“Wonderful,” the woman agreed warmly. “Just wonderful. You know, we’ve

been coming up here to Lake Kenabeek for years—our son goes to a camp

nearby. This is the first summer that we’ve had any real entertainment!

You tell your director that we wish him a lot of luck—and the whole

cast. We hope you’ll be here every year from now on!”

Peggy left her thoughtfully, realizing that if the theater should have

to close, it would affect more than just the company and the Chamber of

Commerce. People here really wanted entertainment. Surely there was room

for a summer theater and the movies to exist side by side!

She bought her ticket for the film, hoping that the woman in the booth

didn’t recognize her. Probably not, Peggy thought. It might be a sin for

anyone employed at the movies to go to the Summer Theater! She shook her

head impatiently and went into the dark interior. Now that she was here,

Peggy wondered if her plan had been so ingenious after all. Perhaps Bill

Slade wouldn’t even be here today. Perhaps instead of finding him, she

would run smack into his brother Max! And that was a prospect she didn’t

particularly want to face.

Peggy took a seat in the first row at the side of the balcony. Here she

was close enough to the mezzanine to get up frequently and look around

the lounge where a sign on a door announced, Office of the Manager.

Looking at it doubtfully as she left her seat for what must have been

the tenth time, Peggy wondered if anyone was inside. She might have to

stay here all day, seeing the film several times as she waited for

someone to emerge. Two ushers walked by and Peggy heard one of the girls

say, “No, Mr. Slade isn’t here yet. He said he’d be in around

five-thirty. But you’re off duty then, aren’t you?” They went on,

leaving Peggy feeling that her brilliant idea hadn’t been so brilliant

after all! She was just about to go back and watch the end of the movie,

when the door opened and Bill Slade walked out!

Peggy was in luck! It must be Max who was expected later on.

Bill Slade saw her standing there, and an incredulous expression

suffused his face. “Why—why, it’s you!” he blurted, in utter

astonishment.

“Oh, Mr. Slade! How nice to run into you again!” Peggy’s acting

experience came in handy right now. She hoped she seemed genuinely

surprised.

“And you know my name now, it seems,” he said, reddening slightly as he

came over to her. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t dare introduce myself

that day, not knowing how you’d feel about it.”

Something tugged at Peggy’s heart. She felt she had never met anyone so

basically nice or so unhappy with a situation.

“What on earth are you doing here?” he asked, frowning a little as if he

had only just realized where they were.

Peggy had planned the answer. “Why, I was having a little difficulty

with my part this week,” she said easily, “and I thought I’d take a look

at the movie to see how it was done.” From the balcony, the sound of the

closing music of the film swelled around them, followed by the martial

strains of music for the news-reel.

“You missed the end,” Bill Slade observed, looking at her closely.

“Oh, that doesn’t matter.” Peggy was slightly flustered. “I’m not in the

end, anyway. I’m just playing the maid.” She hoped it sounded logical.

Bill laughed. “No wonder you were having trouble,” he said. “That’s

miscasting if I ever heard of it!”

“Oh, no, it isn’t.” Peggy smiled back. “You just come to see the play

and you’ll see what a good character actress I can be!”

Again she noticed that sad expression come into his eyes, but then he

brightened and said, “Miss Peggy Lane, why don’t we do something utterly

insane and go out for some lemonade or something together? Do you have

time?”

Peggy glowed. This invitation was exactly what she had hoped for! “I’d

love to,” she agreed happily.

Bill Slade walked with her back to the drugstore and they took one of

the little booths in the rear, well away from curious eyes. In the

middle of the afternoon there were few people in the store, and they

could speak freely without being overheard.

“I wish you would come up to the theater just once,” Peggy implored. “I

think you’d enjoy seeing a play for a change.”

“I know I would,” Bill said slowly. “I love the theater, Miss Lane—”

“Peggy, please!” she twinkled.

“Peggy!” he agreed. “All right. But we might as well not beat about the

bush. You know how my brother feels about the theater! I’ve talked to

him, Peggy, believe it or not.” He looked at her pleadingly, and she

wondered how an attractive, intelligent young man like this could bear

to remain so entirely under his brother’s influence. Bill Slade looked

as though he should have a more independent role.

“But what does your brother have to do with it?” Peggy asked, hoping to

jolt him a little. “Surely, if you would like to be on our side—and I

gathered from the way you spoke that day that you would—?”

Bill answered her implied question with an emphatic nod.

“Well, then,” Peggy urged, “why not take a stand? Come up to the theater

and let your brother know exactly how you feel.”

“He does know,” Bill said softly.

“I don’t see why we have to be in competition,” Peggy went on earnestly.

“Don’t you think the two forms of entertainment could complement each

other? For instance, we’re doing a melodrama this week, and if instead

of choosing the same story, you had run a comedy film, both our

businesses would have benefited. Or don’t you agree?”

She looked at him anxiously over her glass of lemonade, her large eyes

serious and her pretty dress making a splash of color against the dull

gray of the seat. Bill Slade smiled, saying, “You make an incongruous

picture, Peggy! You’re much too young and pretty to be carrying the

weight of rival businesses on your shoulders. Tell me—” he leaned

forward intently—“did anyone ask you to come and see me about this? I

can’t quite believe your story about the movie!”

Peggy decided to be completely honest with him. “No, no one asked me to

come—but I did hope to see you. I came with that intention. I thought

perhaps if we talked together, you might see our point of view and

persuade your brother to put an end to this silly feud!”

“I have tried to persuade him, Peggy,” Bill said uneasily. “I’ve argued

about it from the beginning. Then when he decided to run this particular

movie this week—well, it was almost the last straw!”

“Well, then,” Peggy cried, “why not let it _be_ the last straw? Why

don’t _you_ choose a picture for once instead of your brother? He

doesn’t have everything to say about your business, does he?”

Bill looked at her unhappily. “There’s a lot you don’t know, Peggy,” he

said. “We are partners, yes, but partners in name only. You see, when we

bought that theater, Max was the one who put up the money. He was older,

and had been in a very successful public relations business in New York.

His dream had always been to come back here to live, with a business of

his own. I had just come out of the Army and didn’t have any money to

invest.”

“And your brother bought the theater all on his own?” Peggy asked. “My!

He must have saved a lot!”

“No, not entirely on his own,” Bill said. “I don’t know why I’m telling

you all this, Peggy—” he smiled as her wistfully—“I guess it’s because I

want you to like me, and I want to clear myself. But please promise me

that anything I say will be a confidential matter between us.”

“Of course,” Peggy agreed warmly. She was glad to know that Bill Slade

trusted her, and thought that it was probably a very good thing for him

to talk to somebody. She had an impression that he was very lonely.

“Max couldn’t have done it all on his own,” Bill confided. “He had

another investor—a silent partner whom almost nobody knows about. Not

that there’s anything wrong about it, but—”

“Ford Birmingham!” Peggy guessed excitedly as the pieces began to fall

into place.

“That’s right. Ford put up the rest of the money. He keeps his

partnership silent because of his job on the paper. He loves the

newspaper business and writing, and manages to carry both jobs very

well. However, if people knew he was a partner, they might think his

movie reviews were prejudiced!” Bill laughed. “They’re not, of course.

Ford is a painfully honest critic!”

“And he goes right along with your brother’s attitude about us?” Peggy

asked incredulously.

“Well, you see, I’m afraid that Max has said some pretty awful things

about your theater to Ford.” Bill seemed almost ashamed. “Not about the

people personally,” he added hastily, “but professionally. Max honestly

thinks you’re all amateurs and he’s persuaded Ford of that.” He shook

his head ruefully. “And Max resents a little company of newcomers coming

into the town and possibly drawing away his business. He—he’s not a very

happy man, Peggy, and he is my brother. I have to understand how he

feels.”

“Of course,” Peggy said sympathetically. “I know some people like that

in my home town. They’re terrified of anything new and become completely

unreasonable about it.”

Bill nodded. “If Max would just let me choose some of the films, as you

said, I think our own business would pick up. It’s been terrible lately,

but I know why. It isn’t the Summer Theater, as Max thinks. It’s his

choice of old, dull movies that nobody wants to see. This is the first

good one we’ve shown in a long time!” He sighed ironically. “And it took

your theater to make him choose it—for all the wrong reasons!”

They were silent, each thinking of the seemingly impossible situation.

Now that she saw the design more clearly, Peggy couldn’t think of a way

out. Apparently, neither could Bill. He frowned and shook his head

again. “I’m sorry, Peggy, but there just doesn’t seem to be anything I

can do. I wish I could. Believe me, I wish I could!”

Peggy walked back to the annex for the line rehearsal, feeling

disconsolate and subdued. It was really almost hopeless, she thought,

mulling over all the problems. Without any real authority in the

business, Bill couldn’t be of much help. But she had been right about

one thing. Bill Slade was certainly not the weak, spineless creature

that people imagined! He had good reason for his actions, and actually,

it was wonderfully loyal and brave of him to stick by his brother in the

face of a lot of criticism. Peggy didn’t doubt that more persons than

those concerned with the Summer Theater regarded Bill as his brother’s

younger shadow—possibly even Ford Birmingham!

Peggy thought of the little paragraph Mr. Birmingham had written on

_Dear Ruth_ toward the end of the week—just as Chuck had predicted.

Chris had been right, too. It had said almost less than nothing—a mere

notice, in fact! Well, it was all a shame, Peggy thought sadly, a

terrible and unnecessary shame!

IX

A Lifeline

_Angel Street_ opened to a house of twelve persons!

Fortunately, Alison was so engrossed in her work that she was not aware

of the ridiculously small audience until curtain calls, when they showed

their intense appreciation of the play by standing while they applauded

and shouted, “Bravo!” It was indicative of the fine performances the

actors had given and a deliberate gesture of support. Almost everyone in

the audience came backstage after the show, congratulating the company

and telling Alison and Howard Miller in particular how wonderful they

had been. Aunt Hetty was singularly impressed. “I knew you were a good

actress, Alison,” she complimented her, “but I really had no idea you

could do a demanding, difficult part like this so well!”

Overhearing, Peggy couldn’t help wishing again that she could have a

chance to sink her teeth into a dramatic part, too. Not that she was at

all envious of Alison—or was she, Peggy wondered? No, she didn’t think

so. It was just that seeing someone else in a serious role opened up a

part of Peggy that hadn’t been tapped this summer and wished to be used.

There was something else to it, too, Peggy thought, smiling secretly.

