the set.”
“Couldn’t carry it back—they’re too heavy,” Michael answered. “Why don’t
I drop you here, Peggy, and you can browse around inside? We’ll pick you
up on our way back from Mrs. Hopkins’.”
“Well, all right,” Peggy agreed doubtfully, climbing out. “But suppose
they don’t want to lend us anything?”
“Make a big pitch about the program credit. Say it’s great advertising!
See you later.” They drove off, leaving Peggy feeling even more dubious.
She had never been very good at this type of thing—program credit or
not. She remembered a time when she had been asked to sell advertising
for the high school yearbook at home, and how shy she had felt about it.
Acting was one thing, but this was another.
Some people didn’t realize that actors and actresses didn’t always make
good salesmen, she thought, as she entered the gate and walked up the
little flagstone path to the shop. She wished that Richard Wallace were
with her. He could talk anybody into anything! But then, Peggy recalled,
he seemed to think the same of her. She smiled, remembering how he had
kidded about sending her to see Max Slade. Well, even if that had been a
joke, at least she could try to do something useful here.
Chimes rang above her head as she opened the door, and Peggy blinked,
coming into a room so stuffed with bric-a-brac and furniture that she
could hardly see her way. There was a narrow path of clear space, only
about a foot wide, that led to the counter. She had to avoid things
hanging from the ceiling: bunches of toy bark canoes on strings, birds
carved out of wood that danced merrily in the air at the breeze from the
door. Leaning down from the wall behind the counter and staring at her
roundly was a huge, stuffed owl, his eyes gleaming strangely in the dim
light. Peggy stared back at the owl, fascinated.
“Yes, may I help you?” For a moment Peggy almost thought the owl had
spoken, but then she saw a little splinter of a man, so fragile and old
that it seemed as if he might break into a thousand pieces at any
moment.
“Oh dear!” Peggy thought. “He’s so old, and probably can’t hear very
well, and won’t know what I’m talking about!” But she had to begin
somewhere.
“Why, yes,” she said, speaking clearly in hopes he could hear. “I’m
Peggy Lane from the Kenabeek Summer Theater, and we hoped you might be
able to help us. We’re doing a Victorian play next week—_Angel
Street_—and we thought you might have some furniture or decoration we
could use on our set....” Peggy stopped lamely while the old man just
smiled and said nothing. Obviously, he hadn’t understood a word.
“We couldn’t pay you for them, of course,” she rushed on, determined to
finish at any rate. “But if you’d be interested, we’d give you a good
credit in our programs, and that’s free advertising for you, you know.”
Peggy felt bumbling and awkward, at a loss for words. Well, there was
only one thing left to say. She would finish and leave quickly. “We
would take very good care of whatever you lent us,” she mumbled
faintly—it didn’t matter, he couldn’t hear anyway. “Well, I’ve certainly
made a mess of this,” Peggy thought. “They should have sent somebody who
knows the old man and how to talk to him!”
“Ah, yes. _Angel Street_ is an excellent play!” Peggy could hardly
believe her ears as the old man spoke. “Quite a thriller, yes, indeed. I
made a special trip to New York to see that play once—type of thing I
like. I was waiting for you to say something about taking care of
anything I might lend you,” he went on. “You see, some of my things here
are quite valuable and I would have to be sure they were in responsible
hands.”
“Oh, of course,” Peggy said eagerly.
“If you hadn’t mentioned that, I might not have said anything at all!
Might have let you leave thinking I was deaf as a stone!” He cocked his
head humorously on one side, giving Peggy a wink that reminded her of
the wise old owl.
“I’m Mr. Bladen,” the old man said as he came out from behind the
counter and threaded his way among the piles of stuff on the floor,
crooking a finger for Peggy to follow. There was hardly room to squeeze
through, but she valiantly held her breath and went sideways, picking
her way carefully around the vases, picture frames, statues, tables, and
chairs.