Something that almost nobody outside of the theater knew. And it wasn’t

such a bad idea to keep audiences in ignorance about it—otherwise their

enjoyment might be lessened. The secret was that in many ways it was

really easier to play a dramatic part than a comedy role. Comedy was the

hardest thing of all.

Peggy suddenly saw Mr. Bladen, who was popping about on stage like a

sprightly old bird, nodding with satisfaction at the set. The friendly

woman Peggy had met on the street that morning had come with her

husband, and they were speaking with Richard Wallace. She noticed Peggy

and smiled, beckoning her to come and join their group.

“I’d like you to meet Mr. and Mrs. Cook, Peggy,” Richard said. “They’re

interested in our theater and in some of the furniture we’re using this

week.”

“Oh,” Peggy exclaimed. “Well, I met part of the family this morning.”

She smiled at Mrs. Cook. “And if you’re interested in the pieces on

stage, you might speak to Mr. Bladen. He’s here somewhere—”

“I noticed in the program that he loaned the couch,” Mr. Cook said. “We

think it’s such a beautiful piece that we’d be very interested in buying

it.”

“Well, wait a minute, and I’ll find him for you.” Peggy beamed and

hurried away. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if the theater could be of

assistance to Mr. Bladen, too! She found him behind a flat, looking

curiously at a prop table and, pinned above it, the list of scenes in

which the things were used.

“Neat. Very neat,” Mr. Bladen said. “Haven’t been backstage since I was

a boy. It smells wonderful!”

Peggy laughed. She knew exactly what he meant. There was a very special

aroma about backstage. It had a hint of glue, paint, make-up, and even

the peculiar, musty odor of ropes and pulleys.

“I think you’ve sold your chaise longue,” Peggy told him happily. “That

is, if you’re interested in selling it!” She brought him back to meet

the Cooks, and soon all were engrossed in a discussion of antiques.

Peggy saw that it might indeed be a fruitful night for Mr. Bladen. When

the boys returned the props and furniture after _Angel Street_ was over,

maybe they would be willing to clean up Mr. Bladen’s shop a bit. It was

little enough to do in return for the things he had lent them. Peggy

made a mental note to remind Michael and his friends.

The audiences for the rest of the week were uniformly small. Either

people were going to the movie instead of the play, as Max Slade had

hoped, or his comments about the company were having their effect. The

absence of anything in the paper except their own advertisements was

keeping people away, too. If only Ford Birmingham would break down and

come to the theater, Peggy thought!

The company began rehearsals for the next play, _Charley’s Aunt_, not

knowing if they would even have an opportunity to play it! Rehearsals

had never gone so badly. All the fire had left Chuck’s direction, and

the cast responded just as dully. Toward the middle of the week, Richard

and Chuck called everyone together and announced that the theater would

definitely have to close unless everyone took a cut in salary. If the

actors were willing to do this and work just for expenses, they might be

able to pull through another week.

Rita and Gus looked at each other gloomily. Peggy knew that they had

counted on saving something this summer to take a long-dreamed-of

vacation. In the four years they’d been married, they had never had a

honeymoon! Still, Rita and Gus were the first to say they’d be glad to

forego their salaries.

Rita even laughed about it. “It’s fate, that’s all. We might have known

it! And if we did leave now, we’d only have to go back unemployed to New

York. It’s too late to get other jobs this summer. Might as well stay

here another week and enjoy the scenery!”

Everyone else felt the same way. There was little point in not making

one last effort, even though they knew the theater couldn’t last long.

“Maybe I can talk the manager of Kenabeek Inn into letting us stay for a

few days after we close,” Chuck added glumly. “Then you could all at

least have a little leisure and swimming after your work!”

“Do you remember when we had all that space in the paper after the

commissioner of education made his decision about the theater?” Chris

Hill asked. “It probably accounted for the good house we had opening

night of _Dear Ruth_. Couldn’t we somehow find something else that would

bring us space in the paper—maybe to be mentioned in some of the social

columns—anything, as long as they write about us!”

“I’ve tried,” Richard said. “I’ve been to see everyone on that paper who

could do us the slightest bit of good, and Aunt Hetty has used her

influence, too. We do get things in. But the social columns aren’t the

answer, Chris, as long as people regard us as amateurs. They don’t want

to spend money on anything that isn’t professional! That’s why we only

get the same small audience over and over again. Even people who bought

season tickets before we opened aren’t using them! They’re beginning to

regard their investment as some kind of charity to help the town! No,

Chris, I’m afraid we’re licked.”

And for the first time, Peggy thought so, too. Until now she always had

felt a stirring of hope, an optimistic sense that the theater would pull

through somehow. But now everything looked too bleak. It would be

unrealistic to hope for a miracle at this point.

Peggy began to visualize the letters she would shortly have to write

home: “Sorry, we folded! How would you like a visitor for a while?” If,

she thought dismally, she could even manage a ticket home now with the

cut in salary. It would be too defeating to ask her parents for that.

Maybe she wouldn’t be able to go home after all!

On the last night of _Angel Street_ a pall hung over the entire theater.

It was so thick the company could almost taste it. All the magic had

deserted the dressing rooms and the stage, and Peggy realized anew how

much the theater was a two-way romance. Plays needed an audience. One

couldn’t work to a vacuum. Still, there was a job to be done, and

although the actors had long since lost their excitement, they began the

play with a determination to do the best possible job, and with that

inexplicable feeling of loss that always occurred on the last night of a

show. It was sad, saying good-by to a part and a story. _Angel Street_

wouldn’t live again until some other company somewhere took it and

molded it into being.

The curtain fell to loud but scattered applause, and the actors, too

enervated to rush to their dressing rooms tonight, stood about on stage

longer than usual. Peggy was talking to Rita about _Charley’s Aunt_,

when a movement in the wings caught her eye, and she turned to see a

sight so astonishing that she literally dropped onto Mr. Bladen’s couch.

Bill Slade, accompanied by two other men, was walking onto the stage and

heading straight for Chuck Crosby with a purposeful air and a broad

smile.

Peggy gasped, unwilling to trust her eyes! The men were all talking to

Chuck now, and he seemed as flabbergasted as Peggy.

Rita pulled on her sleeve, “Who are they, Peggy? What’s it all about?”

“That’s Bill Slade, one of them,” Peggy said. “I don’t know who the

others are.”

“Bill Slade!” Rita exclaimed in disbelief. “Well, for heaven’s sake!”

Suddenly the little group laughed, and Bill turned to smile at Peggy. “I

took your advice, you see,” he said, coming over to her. “I know I’m a

little late getting here, but I wanted to bring someone with me. Peggy,

this is Ford Birmingham!”

Ford Birmingham! Everyone heard the name and stared openly. Mr.

Birmingham was an interesting, distinguished-looking man, younger than

Peggy had imagined, with streaks of premature gray in his hair. As he

spoke to her, Peggy felt a quality of integrity in everything he said.

“I’m so sorry that I didn’t come on my own initiative sooner. I feel

that I owe you all an apology—particularly in view of the superb play I

saw tonight! I’m afraid I misjudged you. I had no idea it would be like

this.”

He was kind enough to see each member of the company personally and

offer his apologies. Peggy was struck by the graciousness of the

gesture. It couldn’t be easy for him.

“So that is Ford Birmingham!” she exclaimed to Bill. “He’s so—so

entirely different from my picture of him!”

“Thought you’d like him.” Bill smiled. “And I think there’s another

surprise for the cast, Peggy!” He indicated the other member of the

trio, who was still deep in conversation with Chuck.

“Who is he?” Peggy asked curiously. But before Bill could answer, Chuck,

grinning from ear to ear, asked the cast to gather around.

“Someone here has a proposition for us,” Chuck said, introducing Mr.

Eugene Vincent, the entertainment director for Lake Manor, a huge resort

hotel three miles down the highway.

“If you people would be interested,” Mr. Vincent said, his plump face

wreathed with good humor, “I’d like to have you play one night a week

down at the Manor! It would be a wonderful addition to our program, and

you wouldn’t have to worry about a thing. We’d do our own sets for your

plays, take care of moving your props, and transport you back and forth.

All you have to do is act!” He beamed at them. “How does that sound to

you?”

“It might mean that we’d be able to continue our season,” Chuck broke in

anxiously. “I’m not sure yet, but the additional money might carry us

through—”

“And there’s one other inducement,” Mr. Vincent added. “You’d come early

for dinner on performance days, and have the recreation facilities

available for your use at any time. Swimming, Ping-pong, volleyball....”

He raised his eyebrows and peered at them like a genie offering infinite

temptations.

They couldn’t believe their ears. After a stunned silence, Chris Hill

was the first to give a mighty whoop. “Mr. Vincent,” he exclaimed,

pumping his hand furiously, “I have always believed in Santa Claus, and

now that you have come along, I _know_ it’s true!” He turned to the

company. “What about the rest of you? Don’t you believe in miracles?”

“You mean it’s true,” Danny said, with a perfectly blank expression.

Then as it sank in he grinned, and grabbing Peggy, began to waltz about

on stage.

“It’s true,” he sang, “it’s terrific, it’s fantastic, it’s the most

amazing ever!”

The cast merrily congratulated one another, showering Mr. Vincent with

handshakes and praise, and finally dragging him and even Ford Birmingham

into an impromptu conga line about the stage. Gus turned on the music

and it wasn’t long before a real party developed. Michael Miller went

out to bring back sandwiches and soft drinks, and the set of _Angel

Street_ changed, miraculously, from a gloomy room to one of brightness

and gaiety.

“How did it all happen?” Peggy asked Bill Slade breathlessly during a

lull in the dancing.

“Simple,” he answered, smiling. “It occurred to me after our talk that

there was one effort I could make in your behalf. I had never spoken

seriously to Ford about the theater. I took it for granted that he knew

how I felt, but then I remembered that I’d never actually told him so.

He’d only heard Max’s side of the story. So”—he grinned at her—“after I

saw you that day, I went to see Ford. It took all week to persuade him

to come up here, but I finally managed.”

“But what did you say to him?” Peggy questioned, her eyes alight with

interest. “It must have been good!”

“I appealed to his sense of honor,” Bill said. “Since we’re all in the

same business, I felt he should make an effort to understand your side

of the question, too. And after enough insistence that you were really

professional, and that he ought to check that for himself, well—he

agreed. You know,” Bill added rather sheepishly, “I was terribly

impressed. I really didn’t think the play would be as good as it was.

Will you forgive me?”

Peggy laughed delightedly, “Oh, Bill! Of course!”

“I think Ford will give you a terrific review,” Bill said.

“And what about Mr. Vincent?” Peggy asked, “Was that your doing, too?”

“No.” Bill shook his head shyly. “Just a coincidence, Peggy. Ford was

having dinner with him—”

“And you persuaded both of them to come!” Peggy cried. “Now don’t deny

it, Bill Slade, I know you did!”

“Well,” he admitted reluctantly, “I just said that it might be

interesting.”

“Oh, Bill, how will we ever be able to thank you!” Peggy’s face was

flushed with gratitude. “And I’ll bet Chuck and Richard don’t know a

thing about this—” She got up with every intention of telling them, but

Bill put out his hand to stop her.

“No, please don’t, Peggy,” he pleaded. “They think we came out of simple

curiosity and were pleasantly surprised. If the real story should get

back to Max, it might hurt him dreadfully. I’d rather keep the whole

thing as quiet as possible.”

“Of course,” Peggy agreed, sitting down again. “I hadn’t thought of

that. Bill, what are you going to do about your brother? I’m sure he

thought the theater would close, and he’ll be furious at this new

development.”

“Well,” Bill said slowly, “he’s bound to know I had something to do with

it, but he doesn’t have to know how much—until I prove to him that your

theater isn’t the problem! I’ve already talked with Ford and together

we’re going to try to improve our choice of films. Ford’s on my side

about that.” He smiled ruefully. “If I’d only spoken to him before,

Peggy! I guess it took a nudge from you to open my eyes!”

“Say! When’s this set coming down?” Gus Stevens asked everyone. “Do you

people know what time it is?”

And it was late—so late that no one could think of leaving Gus and the

boys to work all alone. Everyone, including Ford Birmingham and Mr.

Vincent, pitched in to help. The wonderful night ended as the last flat

was stacked away and Mr. Vincent, dusting himself off, waved good-by

with the cheery promise, “Be seeing you next week at the Manor!”

Bill said good-by to Peggy, holding her hand for a moment as he reminded

her, “Don’t forget, Peggy, if you’re grateful to me, that I have a lot

to thank you for, too. A lot!”

“Well,” Chris observed as he watched Bill drive away with his friends,

“I think there’s more to this than meets the eye! You two seem to know

each other very well!” He looked at Peggy curiously as they started the

walk back to the annex together under a bright night sky so clear that

it looked like a canopy of diamonds.

“Oh, well, you heard the story of my meeting Bill Slade when I went to

Mr. Bladen’s that day,” Peggy reminded him, hoping that it would satisfy

Chris. She didn’t want anyone to know of their further talk.

“And you two became such fast friends in all of about five minutes?”

Chris raised his eyebrows. “Oh, now, Peggy! I watched you together

tonight and I still say—there’s more to this than meets the eye!”

“Well”—Peggy was glad of the night that effectively covered her

blush—“he’s really nice, Chris.” She wasn’t very good at evasion and

wished that she could tell the whole story, but for Bill’s sake she

mustn’t.

“I see,” Chris said softly. “Yes, he is a pleasant fellow, Peggy, but

you know there are other people around, too. I hope you won’t forget

that when you’re thinking of Mr. Slade.”

“What does he mean?” Peggy wondered in silence all the way home. Could

Chris possibly be putting a different interpretation on her friendship

with Bill Slade? “Oh dear,” Peggy thought, “I may have helped untangle

the theater, but I’ve certainly tangled up my personal affairs!” She

sighed, remembering a little nervously that tomorrow _For Love or Money_

would go into rehearsal and she would be playing a romantic lead

opposite Chris Hill!

X

Friends—New and Old

“‘Last night a group of professional actors, backed by years of

experience on Broadway, television, and radio, presented a stunning

performance of _Angel Street_ to an audience of fewer than twenty

persons. It is this reviewer’s duty to apologize publicly for having

neglected the Kenabeek Summer Theater. Until now he has not had the

pleasure of viewing one of its productions. It is his loss. And he would

like to say that the Summer Theater is one of the finest additions to

our town in many years. It deserves all the support our local residents

and out-of-towners can give it.’

“Oh, just listen to that!” Peggy interrupted herself and squealed with

delight as she read Ford Birmingham’s review in the _Gazette_ to Rita,

Alison, and Chris. They were having dinner together before the opening

of _Charley’s Aunt_. Ford Birmingham had timed the appearance of the

review to coincide with the opening of the new play, and tomorrow there

would be yet another review in the _Gazette_.

“Go on,” Alison urged.

“‘_Angel Street_ was so electrifying,’” Peggy continued, “‘that despite

the small house, your reviewer was sitting—literally—on the edge of his

hard seat in our high school auditorium. (That he was unaware of his

discomfort is another indication of the quality of the performance.) Do

not make the mistake of assuming that a production given in the high

school is an amateurish effort. The set was excellently executed by Gus

Stevens, a young man, who, we suspect, will shortly be designing for

Broadway.

“‘Alison Lord, as Mrs. Manningham, gave a controlled, vibrant

performance that was a delight to watch. As that colorful inspector,

Sergeant Bough, our own Howard Miller was simply superb.’” As Peggy read

on, the wonderful words of praise made everyone glow with a feeling of

success and satisfaction.

“‘Peggy Lane, in the small role of the maid Nancy, was pert and

charming, leaving us with the notion that we’d like to see her do

something else—’”

“Well, they will,” Chris interrupted, giving Peggy a wink. “Next week,

Peggy the Star!”

“Oh, Chris,” Peggy laughed. “I’m not really the star—it’s you—and

Alison, too.”

“Leave me out,” Alison said mockingly. “I had my big chance and no

audience. It’s your turn next, Peggy, and it looks as if you’ll be

luckier.” There was a hint of envy in Alison’s tone that surprised

Peggy. Only last week she had been complaining about having two big

leads in a row. Peggy had thought Alison was looking forward to the

smaller but very good part she had in _For Love or Money_.

“Doesn’t he say anything about me?” Chris asked. “Go on, Peggy, I can’t

believe he isn’t going to offer any criticism at all.”

Peggy resumed reading: “‘Rita Stevens was excellent as the housekeeper;

so believable in fact, that one might tend to overlook a program note

which explains that she is much younger than she appeared.’

“Oh, and here you are, Chris,” Peggy said. “‘Chris Hill, a romantic

leading man if ever we saw one, made a valiant effort to create the

difficult, heavy role of Mr. Manningham. That he didn’t quite succeed is

no slur on his ability. He was very good indeed and there were moments

in the play when he was truly spine-chilling. We suspect, however, that

underneath those sideburns Mr. Hill is basically just too nice a fellow.

We’re looking forward to him in _Charley’s Aunt_ where, we understand,

he will be playing something closer to his type. This should be a real

treat for the young women of the area, and we assure you, if you’re

interested, that you needn’t look further for a living, breathing

matinee idol!’

“Oh, Chris!” Peggy whooped and burst out laughing.

“Why, Christopher Barrymore Hill!” Alison giggled. “I had no idea you

were such a heart throb!”

“Heavens! You won’t be able to walk down the street alone after that!”

Rita teased, as Chris got redder and redder and looked as if he would

like to vanish into the floor.

“Oh, no,” he groaned. “And I was beginning to think that Ford Birmingham

was a pretty nice guy! Why did he have to do this to me?”

“Because it’s wonderful publicity, that’s why!” Peggy cried. “Oh, Chris,

don’t you see? Look at everything he said—about the quality of the

actors, and then establishing you as a draw. Why,” she declared

brightly, “we’ll have everybody in town rushing up to see you! And

they’ll bring their friends. It’s a beautiful idea!”

“Umphm,” Chris moaned dismally. “It’s a hideous idea! However, he was

right in his criticism. There were moments when I did feel distant from

the part.”

“After this, you won’t even have to act any more.” Alison laughed. “Just

be yourself while everyone swoons!”

“Oh, Alison, cut it out!” Chris pleaded, looking around as if a thousand

eyes were fastened on him. “I wish Birmingham had settled on you for a

drawing card instead.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Alison smiled, preening a little. “As a matter of

fact, I’d probably love it!”

“I’ll bet you would,” Chris muttered, while Peggy frowned uneasily. The

conversation was taking an unpleasant turn, she thought, noticing the

look Alison gave Chris.

“Well,” Peggy said cheerily, trying to change the subject, “who’s

looking forward to Monday besides me? Personally I can’t wait!”

Monday was the day that Mr. Vincent had asked the company to give their

first performance at Lake Manor. It would be the last night of the play

each week, as Chuck and Richard had decided to move the opening up one

day to Wednesday instead of Thursday. This meant also that there would

be one day less than usual to get _For Love or Money_ into shape.

Talking excitedly about the Manor, the group finished dinner in good

spirits and left the restaurant with Mrs. Brady’s wish for good luck

trailing after them.

From the first night of _Charley’s Aunt_, Ford Birmingham’s review made

its effect felt. There was a difference in everyone’s attitude now that

the theater had gained status. Audiences improved nightly, and Richard

said that if things kept up like this, the theater might even be able to

recoup some of its losses.

“And this is the way summer stock should be,” Peggy thought as she

greeted each day with the anticipation of a good rehearsal and a

satisfying show. Now she could concentrate more fully on her part in

_For Love of Money_. “A good thing, too, that I’m not worried about the

theater at a time like this,” she realized. For as the week wore on,

Peggy saw more and more that Alison had been right about the role of

Janet. It was a long, demanding lead, and Peggy worked furiously,

knowing that next week she would have to carry the show.

She found it a strange sensation to work opposite Chris. He was so good

in his part and made it all seem so real that Peggy often caught herself

wondering if she were in a play or doing something right out of life. At

times she forgot herself completely. She was Janet Blake, a young girl

who was gradually growing deeply fond of Preston Mitchell.

Alison was quite evidently annoyed at the developing friendship between

Chris and Peggy. “Don’t forget, dear, that you’re supposed to be playing

comedy,” she said to Peggy one day at rehearsal. “Sometimes I get a

feeling that you think you’re doing _Camille_.”

Peggy was worried and hurt, wondering if Alison was right. “Do you think

I’m funny enough?” she asked Rita privately. “Alison is finding fault

with everything I do.”

“Well, are you going to listen to her or to your director?” Rita

demanded. “Chuck seems satisfied with your work. Look, Peggy, Alison is

jealous because you’re playing opposite Chris. I wouldn’t pay any

attention to anything she says. My own private opinion is that you’re

more interested in Chris than you think—”

“Rita!” Peggy blushed furiously. “Here we go again! It’s just that I

like Chris enormously and—well—it is exciting to work with him!”