“Been here forty years,” he added, leading her over to one wall under a
window. He drew back the curtains and a dust cloud rose as he pinned
them back to get some light. Peggy sneezed. “_Gesundheit!_” Mr. Bladen
said.
Peggy sneezed again. “_Gesundheit!_” he repeated, and Peggy giggled.
“Think I’m a funny old codger, don’t you?” he said, his eyes twinkling.
“And you’re right—I am—I am! Can’t get to be as old as I am and not be
funny somehow! Now look—” He started removing a pile of odds and ends
that were burying a piece of furniture covered with a dusty red shawl.
“Take this and put it somewhere.” He handed Peggy a plaster cast of a
nymph blowing a conch shell. Peggy looked around and placed it on a
table already filled with other figurines. “And this—and this—” He gave
her pictures, frames, little boxes, lamps. Peggy was hard pressed to
find a place for them, but somehow she managed. Finally they reached
bottom and Mr. Bladen pulled off the shawl. After the cloud of dust had
subsided, among more sneezes and _Gesundheits_, Peggy looked at the
“buried treasure” and gasped. It was a perfect Victorian chaise longue
with a curving, dark mahogany frame, beautifully upholstered in red and
gold striped satin.
“It’s perfect!” Peggy cried excitedly. “Oh, Mr. Bladen, it’s simply
perfect! We couldn’t find anything better if we looked for a million
years! Oh, may we use it, really?” She clasped her hands eagerly.
“Of course!” Mr. Bladen laughed, his thin, sensitive fingers patting the
edge of the sofa. “I know it’s perfect. Just like the one they used in
New York—noticed it myself when I saw the play. Been waiting, really, to
find a use for it. Nobody would ever discover it under all this stuff!”
Peggy looked around, wondering how many other lovely pieces were hidden
under the incredible litter.
“Yep,” Mr. Bladen said, “I have a lot of nice things here, but can’t
ever find the time to straighten things up so they can be seen. Too old,
I guess—and then there’s my work.”
Peggy’s surprise was evident. His work? Wasn’t this his work? Mr. Bladen
answered her unspoken question with another conspiratorial wink.
“Write poetry, you see—only thing worth doing at my age. Wouldn’t you
agree?”
Peggy was charmed. She hadn’t met anyone so delightful as Mr. Bladen for
a long time. Wouldn’t her parents love to hear about this wonderful old
man with his fantastic little shop and his poetry!
“Then of course you’d know about the theater and plays and everything,”
she cried with sudden understanding. “No wonder!”
[Illustration: _“It’s perfect!” Peggy cried excitedly._]
“Yes,” Mr. Bladen answered cheerfully. “And it’s nice to know that
someone’s bringing the theater to us here. Town needs it—wish you a lot
of luck. Anxious to help all I can. Now, let’s see if we can’t find some
little extras for that set—” He poked around, and like a magician
drawing rabbits out of a hat, triumphantly produced pictures, ornaments,
a student lamp, and two beautiful porcelain vases.
“Think you’ll need these,” he told Peggy, holding up the vases. “Seems
to me I remember something special about a vase—”
“That’s right.” Peggy smiled. “The rubies are hidden in a vase. But
those are much too good, Mr. Bladen!”
“Nonsense,” he scoffed. “You want to be realistic, don’t you? Now you
just take these vases and scoot along. I’ll put them in your care. Here,
take this along with you now, too.” He balanced the student lamp
precariously between the vases that Peggy held in each hand. The china
shade was just under her chin.
“But I really don’t think—” Peggy started.
“Send somebody back for the rest of the things.” Mr. Bladen ignored her
protest. “I’m here all the time,” he said as he opened the door.
“Well, now about the advertising for the program—”
“Worry about that later—have to get back to work now. Run along and good
luck.”
Mr. Bladen closed the door firmly, the chimes ringing good-by as Peggy
found herself outside. She hadn’t even thanked him, she realized,
looking back at the house. Why was he in such a sudden hurry, she
wondered? And then she remembered—poetry! Peggy laughed softly. Mr.
Bladen must have had a new idea and wanted to write it down quickly. She
wondered if the poem would be about the theater, or _Angel Street_, or
if the sofa could have given him an idea, or the vases. It could be
anything! Peggy smiled broadly as she stepped down the little path to
the gate, carefully holding the vases and lamp. What a surprise to find
someone like Mr. Bladen in Lake Kenabeek! It proved that it paid to get
into town once in a while—there might be other fascinating people to
meet in this resort.
Peggy leaned forward to open the gate and the lamp started to tumble.
Grabbing it, she almost let go of one of the precious vases which
started to slide out of her hand. It kept slipping and she couldn’t get
a secure grasp on it. In a flash she saw an awful picture of shattered
porcelain, and Mr. Bladen’s disappointment at having entrusted something
so valuable to her. Just as it was about to fall entirely and crash on
the pavement, two hands reached over the gate, grabbed the vase, and
removed the lamp from her arms.
“Now maybe you’ll be able to see where you’re going!” A handsome young
man in a conservative summer suit stood there smiling, and Peggy sighed
with relief.
“Thank you so much!” she said gratefully. “I don’t know what I’d have
done if they’d been broken. You’ve really saved the day—I can’t thank
you enough!”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” the young man said, grinning, “It may
be enough to know that I’ve saved the day! How have I saved the day, by
the way?” He looked amused and interested, and Peggy laughed.
“By the way, you’ve saved the day and helped the play!” she rhymed.
“Really you have. And you’ve also saved one of Mr. Bladen’s precious
antiques!”
He raised an eyebrow, turning the vase over in his hand. “Is it really
good?” he asked. “And what does it have to do with a play?”
“We’re going to use them in _Angel Street_,” Peggy explained. She liked
this friendly young man who somehow made her feel as if she’d known him
for years. Was he another interesting resident, she wondered. “I’m Peggy
Lane from the Summer Theater,” she said, “and next week’s play is _Angel
Street_.”
“Oh,” he said slowly, and Peggy was surprised to see him frown slightly.
But then he smiled again, handing back the vase. “How are you going to
manage all this?” he asked, still holding on to the lamp. “I don’t think
you can carry them all without breaking something. Can I drop you
somewhere?”
Peggy noticed a car parked a few feet away and shook her head,
declining, “No, thank you—”
“I realize we haven’t met formally,” he said, bowing a little, “but in
Lake Kenabeek we’re not very formal. I’d be glad to drive you to the
theater.”
He hadn’t introduced himself, Peggy realized suddenly, but he seemed so
well-mannered that she imagined it was just a slip. “No, thanks again,
but the jeep is coming back for me. I’d better wait.”
He gave her a regretful glance and put the lamp carefully on the ground.
“Well, I’m sorry,” he said. “It would be a pleasure to help you. A real
pleasure,” he added softly, almost under his breath. “But perhaps we’ll
meet again sometime.” He looked at her as if about to add something, but
then, apparently changing his mind, gave her a peculiar smile and walked
to his car. “Good luck,” he called as he got in, leaving Peggy
thoroughly puzzled.
The little blue jeep was coming back just as the young man drove away,
and they passed each other on the road. Michael turned and pulled up in
front of Peggy, exclaiming when he saw the lamp and vases.
“Success! They look wonderful, Peggy, and look what we have!”
The back of the jeep was crammed with chairs and tables. “Mrs. Hopkins
has taken care of the table and chair department, and all we have left
now of any real importance is that couch. Can’t seem to find one,” Danny
said.
“I’ve found it!” Peggy declared. “And wait until you see it! But we have
to come back for it later. Oh, I have such a lot to tell you!” She
handed Danny the lamp and climbed into the front seat, carefully holding
the vases.