“I know!” Rita teased her. “It seems to me I told you something like

that ages ago! Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Peggy Lane! Before you know

it, you’ll have a dyed-in-the-wool crush on our new matinee idol!” Both

the girls laughed, remembering how uncomfortable Chris had been with the

role Ford Birmingham had assigned him.

The week flew by and when Monday arrived, Peggy noticed an excitement

she hadn’t felt since the theater opened. Something new was in the air;

they were to face a fresh audience in unfamiliar surroundings. None of

the cast had seen the famous Lake Manor, and all were intensely curious

as they rode along in the station wagon the Manor had sent for them.

“This is more like it!” Danny observed gleefully. “Our own private

chauffeur and dinner awaiting—I always did like to live in style!”

“How could I have missed the Manor on the way up by the bus?” Peggy

wondered as they drove down the highway. “This is the way I came—”

“Ah, yes, but you don’t see the Manor from the road,” Danny replied

poetically. “It is hidden, like all goodies, a surprise package lurking

in the midst of tall trees and sparkling waters. And as we leave the

highway,” he intoned in travelogue fashion, “we find ourselves driving

under an arch of fir trees, their graceful fronds meeting as they

embrace above the roadway—”

“Oh, Danny,” Peggy giggled, “we can see it, too.”

But he wasn’t to be deterred. “And around a winding road which curves

gracefully through acres—and acres—and acres—”

The cast laughed and joined in the joking as they drove through the

spacious grounds that belonged to the Manor.

“And finally,” Danny said as the Manor came into view, “as we reach our

destination—Oh, my gosh! It’s a palace!” he concluded abruptly,

forgetting his travelogue as the car stopped under the awning in front

of the entrance.

“It really is a palace,” Peggy marveled as she stepped out of the car,

“or the next thing to it!”

The main house of Lake Manor was a huge white building frosted with

turrets and bay windows and surrounded by cottages and a few other

sprawling buildings that appeared to be recreation halls. Peggy saw

stables, tennis courts, and a swimming pool off in the distance.

Ping-pong tables, croquet courts, and lawn chairs dotted the

velvet-green grass.

“Oh, it’s absolutely beautiful!” Rita exclaimed. “I had no idea anything

like this existed here!”

Just then Mr. Vincent appeared and, smiling broadly, took the cast on a

short tour of the Manor.

“It’s early,” he said, showing them the stage in one of the recreation

halls where they would play, “and dinner won’t be served until six

o’clock. Come along and I’ll show you your dining room. We have several,

and I don’t want you to get lost! Then please do anything you’d like to

amuse yourselves. We want you to have a good time!”

“How about some Ping-pong, Peggy?” Chris asked after Mr. Vincent had

left them.

“I’d love it,” Peggy said, “but I wish we could look at the stage again

first—Mr. Vincent took us through so quickly.”

“Don’t you ever think of anything besides the stage, Peggy?” Alison

asked waspishly. “Really, it gets a little boring after a while!” She

turned and left the group in a sudden huff.

“What’s the matter with her?” Danny asked wonderingly. “I thought she

was all a-flutter about playing at the Manor.”

“Maybe she was all a-flutter about playing _before_ the show,” Rita said

softly with a knowing look at Peggy.

Peggy suddenly realized what she meant. Alison was disappointed that

Chris had asked Peggy instead of her. “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she

thought wearily, “how could Alison possibly be upset over a little thing

like a game of Ping-pong!” When a group of people lived so closely

together, Peggy was beginning to realize, little things could cause

undue friction. A word or a glance could be magnified out of all

proportion. Hadn’t she even been a little guilty of that herself when

Alison had criticized her performance?

“Your serve, Miss Lane,” Chris reminded her. “Where are you anyway—off

in a dream?”

“Yes,” Peggy smiled, “I guess I was!” She couldn’t help observing how

handsome Chris was with his wonderful tan and his blond hair gleaming in

the sun. He did look like a movie star, and several people stopped to

watch them play together. Peggy felt almost ashamed to realize that she

was proud to be seen with him. “And a minute ago you were condemning

Alison for the same thing!” she chided herself fiercely. “I think it’s

about time you had a long talk with yourself, Peggy Lane!” She slammed

the ball hard, and it hit the far corner of the table, out of Chris’s

reach.

“Good play!” he cried. “That’s it.”

“Who won?” Peggy asked. She hadn’t even noticed.

“You don’t deserve to know,” he grinned. “You’re off on a cloud

somewhere. Come on, ingénue, let’s go for a walk.”

They strolled through the lovely grounds, finding that one winding path

led to another even more charming. Most of the landscaping was designed

to offer the best possible view of the lake, and Peggy felt actively

envious watching the boats dart back and forth like large birds.

“I’ve wanted to tell you, Peggy,” Chris said as they sat down on a large

rock that jutted out over the water, “what fun it is working with you.

So far I’m enjoying _For Love or Money_ more than any other play we’ve

done. It means more to me than just a play,” Chris went on seriously. “I

feel that we do awfully well together—in almost anything.” He stopped,

looking at her intently as Peggy caught her breath. She didn’t know what

to say. Finally, a moment later, she tremulously suggested that they had

better get back to dinner.

“Dinner!” Chris exclaimed with humorous disgust. “At a time like this,

with romance in the very air around you! Honestly, Peggy, you’re enough

to try anybody’s patience!”

Peggy wished with all her might that she knew what her real feelings

were in regard to Chris. It was all so confusing, she thought, as they

found their way back to the dining room through the maze of pathways.

Dinner was a sumptuous affair and a refreshing change from the good but

rather plain food at Mrs. Brady’s.

“Cheddar cheese soup!” Michael Miller peered at his bowl like a hungry

owl. “Haven’t seen this since Dad took me to New York last year!”

“Personally, I prefer turtle Madeira,” Alison said languidly, taking a

few sips of the delicious broth.

“Listen to the prima donna,” Chris whispered to Peggy. “She was fine as

long as she had all the leads, but now wait and see. For the rest of

next week she’ll be impossible. I know—I’ve seen it happen before.”

“But I thought you liked her,” Peggy said softly. She had decided she

might as well find out how things stood between Chris and Alison.

“I do,” Chris answered, slightly surprised, “I like her a lot. She’s a

very good actress.”

Thoughtfully, Peggy wondered if Chris judged people by their acting

ability—if that was the basis of his sudden pronounced interest in her.

Peggy was very conscious of his presence beside her as they finished

dinner together.

_Charley’s Aunt_ was riotously received by the Lake Manor audience. The

actors had to be unusually alert to restrict their movements

sufficiently to work on the smaller stage. There were several times when

Peggy, almost bumping into another player, came close to breaking up and

laughing out loud. And when an angry bee somehow found his way on stage

and got lost in the tea things, all the cast had a difficult time

controlling themselves. Microphones were suspended overhead to overcome

the poor acoustics in the hall, and the buzz of the bee came loud and

clear over the actors’ voices. The audience loved it! They roared and

applauded when the bee finally made a grand exit over their heads and

out the rear door.

Weak with laughter, Peggy made her way back toward the tiny, dark

dressing room that was stacked with boxes of costumes and props. The

hall was usually reserved for the individual comedy acts that the Manor

booked for its guests.

“I’m sure they think we’re just another variation on the same theme!”

Peggy giggled. “That silly bee! He sounded like a dive bomber!”

“They loved it!” Chris cried exuberantly, whirling Peggy around in the

small hall. Chris was always like this after a show, Peggy noticed.

Excited and gay and ready to go on for the rest of the night.

“Miss Lane?” one of the stagehands called to her. “There’s someone

outside to see you.”

“Aha!” Chris intoned dramatically. “An admirer, no doubt. Come along,

Peggy—take me to your stage-door Johnny and I’ll protect you!” Laughing,

they stepped out of the door into the courtyard of the building.

“Peggy!” A tall, lanky, redheaded boy grinned down at her, stretching

out both hands in greeting.

“Randy Brewster!” Peggy cried, “Randy—of all people! Well, how on

earth—why—how did you—oh, Randy!” She was so excited and pleased that

she stuttered.

“I loved the show,” Randy declared happily, hugging her, “and I was so

surprised to see you down here at the Manor! I thought I’d have to wait

to surprise you up at the theater.”

“Oh, Chris,”—Peggy remembered him—“I’d like you to meet a very dear

friend of mine—I met him when I started in dramatic school. This is

Randy Brewster—Chris Hill.”

“How nice,” Chris said shortly, his exuberance gone.

“I certainly enjoyed your performance,” Randy congratulated him. “Very

funny. You have a lot of vitality. Hope I’ll do as well here—”

“Oh,” Peggy exclaimed with sudden understanding, “is that why you’re

here? The Manor hired you?”

“Yep,” Randy said. “I’ll be here for a week doing a new comedy routine.

I hope we’ll be able to see each other often. I was so pleased, Peggy,

knowing you’d be in the neighborhood.” He grinned at her with that

funny, warm, crooked smile that Peggy remembered so well.

“I’m coming to see your opening day after tomorrow,” Randy went on.

“Wouldn’t miss it for anything. I’m glad that I’ll be here while you’re

playing a lead.”

“Are you familiar with the play?” Chris interrupted suddenly.

“No,” Randy said with a smile, “but that will make it even more fun.”

“Well,” Chris said mysteriously, “I don’t know how much fun it will be

for you, but you should certainly find it interesting! You’re familiar

with the old saying, ‘All’s fair in love and war’?” He flashed a teasing

smile at Randy. “Well, we’ll look forward to seeing you, Mr.

Brewster—yes, indeed!”

Chris left them gaping after him while Randy shook his head. “That’s a

strange fellow,” he puzzled. “He’s very charming, but I’d swear that he

doesn’t like me one little bit! I wonder why! What have you been up to,

Peggy?”

He looked at her curiously while Peggy wondered if things could

conceivably get any more complicated! She had been so happy to see a

friend from New York—and especially Randy. Now, she realized suddenly,

she would have to play her big lead with the knowledge that Randy was in

the audience, watching her and Chris. “Well,” she thought, shivering

slightly, “that will be quite an experience!”

XI

Quick Thinking

Peggy sat at her dressing table applying her make-up carefully. For the

first time this summer she had to be just as beautiful as possible with

no little tricks or different hair styles for characterization. This

time she could look just like Peggy, only more so. After she had put on

the gown she wore for her entrance, she combed out her thick, glowing

hair that had grown in the past few weeks until it just touched her

shoulders. It framed her face in soft waves, and as she looked at

herself in the mirror, she was pleased.