“By the way,” Michael said as they drove back to the theater, “did you
see one of the ogres? He drove right past you—back there in front of
Bladen’s.”
“Who? What ogre?” Peggy asked. “Where?”
“Remember the car that passed us just as we came back for you?”
Peggy certainly did remember, and her heart sank as she guessed what
Michael’s next words would be.
“That, my girl,” he confirmed, “was none other than our Mr. Slade!”
“Max Slade!” Peggy breathed softly. “Why, it doesn’t seem possible....”
“No, not Max,” Michael corrected. “That was his shadow—his younger
brother, Bill.”
Peggy had such a peculiar expression that Danny worriedly asked, “What’s
the matter, Peggy? You all right?”
“Why, I don’t know,” she said slowly, hardly hearing as she recalled
Bill Slade’s parting words—
“... it would be a pleasure to help you ... a real pleasure.”
“Oh, Michael,” Peggy cried, “I’ve got to see your father and Richard
Wallace right away! There may be a lot more to all this than we realize!
There may even be a way to help the theater!”
VII
Unfair Play
“I think you should send someone to see him. I’m sure he’d really like
to help!” Peggy was saying. She had dropped into Aunt Hetty’s home with
Richard and Mr. Miller to discuss her meeting with Bill Slade. “I had
the feeling when he spoke that he doesn’t approve of what his brother’s
doing, doesn’t like this feud—”
“Whether he approves or not, there’s nothing he can do about it!” Aunt
Hetty said firmly. “They both run the movie house, but it’s Max who
makes the decisions and Bill just follows along.”
“That’s right, Peggy,” Howard Miller agreed. “I’d hate to stir up any
friction between those two brothers. I spoke at length to Max the other
night, and I’ve never heard him so unreasonable about anything in all
the years I’ve known him! He won’t even discuss the problem. He’s so
terrified that we’re going to ruin his business that he just clams up.”
“Was Bill Slade there when you saw him?” Peggy asked curiously.
Mr. Miller nodded. “And he didn’t say a word. I hate to disappoint you
about Bill, Peggy, but he’s never been strong enough to stand up to his
brother; and no matter how he impressed you, I don’t think this issue is
the one to change his character.”
Peggy sighed. “Well, I guess that’s that,” she said regretfully. “I’m
sorry—for a while I thought something could be done. He seemed so
nice—and sad somehow. It’s a shame.”
“How’s _Angel Street_ going?” Aunt Hetty asked, tactfully closing the
subject of Bill Slade.
“Wonderful,” Richard said. “It’s going to be even better than _Dear
Ruth_—if that’s possible! Come on, Peggy,” he said, “I’ll walk you
home.”
“Thank you for the coffee and the cake,” Peggy said to Aunt Hetty. “It
was wonderful to have something homemade for a change!”
“Remind you of home?” Aunt Hetty asked.
“Yes—it all does,” Peggy said wistfully, looking around the comfortable
living room with the beamed ceiling, fireplace, and gay chintz coverings
on the furniture. “But then,” she laughed, “anything like this is a
startling change from the annex! It makes me wonder if I shouldn’t go
home for a visit after the season is over....”
“Good idea,” Aunt Hetty agreed. “You’ll need a rest.”
“Are you staying, Mr. Miller?” Richard asked.
“Yes, I want to go over some things with your aunt, Richard. We have to
give a report soon to the Chamber of Commerce.”
“And I want to talk over some more promotion ideas with you,” Richard
said, “if you’ll be here when I get back.”
“Your aunt and Mr. Miller make a nice couple,” Peggy observed as she and
Richard started back to the annex. “Have you ever noticed?”
Richard grinned at Peggy. “You mean that just occurred to you? Why, I
guess everybody in town has seen that for years. We’re all just waiting
for Aunt Hetty and Mr. Miller to wake up and notice it, too!