“You look absolutely lovely, Peggy,” Rita said, “dreamy, in fact. I

think the audience will go into a tail spin—to say nothing of your

friend Randy.”

The minute she mentioned his name, Peggy’s knees began to shake. “Here I

go again,” she said nervously. “Opening night! Clammy hands and

butterflies!”

“Well, don’t worry about it,” Rita said gently. “It’s only because

you’re doing a lead. It’ll go away.”

But privately, Peggy wasn’t so sure. Was she nervous because of the play

or Randy in the audience? “Oh, I wish he hadn’t told me,” Peggy thought

desperately. “Now I’ll be thinking of him out there—”

“Five minutes!” Gus called, and Peggy made her way to the wings.

“Break a leg, leading lady,” Chris whispered as he walked by, “and don’t

worry about a thing.” He grinned at her encouragingly and Peggy thought

again what a wonderful person Chris was. She wished he hadn’t teased

Randy in that manner, but then Chris did everything all the way. No half

measures for him! Peggy watched him close his eyes for a moment, getting

into character and collecting his energy. Chris would be good, Peggy had

no doubt. “And what about me?” she wondered. “I hope I can concentrate

and not be distracted by my own private thoughts.”

“Curtain!” The play had begun.

Peggy didn’t make her entrance until the second scene of Act One. Now

she wished that she had stayed in her dressing room instead of watching

from the wings. By the time she walked on she was more nervous than

ever, but fortunately, Janet was supposed to be in an excited state,

too. Peggy was just beginning to relax and feel comfortable, timing her

laugh—when the phone didn’t ring on cue!

Peggy looked at Chris and Chris looked at Peggy. There was dead silence

for a moment. Something must have gone wrong with the phone bell or,

worse, someone had forgotten! They couldn’t go on, either, until it

rang. The call was necessary to the action.

“Well”—Peggy plunged in with an improvisation—“I’ve heard of sea gulls

that are supposed to be angels of ships at sea.” Preston and Janet had

just been talking about gulls—perhaps they could continue until the

phone rang. But Chris didn’t pick it up. He looked perfectly blank, and

Peggy read in his eyes that desperation that means an actor is

completely at a loss. In theater terms, Chris had “gone up”—higher than

a kite.

“I think there was an article about sea gulls in the _Reader’s Digest_,”

Peggy ad libbed valiantly while Chris stayed silent as a tomb. If only

he would come back a little and help her out! Peggy got up from the

couch and strolled around the room as if seeing it for the first time.

If she could disappear in the wings for a moment, she might be able to

signal someone. “I hadn’t noticed what a lovely place you have here, Mr.

Mitchell,” she went on, making her way upstage to the hall. “Is this the

way to the kitchen?” She was out in the hall now and disappeared for a

moment, waving her hand frantically in the wings.

Chris suddenly came to life and realized what she was doing. “Why, don’t

tell me you’re hungry,” he called after her. “But if you want to snoop

around—go ahead.”

“I’m not snooping!” Peggy reappeared for a second. This was better—at

least they were improvising in character. “I’m just naturally curious,

that’s all.” She disappeared again, desperately whispering,

“_Sst—sst—where’s the phone?_”

Michael signaled her that they were working on it, the battery was dead!

“Well, use the doorbell then—anything!” Peggy whispered. She came back

on stage, her ingenuity giving out—but there it was, the ring! Chris

dived for the receiver. Gus had used the doorbell but they managed to

cover well enough and finished the first act with relief.

“_Whew!_” Chris said when the curtain closed. “Thanks a lot for pulling

me through, Peggy. When that bell didn’t ring, I blew completely. First

time that’s happened in ages.”

“You were wonderful, Peggy,” Rita said. “I don’t think the audience

noticed a thing!”

“Gosh, I’m sorry.” Gus came up apologetically. “We should have used the

doorbell right away instead of tinkering with the phone. That was quick

thinking, Peggy.”

“So I did have my mind on my work after all!” Peggy thought happily.

“How silly of me to worry about it.”

But as the play progressed to the last act where Preston finally

embraces Janet, Peggy was amazed to find that the simple scene had

suddenly acquired enormous value. All she could think of was Randy out

in the audience! As they took their curtain calls she looked anxiously

for him, wondering what he was thinking.

“Terrific!” Randy congratulated her with a friendly hug when he came

backstage. “You were funny and wonderful and perfect and you looked like

a vision!”

“Why don’t you introduce me, Peggy?” Alison asked as she came by. “This

must be your famous friend—”

“Randolph Clark Brewster,” Peggy said gaily, relieved that Randy had

taken the play as a play. “He’s a wonderful comedian, but his heart

isn’t in it. He wants to be a playwright.”

“Really!” Alison drawled. “You aren’t related to the Brewsters of Long

Island by any chance?”

Randy frowned and sent an appealing look to Peggy. He hated anyone to

know about his wealthy family as he was trying his best to be successful

on his own. “Well, uh, yes,” he muttered reluctantly. “Look, Peggy,

change your things, and let’s go out for a snack. This is my night off

and I want to make the most of it!”

“I always did like that strong, silent type,” Alison said as they

entered the dressing room, “and besides having that wonderful face and

red hair, he comes from a very prominent family. I don’t blame you for

leaving Chris in the lurch for your old friend.” The barb sank in, and

Alison’s contrived innocent smile did nothing to relieve it.

“Well,” Peggy thought miserably as she took off her make-up, “if people

can’t understand a thing like friendship, then let them think whatever

they like!”

“Hey, open up, Peggy.” Peggy got up to open the door and saw Bill Slade

standing there. “You were great, Peggy. You’ll have to do another lead

this summer. Want to go out for some coffee?” He smiled, accepting her

silence as consent.

“Peggy—a small tribute to a great leading lady!” It was Chris, and he

handed her a huge bouquet of roses with an elegantly mocking little bow.

“But let’s eat. I’m famished.”

“That’s a really fine set,” Randy commented, returning from a tour of

the stage. “Are you ready yet?”

Peggy hastily excused herself and closed the door while the three boys

waited in the hall, each assuming that she was his special date for the

evening.

[Illustration: The three boys waited in the hall]

Rita looked at Peggy’s perplexed expression with undisguised amusement,

finally breaking into laughter. “The only solution, as I found out long

ago, is marriage!” she chuckled. “You’d better start thinking about it,

Peggy!”

“That is the last thing in the world I’m going to think about—for a long

time!” Peggy said emphatically. She picked up her bag and sighed

heavily, wondering how to handle the situation.

Alison was grimly combing her hair and putting her make-up away. “I

don’t blame her for feeling left out,” Peggy thought. “Playing a lead

does seem to make a difference in people’s interest—although it

shouldn’t. And taking a back seat isn’t easy for Alison.” Peggy wondered

how Alison would react if she asked her to join them. It would simplify

everything, but she mustn’t appear to do it out of kindness.

“Are you ready, Alison?” Peggy asked matter-of-factly.

“Ready for what?” Alison looked up, surprised.

“Why, to go to Mrs. Brady’s or the inn—or wherever we’re going. I think

we ought to let the boys decide.” Peggy treated it as if it had been

understood from the beginning. “Are you and Gus coming along, too?” she

asked Rita.

“I’m sorry, we can’t, Peggy. We have to go over the prop list for _You

Can’t Take It with You_. It’s a difficult show on the backstage end, and

I want to help all I can.”

Peggy nodded. Next week was going to be a challenge for everyone.

“Better hurry, Alison,” she said. “We can’t stay out too late. We have

an early call tomorrow.”

It worked out just as Peggy had hoped. They went to the inn for

sandwiches and Alison attached herself to Chris, leaving Peggy free to

enjoy Randy’s company. Bill Slade had a marvelous time with all of them.

Alison’s presence prevented Chris from kidding Randy, which, Peggy

suspected, Chris would have loved to do. Just once in the evening, when

Alison excused herself for a moment, Chris leaned across the table and

said, “Say—how’d you like that last act, Randy? Think it was realistic?”

Randy looked from Chris to Peggy and back again. “Well,” he said with a

slow smile, “it wasn’t exactly the way I would have played it, a little

too theatrical for me. But then, Preston Mitchell _was_ an actor! I’d be

inclined to take that scene too seriously, I’m afraid.” He looked

steadily at Peggy and she thought she understood. Randy was telling her

that Chris’s interest in her was a professional mood—something she had

guessed already. But more important, he was saying that his own feelings

went deeper. Peggy felt comforted and secure. Whatever happened with

their friendship, it would always be a lasting one. Peggy smiled at him

understandingly.

“What’s your play next week, Peggy?” Randy asked.

“_You Can’t Take It With You!_ And it’s going to be a job! We have to

use a lot of townspeople because it’s such a large cast—”

“It’s a great show, though,” Chris added enthusiastically.

“And the most awful thing, Randy,” Peggy continued, “is that I won’t be

able to see your act down at the Manor.”

“Well, at least you can say good-by.” Randy smiled. “The day you play

there is the day I leave.”

“Leave!” Peggy suddenly had an inspiration. “Oh, Randy, why don’t you

stay here for another week? We’re going to need so many people in _You

Can’t Take It with You_—I’m sure Chuck and Richard would love to have

you.”

“The Russian!” Alison cried. “Everyone’s been biting their nails,

wondering who could play the Russian!”

“Oh, yes, you’d be perfect, Randy,” Peggy urged. “And I’m doing Essie,

the little ballerina. We could work together—do say you’ll stay!”

“We-e-ell,” Randy hesitated, “I suppose I don’t have to rush back—”

“You’re absolutely sure?” Chris asked, raising an eyebrow. “I mean, we

wouldn’t want you to miss anything in New York—” He looked at Peggy for

a moment, and noticing her pained expression, laughed good-naturedly,

leaning across the table to shake Randy’s hand. “Okay. You win, Mr.

Brewster! I can’t compete with old school ties and all that. You would

be great for the part and we’d love to have you.”

The boys shook hands, grinning at each other, while Peggy looked on,

happy and relieved. Chris had evidently decided to “bury the hatchet.”

Alison seemed a little mystified. “What’s going on with you two? You

look as though you had a deep, dark secret.”

“Deep, but not dark, Alison,” Chris laughed. “Light as summer. Which

reminds me, who knows something good for mosquito bites? They’ve decided

all of a sudden that I’m a particularly delectable morsel!”

“Oh, oh, you’ve come to the right place,” Bill Slade offered eagerly.