“I’m sorry that we had to squelch your idea of appealing to Bill Slade,”
Richard went on seriously, “and believe me, we wouldn’t if there were
the slightest chance of his making any headway with his brother. But I’m
afraid Mr. Miller’s right. Bill Slade is a pretty weak character. If he
really felt strongly about this, he’d do something about it on his own.
Don’t you think so, Peggy?”
“Yes, I do,” Peggy said thoughtfully. “And do you know, Richard, I
wouldn’t be surprised if he did do something! Maybe he isn’t as weak as
all of you think. I just have a feeling—”
“Woman’s feelings!” Richard laughed. “For once, I’m afraid your
intuition is wrong, Peggy!”
And as the week wore on, it seemed that Richard was right. By the night
of dress rehearsal for _Angel Street_, the cast was terribly dispirited,
having seen audiences diminish little by little each night for _Dear
Ruth_. Apparently Max Slade was talking down the theater at every
opportunity—calling them amateurs, and saying that if Ford Birmingham
wouldn’t even bother to go, the townspeople could certainly judge from
that. Unfortunately, the company hadn’t been playing long enough to
secure the loyal audience that could keep it going regardless.
Alison Lord, who was playing the very demanding lead of “Mrs.
Manningham” in _Angel Street_, was particularly upset.
“It’s bad enough to be under the strain of doing this part,” she said
tearfully to Chuck. “Sometimes I wonder why I bother at all—why not just
quit? It doesn’t seem worth the effort!”
“It will, tomorrow night, when we open,” Chuck reassured her. “You’re
doing a beautiful job, Alison, and, of course, it’s worth while!”
“Cheer up, Mrs. Manningham,” Howard Miller said, patting Alison on the
shoulder, “you and I are going to have a wonderful time out there,
audience or not. Right?”
“I guess so.” Alison dried her tears and smiled ironically. “I’m unhappy
enough really to feel like Mrs. Manningham, anyway. If this keeps up, I
won’t have to work very hard!” She went to the dressing room to change
into her costume. Peggy followed, worried about Alison’s mood. “Mrs.
Manningham” was on stage almost constantly and really carried the show.
If some of Alison’s fire was gone, even the fine performance that Howard
Miller was giving wouldn’t be enough to save the play.
“How is your costume?” Peggy asked Alison, thinking that clothes and
make-up always seemed to have a magical effect on the leading lady.
“Have you unpacked it yet?” The large boxes of costumes had arrived
earlier in the afternoon from New York. Because _Angel Street_ was a
period piece, everything had to be rented. Measurements had been sent,
and now the girls could only hope that everything fitted properly. If
not, there would be last-minute sewing—a difficult project to fit into
the next few short hours.
“It’s dull,” Alison replied disinterestedly, “but it fits. At least I
don’t have to worry about that!” She put on a smock and sat down at the
table to apply her make-up. Watching her draw in the tiny lines on her
forehead, and apply blue shadow under her eyes, Peggy had to giggle.
“Oh, Alison!” She laughed. “Forgive me, but really, what a change!”
Alison stared blankly into her mirror and then had to smile at herself.
Gone was the bright, vivacious “Ruth,” and even beautiful Alison. In her
place was a wan, haunted woman about thirty, with circles under her eyes
and an expression of fear. “For once I look just the way I feel,” said
Alison, and as Peggy and Rita laughed, even she had to join in.
“I really should be a blonde for this,” Peggy considered as she put up
her hair, arranging it in little curls on the top of her head. She was
playing the pert, saucy maid, Nancy.
“You could spray your hair,” Rita told her, “but it’s a mess, and I
wouldn’t advise it. I think you’re all right just like that.”
“Except that my skirt is too long,” Peggy noticed as she walked about
the dressing room, strutting a bit as “Nancy” did, with a rustle of
taffeta. “I’ll trip on it, I’m afraid.”
“Here, maybe I can pin it,” Rita offered.
Finally, dressed in their costumes and make-up, the girls walked out on
stage for an inspection under lights.