“Take it from an old hand—”

“No, no, I know the best thing of all—” Alison urged.

“But I found something brand-new—” Peggy started, and then everyone

laughed, plying Chris with their favorite remedies. Randy promised Peggy

that he’d speak to the producers the next day, and the party broke up

with happy expectations of next week’s show.

XII

Varied Explosions

Just as Peggy had expected, the producers were delighted to have Randy

stay an extra week and play the Russian ballet teacher, Kolenkhov, in

_You Can’t Take It with You_. With Randy in the cast and everyone

working comfortably together, Peggy couldn’t remember ever having such

fun at rehearsals! And what a cast! The play needed so many actors that

everyone was pressed into service. Michael Miller and the apprentices

all had small parts, Chuck Crosby played the part of Peggy’s father as

well as directing, Mr. Miller brought some friends of his to fill in,

and even Aunt Hetty was persuaded to play. Mary Hopkins brought a friend

to try out for the part of the Grand Duchess. June Tilson was a lovely

young girl who turned out to have a really fine talent.

“Where have you been all summer?” Chuck asked when he heard her read for

the first time. “We could have used you before!”

“She’s been in hiding,” Mary laughed, “or I would have brought her long

ago.”

“I’ve been at the music camp, actually,” June explained. “You know—the

group of folk singers who have a summer session nearby.”

“Oh, yes.” Chuck nodded. “We’re giving them the auditorium one night for

a benefit performance. Let’s see—it comes during the week of _Guest in

the House_, I believe.”

“Oh, will I be glad when we do that play!” Alison said. “I love the

part!”

“The part of Evelyn?” Chuck asked.

“Yes, I’ve done it before and I can hardly wait to play it again.”

“Don’t count too much on having the same part this time,” Chuck

cautioned her. “I’m not sure yet how we’re going to cast the play.”

Alison shrugged. “Well, of course, I’m doing Evelyn,” she commented

blithely. “That was one of the reasons I came up here!”

“We’ll discuss it later,” Chuck said firmly. “And now, let’s get to

work. By the way, does anyone have an idea on how to handle the

fireworks?”

The script of _You Can’t Take It with You_ calls for a display of

fireworks onstage and an explosion offstage during the show. Michael

Miller assured Chuck that he could easily take care of it.

“I have a workshop, you know, and it won’t be any trouble—be fun, in

fact!”

“You’ll have to be very careful,” his father warned.

“Naturally!” Michael said indignantly.

“And don’t make it too realistic.” Peggy giggled. “Just a loud noise. We

don’t want the auditorium down around our heads.”

“That Michael Miller is quite a character,” Randy commented to Peggy

during a lull in rehearsal. “He seems so serious and yet sometimes I

catch a gleam of sheer mischief under those horn rims. You don’t think

he’ll do anything silly with the explosion, do you?”

“Of course not!” Peggy laughed. “Michael’s much too intelligent for

that!”

Rehearsals went along as smoothly as could be expected with such a large

cast. It was amazing, Peggy thought, that the local people were able to

work so professionally with the rest of the company. Aunt Hetty was a

delight to watch. She was enjoying herself hugely in her small but

important role, and took all the direction that Chuck gave her with the

greatest good humor.

“She’s a wonderful sport,” Peggy thought, watching her with amusement,

“and I think she really loves this.”

Randy was so good that it seemed as if he might steal the show. It was

hard for him, too, playing late at the Manor every night and then

rushing to the high school each morning.

“What a schedule!” he sighed. Randy and Peggy were having a picnic lunch

on the school grounds together. “But after tonight it will all be over.”

It was Randy’s last night at the Manor.

“For you,” Peggy said, “but not for us. Tomorrow we play _For Love or

Money_ at the Manor, then comes the dress rehearsal and opening of _You

Can’t Take It_, and after that we start on the old-fashioned melodrama.

I wish you could be here for that one, too!”

“So do I—” Randy smiled affectionately—“but I really will have to get

back to New York soon. Let’s not talk about it now, Peg, we still have a

whole week! And you have two more nights as Janet.”

_For Love or Money_ had been the most successful play of the season.

People came in droves all week and money flowed into the box office.

“You think it would have happened anyway, after Mr. Birmingham’s

review,” Randy told her seriously, “but that isn’t the whole story. I

don’t think you realize how good you actually are in that part, Peggy.

People are coming to see _you_—I’ve heard the comments around town!”

“Oh, Randy!” Peggy beamed at the delicious compliment. Randy was very

cautious with his praise, and coming from him, the words made Peggy

doubly happy.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if Richard and Chuck gave you another fat lead

to do this summer,” Randy went on. “As a matter of fact, they’d be

foolish if they didn’t.”

“But there isn’t another lead I could do,” Peggy said, surprised.

“There’s just the little part in the melodrama and then, I suppose, the

model in _Guest in the House_—”

“What about Evelyn?” Randy asked, looking at her intently.

“Oh,” Peggy laughed, “that’s Alison’s part. She’s been waiting for it

all summer!”

Randy nodded and said nothing while Peggy suddenly remembered what Chuck

had said to Alison—not to count on the part. Her heart skipped a beat as

she wondered if Chuck had meant that he might give it to her! Oh! Peggy

took a deep breath, feeling a little giddy. It just couldn’t happen, it

was too good to possibly be true! No, she simply wouldn’t let herself

think about it. She looked at Randy and caught him smiling at her.

“Yep,” he agreed with her unspoken thought. “Don’t think about it.

You’re quite right. Put it entirely out of your mind!” They laughed

happily and went back to rehearsal.

Opening night of _You Can’t Take It with You_ made a permanent place in

the history of Lake Kenabeek. With so many local people in the cast, the

auditorium was overflowing with relatives and friends as well as summer

guests. It was the best house the theater had had.

Michael Miller arrived with a little package carefully wrapped in cotton

wool and asked Chuck where he should set it off.

“Set what off?” Chuck demanded, distracted and intent on getting things

settled backstage as well as remembering his own part.

“My Kenabeek Special!” Michael answered. “You know, the explosion.” He

hadn’t brought it to dress rehearsal with the explanation that there was

only one firecracker. It hadn’t mattered—everyone was too busy to care.

At this point, Chuck was crossing his fingers and trusting to luck that

everything would turn out all right.

“Is it loud?” Chuck asked hastily.

“Very,” Michael assured him. “At least I hope so—I followed instructions

to the letter.”

“What instructions?” Chuck almost yelped. “Didn’t you just make an

ordinary firecracker?”

“Good heavens no! You can’t trust those things. This is very special and

safe!”

“Well, put it in an ashcan out on the stairs and set it off there. Be

sure you’re careful!” Chuck called after him.

“Don’t worry, I will be.”

The play went unbelievably well. None of the props were missing,

everyone came in on cue, the action zipped along, the audience was in

stitches at the comedy. The end of Act Two approached and Peggy was

onstage with Randy, Chris, Mr. Miller, the apprentices, and June Tilson.

They had paced the show furiously, warming up to the big scene. Mr.

Miller gave the cue for the explosion. A moment of silence—and then they

heard it.

_Wham!_

It sounded as if the roof of the auditorium had been blown off. Huge,

billowing clouds of smoke poured on stage, almost obscuring the actors

as they finished the scene amid coughs and tears, with a hysterical

audience laughing as if their sides would split as the curtain closed.

The applause was deafening, but the actors hardly heard as they rushed

backstage to see what had happened. There stood Michael Miller, black

with smoke and ashes, peering at them helplessly from glasses that were

absolutely opaque with grime.

“I put it in the ashcan, Chuck, just like you said,” Michael offered

timidly. “I think it blew the top off.”

The ashcan was a crumpled mass of tin. The top had been blown across the

stair well and ashes were strewn about, several inches deep.

“I guess you didn’t look in the can first,” Chuck said very quietly, his

eyes still smarting.

“I didn’t know it would make so much smoke—” Michael whispered.

“No, I guess you didn’t,” Chuck agreed softly.

“I was very careful, but I guess maybe I should have just used a

firecracker.” Michael sat down sorrowfully on the stairs, looking like a

lump of coal in a bin.

Peggy couldn’t restrain herself any longer. She burst out laughing. “Oh,

Michael,” she gasped, “and you worked so hard! It couldn’t have been

funnier if you’d tried!”

Nobody could control himself any longer, and they all laughed until

their sides hurt. The play ended without another mishap and the audience

left, still talking about the “bomb.”

“Your place in folklore is assured, Michael,” his father told him dryly.

“But next time I suggest you take a simple little walk to the store!”

The week flew by so quickly that Peggy didn’t know where the time had

gone. They were rehearsing the melodrama, _Love Rides the Rails_, and

during the day Randy would come to the theater to watch and cue the

actors.

“Only one more day,” Peggy said incredulously, “and then you’ll be off

to New York and we’ll only have three more weeks here! Oh, the summer is

going so fast!”

“I’ll miss all this,” Randy admitted, “the theater and the lake—and

you!”

Randy decided to go back to New York on the night bus that left the

Manor right after the last performance of _You Can’t Take It with You_.

Peggy walked with him to the gates to say good-by, feeling that the

nicest part of the summer was going with him.

“It’s been fun, Randy,” she said shyly. “I’m awfully glad you were

here—”

“I am too,” he said seriously, taking her hand. “I think maybe I came

along at the right time. Chris is an awfully nice guy, but—well—this is

summer stock, Peggy. Funny things can happen when you act with people.

If you’re really interested in him, I hope you’ll see him in a different

environment—maybe back in New York.” He smiled and suddenly leaned down

and kissed her. “In the meantime, don’t forget me!”

Randy started to get on the bus and then paused with another thought.

“And don’t forget that you’re an awfully good actress,” he said. “I have

a lot of faith in you. I’d like you to remember that for the next few

weeks.”

The bus pulled away, leaving Peggy with a funny lump in her throat.

She’d be seeing Randy again in a little while—why did she feel so

strange, she wondered. She suddenly had an acute appreciation of the

difference between Randy’s loyal and generous attitude and the

impulsive, surface interest of Chris Hill. That was it, she realized.

She was a little ashamed of herself for having been swept up in a

current by a dashing leading man, nice as he was. She watched Randy’s

bus turn the corner and disappear, knowing that nobody could quite take

his place.

The annex seemed strangely quiet the morning of the day _Love Rides the

Rails_ was to open. Rita and Gus were down first as usual, having coffee

and relaxing on the patio before rehearsals started. Peggy joined them,

having hastily dressed in pedal pushers and a halter.

“It’s getting hotter and hotter,” she remarked, looking for a shady

place to sit down and have her breakfast.

“But so peaceful after that hectic show,” Rita said lazily. “Really

cozy! Will you ever forget Michael’s bomb?”

“I thought my hair would stand on end.” Gus laughed. “But it turned out

to be a wonderful show. Your friend Randy certainly did a remarkable

job!”

“I’m hoping that at last I get to play a nice young woman my own age.”

Rita stretched out luxuriously on the wicker couch. “It doesn’t happen

to me very often, you know!”

“You mean the wife in _Guest in the House_?” Peggy asked.

Rita nodded. “The wife to Chris Hill’s husband.” She grinned

mischievously at Gus. “That is, if Gus approves!”

“Oh, certainly certainly.” Gus smiled and rumpled her hair as he rose.

“Chris may be the Kenabeek heart throb, but I think my place is assured

at home. See you all later—I have to go build a house!”

“He must really love his work,” Peggy sighed as she watched him go. “I

think he’s worked harder than any of us this summer.”

“Except maybe Richard and Chuck,” Rita agreed. “I’m going to make him

take a vacation after we’re through here, whether he likes it or not!”

One by one, the other actors appeared, and after breakfast Chuck started

to hand out the sides for _Guest in the House_. Peggy felt unusually

nervous. She had promised herself not to think of the possibility of

playing Evelyn, but as the moment approached when her part was to be

handed her, Peggy’s heart beat faster and her hand trembled. Chuck gave

her the sides without a word, and after closing her eyes for a moment,

Peggy took a deep breath and looked.

Evelyn! He had given it to her! She hugged the little pamphlet as if it

were a long-lost friend. Here it was at last—a wonderful, rich, dramatic

role, far, far different from all the ingénues she had played all

summer!

Rita noticed her ecstatic expression and peeked at the sides. “Well,”

she breathed softly, “I kind of thought so. I’m awfully glad, Peggy. You

should play it!”

“Just a minute!” Alison’s voice was shrill in the quiet patio. “I’m not

playing the model, Chuck. You gave me the wrong part!”

“No,” Chuck said firmly. “Peggy is going to do Evelyn and I want you to

play Miriam Blake. You’re right for it, Alison, just as Peggy is right

for Evelyn. It’s the only way to cast this show.”

“That’s true,” Rita whispered to Peggy.

“Well, I’m not going to do it!” Alison interrupted. “I’ve played Evelyn

before and this just doesn’t make sense.”

“She did play it,” Chris broke in cautiously with a concerned look at

Peggy. “We were both in the play last summer—”

“And who did the model?” Chuck asked.

“A girl we got from New York. We had to job the part,” Chris replied.

“Yes, you had to job the part, and we can’t afford to do that. I’m

sorry, Alison,” Chuck said gently, “I know you’d like to do it again and

I’m sure you were wonderful. But you yourself can see that with our

company this is the only possible casting. Peggy is too young and

unsophisticated to play the model. It just wouldn’t work out.”

“Well, then, get somebody else to play the model,” Alison said

impatiently. “Why not get that June Tilson—what’s the matter with her?”

“Because audiences want to see Peggy again in a good part.” Chuck was

adamant. “They want to see you, too. That’s part of stock, Alison. Your

summer audiences grow fond of their actors and are interested in seeing

them in varied roles. The model is a perfect part for you, Alison, and

you’ll be good in it. Now let’s start the reading!”

Peggy had listened anxiously, almost without breathing. Now, as she

looked at Alison, who was obviously seething as she opened her sides,

Peggy wondered if this casting wouldn’t create too many difficulties.

She knew that Chuck was right, though. His explanation made perfect

sense. It was best for the play. But how was Alison going to react? How

would rehearsals go if Alison remained as hostile as she was now? Peggy

watched her worriedly and was shocked to see the hateful glance that

Alison returned.

Peggy grew more and more nervous as the time approached for her to read.

She hadn’t considered this before, but Alison was a very good actress

with a fine technique. Would Peggy be able to do as well in this part?

Her mouth was dry and she was terribly tense. She stumbled over her

first lines as she felt everyone watching her—Chuck hopefully, Chris and

Danny curiously, Rita with calm compassion, and Alison with a spiteful

expression that said, “All right—let’s see you try and do it!”

No audience could ever be as critical as this small group of

professional actors. And even though she had a week to work, Peggy knew

that she was being severely judged on this first reading.

XIII

Double Trouble

During the week of rehearsal Peggy found that the drama inherent in the

part itself wasn’t going to be enough to carry her through. Evelyn was a

girl who was emotionally disturbed and there was one scene toward the

end of the play when she broke down altogether and appeared in a state

of unreasonable fear. Peggy worked and worked on the scene, trying it

every conceivable way, while Chuck patiently encouraged her. But it

wasn’t going right and she knew it. Alison was doing a marvelous job as

the model and it was a trial for Peggy to know that she was watching,

criticizing, and comparing Peggy’s efforts with her own past success as

Evelyn.

“I don’t think I can do it!” Peggy told Chuck miserably one day after

rehearsal. “You should have given the part to Alison after all! I’m

terrible.”

“You’ll be fine,” Chuck said quietly, but Peggy knew by the tone of his

voice that Chuck had his doubts, too. She hadn’t made a real

identification with the role yet, and it was drawing fearfully close to

opening night. Worried and unhappy, Peggy wondered if she had any right

to call herself an actress after all. If she couldn’t do this part that

she had been so overjoyed to get, what hope was there?

She was tense and straining and finally even Chuck lost patience.

“What’s the matter with you, Peggy?” he said sharply at rehearsal one

day. “You’re missing this thing by a mile. You’re acting like an insipid

little daisy that’s about to wilt on the stem! Evelyn isn’t like

that—she’s crazy like a fox! She has power in her own strange way—”

“Could I say something, Chuck?” Alison interrupted, coming out from the

wings where she’d been watching. “It might help Peggy. When I played the

part I did it as though I were perfectly sane. Peggy’s trying to _act_

crazy and it’s never believable that way.”

“Yes, that’s true,” Chuck admitted, “it’s a good suggestion, Peggy. Try

the scene again with that in mind.”

Peggy didn’t protest or try to justify herself, even though she had been

perfectly aware all along of what Alison had just said. She tried again,

doing even more badly than before, terribly conscious of Alison watching

from the wings and judging every move.

“That was a rotten trick!” Rita fumed in a whisper when the scene was

finished and Peggy, almost in tears, ran off stage. “Alison offering to

help you! She knew exactly what she was doing—trying to draw attention

to herself and make comparisons. Peggy, you’re never going to relax in

this part if you can’t forget that Alison played it before. Can’t you

see what she’s doing?”

“But it’s too late to give her the part,” Peggy said dully, “so she

can’t be after that. Alison’s never been like this before. I’ve always

liked her, really. What is she trying to do?”

“Make you give a dreadful performance!” Rita insisted strongly. “I know

Alison Lord like a book. She’s a fine, nice girl as long as she’s in the

limelight, but her career comes first, and she’ll walk roughshod over

anyone who interferes with it!”

“But this is only a summer stock company—” Peggy protested.

“Yes, and people go back to New York saying, ‘Gosh, have you seen Peggy

Lane in _Guest in the House_? She was great!’ These things do get

around, Peggy. Alison came up here to be the big cheese, and she wants

it to stay that way. If she can’t play the part at least she figures

that people can say, ‘They really should have given that part to Alison

Lord; Peggy Lane was awful!’”

Rita spelled it out in no uncertain terms, leaving Peggy feeling bleaker

than ever. She knew that Rita was trying to prod her, make her angry

enough to forget Alison and come through with a good performance. But

Peggy didn’t work that way. She couldn’t act out of spite or anger. She

was aware, too, that other people in the company were disappointed in

her. Danny Dunn couldn’t conceal his surprise or Chris Hill his

impatience. The fine rapport that Peggy and Chris had had in _For Love

or Money_ was a thing of the past.

Dress rehearsal for _Guest in the House_ took place Tuesday afternoon.

The company had to be out of the theater by five P.M. for the group of

folk singers who had the auditorium for the evening. It was a benefit

affair and the Summer Theater was glad to donate its stage for the

night. Peggy didn’t know if it was the strangeness of working in the

afternoon or if it would have happened in any case, but her performance

was the worst one she had ever given. Not only was she unable to get

into the role at all, but she forgot her lines on several

occasions—something that hadn’t happened all season. Chuck was so

unhappy with the show that he didn’t even criticize her. It was obvious

that he thought it too late.

Miserably, Peggy took off her make-up and started to leave the theater,

wishing that she had never been given the part at all. Perhaps she would

never attempt to play a dramatic role again. “And I was feeling so

self-satisfied, thinking it was easy!” she thought as she walked out the

stage door.

“Peggy, how’s it going?” Michael Miller rounded the corner of the

building, coming from the little shack the boys used for a scene shop.

“Awful.” Peggy tried an unsuccessful smile.

“What you need is a little relaxation—a change of scenery.” Michael

smiled. “What are you going to do with your first free evening of the

summer?”

“Tonight?” Peggy shook her head. “Going to work on my part again, I

guess—see if I can come up with something—”

“Why don’t you forget it for a while?” Michael asked. “I’m going to take

Mary Hopkins over to the other side of the lake for dinner; we’d love to

have you come along.”

“In your boat?” Peggy asked, feeling a faint stirring of interest.

“What else?” Michael laughed. “We’re not going to swim, that’s for sure!

Come on, Peggy, it’ll do you good.”

It would at that, Peggy thought, suddenly feeling a sense of freedom at

the prospect of being far away from the theater for a while, if even

just for dinner. Maybe she could regain her perspective out on the

water; there was nothing like putting a little distance between one’s

self and one’s problem.

“I will, Michael,” she accepted gratefully. “I’d love to. Goodness,

it’ll be the first boat ride I’ve had all summer!”

“And long overdue. I promised you a ride once, remember?”

Peggy felt better than she had all week when they arrived at Michael’s

house and walked down to his dock where Mary Hopkins was already

waiting.

“Peggy—how nice!” she cried. “Are you coming with us?”

“I certainly am—if I’m not intruding,” Peggy said, suddenly wondering if

she was interrupting a date.

“Oh, heavens, no!” Mary laughed. “I’ve been pestering Michael to take me

out in the boat for weeks. This is the first time he’s been free!”

“I’ll just go and tell Dad we’re off,” Michael said. “That’s a rule

around here when I take out the boat.”