“What base are you using, Alison?” Chuck called from the aisle. “You’re
too yellow under all this amber light. Gus, kill that spot and let me
see what happens. Now, will you walk over and sit on the sofa, Alison?
And Peggy, let me see you up by the fireplace.”
The girls moved around the stage while Gus worked with the lights,
changing filters and spots until Chuck was satisfied. It was a
wonderful, eerie set, Peggy thought. Gus had stenciled a wallpaper
design on the flats, and with the couch that Mr. Bladen had lent them,
and the other Victorian pieces and bric-a-brac, the room had a heavy,
mysterious quality. The atmosphere affected Peggy strongly. She felt as
if some dire event was going to take place. She walked down to the
auditorium to look at the stage.
“Now try the bracket circuit,” Chuck called. “Let me see how they dim.
Where’s Mr. Miller? Get him and take that bit in Act Two, Alison, where
the lights go down.”
Already nine o’clock, and dress rehearsal hadn’t even started yet. It
would go on until the early hours of the morning, Peggy knew. Missing
props would be found and put in place, movements changed, and
last-minute touches made to the set. Peggy settled down, curling up as
comfortably as she could on the hard seat, as she waited for rehearsal
to begin.
Chris Hill walked out on stage, his appearance completely transformed
with the mustache, small beard, and sideburns that he used for Mr.
Manningham. Even his attitude was different, Peggy noticed. He seemed a
lot older and his voice was deep and serious as he checked his make-up
with Chuck.
Finally, at nine-thirty, they were ready. The curtains were drawn,
Alison settled herself in her chair, Chris stretched out on the couch,
and Peggy took her place in the wings. Even a dress rehearsal, she
thought, as she mentally prepared for her entrance, had a feeling of
excitement and pressure. Well, this was their one chance to feel the
play as it would be on opening night—to rehearse with continuity.
“I’m not going to stop you,” Chuck called. “I’ll be taking notes and
we’ll iron out the flaws later. Ready, Danny?”
“All set,” Danny affirmed, his hands on the curtain.
“All right then; make it a performance, everyone.”
The first half of Act One went well. Peggy had a very small part and was
able to watch almost continuously from the wings. Chris was really
sinister, she thought, shivering as she observed his scene with Alison.
And Alison was wonderful. She was a little young to play Mrs. Manningham
but her own personality had disappeared in the part, and she was
completely believable.
“How I would love to play that part someday!” Peggy dreamed. “Or
something like it. I wish I had just one dramatic part to do this
summer!” She sighed as she thought of the season ahead—one comedy part
after another.
Chris made his exit with a slam of the door, and Rita, as the
housekeeper, came on to announce the arrival of Sergeant Rough. Peggy
drew up a box near Gus at the switchboard, and leaned forward excitedly
to watch. With his old-fashioned cape-coat and painstaking make-up,
Howard Miller was the very picture of a Scotland Yard Inspector. Peggy
tensed as the suspense mounted; even Gus at the lights was so engrossed
in the play that he almost forgot to dim the lights at the right time.
“Gus,” Peggy whispered, “the lights! Gus, isn’t that your cue?”
He started, quickly dimmed the lights, and then shook his head
sheepishly. “Thanks, Peggy!”
“I’m afraid you are married to a tolerably dangerous gentleman,”
Sergeant Rough said to Mrs. Manningham, and as she stood there, slowly
realizing his meaning, the curtain closed on Act One.
“House lights,” Chuck called. “Open the curtain, Danny, and everybody on
stage.”
Surprised, the cast gathered on the set.
“I thought we were doing a straight run-through” Alison complained
crossly. “I need it, Chuck, to get a feeling of the continuity!”
“I know, Alison,” Chuck said, “I’m sorry. But something’s come up that
you’ll all know about tomorrow, and it might ruin opening night. I’d
rather tell you now so you can work it out during rehearsal. Better a
bad dress rehearsal than a dreary opening.”
“What now?” Peggy wondered. She had never seen Chuck so depressed or
listless. All his energy seemed to have left him as he walked forward
and looked up at everybody.
“You’re all wonderful,” he said slowly, “and you’re doing a job that’s
worthy of Broadway—honestly, you are.” He watched Alison closely as he
spoke, letting the words sink in. “Now, I don’t want this to throw you.
Just hear it quietly, and then we’ll finish rehearsal. Aunt Hetty
dropped in a minute ago—she’d been in town and happened to drive past
the movie house. She saw the advertisement for the new bill which opens
tomorrow night.”
“Oh, no!” Chris broke in with instant comprehension.
“I’m afraid so, Chris,” Chuck said quietly. “They are showing the movie
of _Angel Street_ this week. Under another title, of course, but
everybody knows it’s the same play. The story’s too famous. Slade is
counting on the stars of the film to draw audiences away from our
production.” Chuck tried to think of something else to say, but it was
no good. Everyone recognized the seriousness of this move, and what it
could mean. “I—I’m sorry.” Chuck concluded lamely.
Alison was standing stiffly, her hands clenched and her mouth tight as
she tried to control her tears. But then she broke. “I told you it
wasn’t worth the effort,” she sobbed. “I’m not going to ruin my health
and nerves doing this part and then have nobody in the audience! They
can all go to the movies as far as I’m concerned! This whole theater has
been a fiasco from the beginning, and the sooner we close the better.
You can give the part to somebody else—I’m through!” She ran off the
stage and to the dressing room as the rest of the cast looked after her
unhappily.
Rita started to follow her, but Chuck shook his head. “Let her go,” he
said. “She doesn’t really mean it, and she might as well get it out of
her system. The part is a terrific strain, and I’m not surprised at her
reaction!”
Peggy dropped onto the couch beside Howard Miller, who was sitting there
twirling his hat thoughtfully. “I had a feeling something was going to
happen,” Peggy said sadly, “but I never dreamed it would be this. Guess
I really was all wrong about Bill Slade. If he didn’t make an effort to
stop his brother this time, I guess he never will. Maybe he’s just as
opposed to the theater as Max.”
“I don’t know, Peggy,” Mr. Miller replied, “I’m beginning to wonder if
we shouldn’t have had someone go to see him as you suggested. Perhaps
any try would have been better than none at all. This move of theirs may
ruin the theater for good. We can’t possibly stay open if business drops
off any more.” He frowned. “The Chamber of Commerce will never want to
hear of a summer theater again, and we can’t afford the loss of money
either.”
“Do you think it’s too late?” Peggy questioned intently. “Too late to
see Bill Slade?”
“I’m afraid so,” he said. “I’ve already spoken to Max. Aunt Hetty is so
furious that she won’t talk to either one of them, and they won’t speak
to Richard or Chuck.” He smiled ruefully. “Impasse. Like nations trying
to get together without a common language.”
Peggy was silent, remembering that Bill Slade had seemed to speak her
language. Could she have been so very wrong about that, after all? Why
couldn’t she see him herself? Why did it have to be one of the directors
of the theater or of the Chamber of Commerce? If the Slades were too
stubborn or unreasonable to talk with “authority,” maybe they—or at
least Bill—would be freer with her. She laughed softly to herself,
thinking of the Hatfields and McCoys. This feud was every bit as
unreasonable and silly—and in the stories, it was always the younger
generation that somehow managed to work things out! Feeling a little
like a heroine in a legend, Peggy decided to try.
But how? All through the rest of the rehearsal—with Alison back and
working just as Chuck had predicted—Peggy thought about it. She couldn’t
call and ask for an appointment. It had to be subtler than that. She
would have to arrange something that seemed quite accidental. Yes, a
chance meeting with Bill Slade! But how?
VIII
An Explanation
“Chuck, are you up yet?” Peggy knocked cautiously on the door of his
combination office-living quarters on the lower floor of the annex. It
was eleven o’clock and the tired company hadn’t turned in until
three-thirty in the morning.
“Come in, Peggy.” Chuck opened the door and motioned her in. His desk
was covered with work, and crumpled wads of paper littered the floor.
“Been up for hours,” he said. “I was just going over the budget.” His
eyes were hollow and ringed from lack of sleep. “The answer is, _what_
budget?” He tore up the piece of paper he was holding and dropped it in
the waste-basket. “It doesn’t look good, Peggy.”
“Oh, Chuck, I’m sorry!” Peggy felt dreadful, realizing the enormous
amount of work that he had put into the theater, and the possible
futility of it all. But she couldn’t reveal her plan, much as she would
like to, even to offer him some hope. It might not work out after all,
and Chuck was so depressed that he would probably try to dissuade her
from seeing Bill Slade. She had determined to try, at any cost, and she
must do it very quietly and all alone.
“Could I possibly be excused from the reading today?” Peggy asked.
“There are so many things I need from town, and I haven’t had a chance
yet to catch up on shopping—”
“Go ahead,” Chuck answered dully. “There isn’t going to be a reading,
anyway. I don’t know if we’ll even be open after this week, so I’m not
going to work you any harder than I have to. Today everyone gets a rest;
tomorrow we’ll begin again.”
“Thank you,” Peggy said, wishing she could wave a magic wand and set
everything right. “Is there anything I can get for you while I’m in
town?”
“No, thanks, Peggy. By the way, we will have a line rehearsal before the
show tonight. Five o’clock here.”
Five o’clock. Peggy calculated. Yes, that would work out. She could be
about her business and get back in plenty of time. She left quietly,
hoping that nobody noticed her as she walked up the little path around
the side of the inn and down the hill to the highway.
The weather was changing, Peggy noticed, as she walked along. When she
had arrived a hint of spring had still been in the air, but now it was
hot and beginning to feel like real summer. Wouldn’t it be fun to enjoy
some of the pleasures of the resort, she thought, looking at the
beautiful blue of the lake dotted with sails and speedboats. Michael had
promised to take her out in his boat someday. Someday! Everyone had been
so busy that even Michael hadn’t had an opportunity to be out on the
water that he so dearly loved.
“When we get settled into a routine,” the company had dreamed
optimistically. “In a few weeks, after things are going smoothly, well,
then we’ll have time to swim once in a while and go boating!”
Peggy sighed, taking off the little jacket that topped her gaily
flowered summer dress. It could still work out, she thought, things
could run smoothly if everyone knew that the theater would stay open.
This uncertainty, though, was terrible for everyone’s morale and left no
time for play. Actors needed relaxation, too, she mused. The theater was
fun, but it was hard work as well.
“And today I’m free for a while!” She smiled with a sudden sharp
enjoyment at being outdoors and away from the theater.
As Peggy passed the offices of the _Kenabeek Gazette_, she paused for a
moment. She needed a newspaper and wondered if she should go in. But no,
she decided, somebody might recognize her, so she hastened on and walked
into the drugstore. There were several copies of the paper left and
Peggy bought one along with some cosmetics she needed. Outside again,
she flipped through the paper, seeking the information she wanted. There
it was—the first showing of the movie today would be at noon. She had
just enough time. Hurriedly, she walked on, nodding back at several
people who smiled at her, apparently part of their grateful, if small,
audience.
“Oh, Miss Lane—” A middle-aged woman, smartly attired in sports clothes,
stopped her on the sidewalk. “I just want to tell you how much my
husband and I enjoyed you in _Dear Ruth_. We saw it on Broadway years
ago and I must say we were surprised at the professional excellence of
your cast. Tell me, who did that lovely set?”
“Oh, thank you.” Peggy smiled. “Our set designer is Gus Stevens. He’s
the husband of the girl you saw playing the part of the mother. And she
was awfully good, wasn’t she?”