He was back in a minute and they all got into the trim little craft,

Peggy feeling almost carefree as Michael started the motor and they

zipped away.

“We call her the _Merry Mac_,” Michael shouted over the noise of the

motor to the two girls. “She’s Dad’s pride and joy—and mine.”

“I can see why,” Peggy laughed, loving the feel of the water underneath

as they skimmed along. It had been a beautiful day. The lake was

sky-blue and frosted with little points of white whipped up by the wind.

[Illustration: “Dad’s pride and joy—and mine.”]

“It’s a little choppy,” Michael called.

“Fun!” Peggy cried as the spray blew over the windshield and splashed

her face.

“You’re going to get wet,” Mary warned as Michael passed over the wake

of another boat, the _Merry Mac_ slapping across, the spray leaping to

drench Peggy’s face.

“I love it!” Peggy cried happily. “The wetter the better! Where are we

going, Michael?”

“Straight across.” Michael cut his speed a little so he could hear. “See

that cluster of buildings? The Golden Hound is the last one on the left.

Good food and music—very rustic.”

They were in the middle of the lake now, and Peggy realized that it was

much larger than she had thought. There were islands dotted all around,

some so tiny that there was only room for one or two houses.

“Private islands,” Michael informed her. “How would you like one of

those, Peggy?”

“Oh, would I! It would be sheer heaven!” Peggy took a deep breath of the

wonderful fresh air. “No wonder you love this place, Michael. I wouldn’t

ever want to leave if I’d been raised here!”

“The winters are _cold_, though.” Mary laughed. “How do you feel now,

Peggy? Better?”

“Marvelous! I’ve almost forgotten about the theater entirely. This is

just what the doctor ordered!”

Michael slowed the _Merry Mac_ and carefully turned her into the dock in

front of the restaurant. Peggy was impressed by his expert handling of

the boat.

“Dad would never forgive me if anything happened to our little friend

here, and I’d never forgive myself!” he said as he stepped out and

helped the girls up from the boat.

They had a wonderful dinner at a lovely candlelit table by a picture

window that afforded a sweeping view of the lake.

“What a beautiful spot,” Peggy said dreamily as twilight fell, and

lights in the little cottages dotting the shore twinkled on like a

fringe of decoration. “Why haven’t we been here before?”

“We can come again during the last week of the season,” Michael said.

“I’ll bring everybody over sometime.”

“Michael, isn’t it getting awfully dark?” Mary interrupted, watching the

sky that had changed from sunset violet to a deep, heavy gray.

Michael looked at the sky and smiled. “Sure, it’ll be dark before we get

back. You’re not worried about going back at night, are you?”

“Well,”—Mary hesitated—“do you know how to find your way back at night?”

Michael laughed. “Mary Hopkins! And you’ve lived at Lake Kenabeek for

sixteen years!”

“How do you find your way back?” Peggy asked.

“By my landing light.” Michael was still laughing at Mary. “I take a

straight course from here, across the lake, home. It’s impossible to

miss it. Where have you been all these years, Mary?”

“Well,” she said with a shy smile, “I guess I just never thought of it

before.”

They finished dinner in a leisurely fashion, enjoying the music and the

peaceful atmosphere of this beautiful spot.

“This really has been lovely, Michael,” Peggy thanked him as they left

the restaurant. “I feel so relaxed and different—not half as worried as

I was this afternoon.”

“You’ll probably knock ’em in the aisles tomorrow night,” Michael said

cheerfully as they got into the _Merry Mac_ again.

And Peggy thought he might be right, at that. Somehow, getting away from

the part had done her a world of good. She found that she was actually

looking forward to trying it again, and sure that she could improve her

performance.

“My, it really is rough!” Mary said nervously as they started back. A

high wind had come up and the choppy water was blowing in all

directions, making the boat rock furiously.

Michael was quite unconcerned. “See—there’s the light, Mary.” He pointed

it out to her dead ahead across the black lake. “We just take a bead on

that, and home we go without obstacles—in the rain, it seems.”

A freak summer storm had suddenly come up, and the rain pelted down

heavily, mixing with the spray that rose over the sides of the little

boat.

“This is nothing,” Michael reassured Mary. “I’ve been out in storms much

worse than this. As long as we can see the landing light there’s nothing

to worry about, and it doesn’t look—”

But Michael had spoken too soon. The rain suddenly poured down in such

force that it was impossible to see. In an instant it descended in

driving torrents and Michael lost the landing light! In a second he had

cut the motor. “I don’t think,” he began—but then it happened. There was

a grinding crash that threw Peggy and Mary forward, their heads hitting

the windshield, while the _Merry Mac_ reared up and came to a shuddering

stop.

There was dead silence for a moment. Then, “Is anybody hurt?” Michael

asked tightly.

“No, I don’t think so....” Peggy moved a bit. “Mary, are you all right?”

“My head,” she said shakily. “No—it’s all right—I just bumped it.”

“Thank heaven!” Peggy breathed. “And thank goodness you cut the motor so

fast, Michael. If you hadn’t been so quick....” They were all silent,

realizing that it was only Michael’s alert action that had saved them

from a much more serious accident.

“Where are we?” Peggy finally asked.

“I don’t know,” Michael said, “but we’d better get out and see. I hope

we’re not on a rock somewhere.”

The rain was so thick and the night so black that they couldn’t see a

foot in front of them. Michael climbed out first, feeling his way. “It’s

rock, all right,” he said nervously. “No—then it goes on into sand.

Maybe we’re on a small island. Peggy, throw out the cushions from the

seats, will you? I don’t know if the boat is lodged too tightly to sink

or not, but we might as well have them to sit on.”

Groping in the dark, Peggy withdrew the cushions and handed them to

Michael. Her hands touched something slick and cold. “What’s in the back

seat, Michael?” she asked.

“Oh, good girl! Oilskin raincoats. I would have forgotten all about

them. We keep them there—for emergencies.” Michael’s voice was hollow

and Peggy knew that he was beginning to feel the situation. Michael had

wrecked his precious boat. Well, there was no time now to think about

that. Peggy took out the coats and wrapped one around Mary, who was

still shivering slightly from shock.

They climbed up on their hands and knees, feeling their way precariously

from the rocks on which the boat had crashed to the sandy beach. Peggy

bumped into something and shrieked, then she realized it was a tree

trunk. “Michael, we’re in some woods! Come on, Mary, get under cover and

out of the rain!”

“Why doesn’t somebody light a match?” Mary asked plaintively. “Let’s

make a fire or something.”

At this, Peggy dropped down on the boat cushion and began to laugh

helplessly.

“What do you find so funny, may I ask?” Michael questioned sourly from

the gloom beside her.

“A fire!” Peggy giggled. “A fire in all this rain! I’m sorry,

Michael—it’s just nerves!”

“Very funny,” Michael said. “Well, I suggest we just sit here until the

storm stops. Then we’ll be able to see where we are.”

But the storm continued in full fury for hours while the three, drenched

and shivering, waited. Mary lay down on a cushion and, unbelievably, in

a few minutes, was fast asleep. Michael too began to yawn as the hours

passed, and Peggy offered him her cushion to doze on. She couldn’t

possibly have slept. She curled up at the base of a tree, wrapped in her

oilskin, and waited for the rain to stop. By the time the storm had

subsided a little, dawn was breaking in a gray haze that filtered

through the rain and trees and gave Peggy a view of the surroundings.

She judged that they must be on an island, and getting up to look

through the woods, saw a little path. Looking back at her sleeping

comrades, Peggy decided to explore a little before awakening them. She

hadn’t followed the path more than a few yards when she came to a

clearing and a cottage among the trees. All night, a refuge had been

this close! Seeing the house, Peggy realized how cold and exhausted she

was. She raced back to the others and woke them up.

“I feel like the three bears,” Mary said sleepily. “I hope they have

three beds and a stove; I’m chilled through.”

“It’s a lucky break we had your raincoats,” Peggy told Michael. “Do you

realize we might all have caught pneumonia?”

Peggy knocked timidly at the door, hating to rouse anyone at this hour.

It must be close to five in the morning, she guessed. There was no

answer and Michael knocked again, louder this time.

A sleepy, startled voice called out, “Who is it?” and Peggy knew that

the voice was familiar. Before she could place it, the door opened a

crack and then was flung wide. There stood Mrs. Cook, wide awake now

with the shock of seeing the three young people—wet and bedraggled as

lost kittens.

“Oh, come in, come in!” she cried. “What on earth happened?”

If Mrs. Cook was astonished to see them, it was nothing to Peggy’s

surprise at finding her here. “Mrs. Cook!” she exclaimed. “I thought you

were staying at one of the hotels—”

“Oh, no, we’ve had this house for years, only one on the island.”

Now the little group knew that they had crashed on one of the little

private islands in the middle of the lake. Within minutes the story was

told and Mrs. Cook had given them all warm bathrobes and hot drinks,

fussing over them as if they were her own children.

“Now, all of you get some real rest,” she commanded, showing Peggy and

Mary into her own room and giving Michael the couch. “We’ll talk about

everything later after you’ve had some sleep!”

As she gratefully snuggled down under the warm covers on the comfortable

bed, Peggy sleepily wondered why they hadn’t seen Mr. Cook. But she was

too tired to think for more than a moment. Almost immediately she

dropped off into a deep, dreamless sleep, utterly exhausted.

XIV

Ups and Downs

Hours later Peggy awoke to the sound of rain beating on the windows and

a whining wind that lashed the tree tops mercilessly. It was a bleak

world, dark as evening, and it was only noon. Mary and Michael had been

up for some time, and Peggy found them in the living room, chatting with

Mrs. Cook, who had prepared a hearty breakfast for everybody.

“Peggy—good!” Mrs. Cook said as she saw her emerging from the bedroom.

“I was going to wake you any minute. You must be ravenous.”

“I am,” Peggy admitted, sitting down at the table Mrs. Cook had set in

front of the fireplace. “A fire in the summertime! It doesn’t seem

possible.”

“Well, when these storms come up it can get good and chilly here. The

dampness goes right through you.” Mrs. Cook smiled.

“Have you called to notify your father that we’re all right?” Peggy

asked Michael. “It just occurred to me that everyone must be terribly

worried about us.”

“Can’t call,” Michael replied, frowning. “The phone’s out. Wire’s blown

down, I guess. But I’m not too worried. I’m pretty sure Dad will assume

we stayed on the other side of the lake because of the storm. It’s

happened before. He’ll have called Mrs. Hopkins, and the theater for

you, Peggy.”

Peggy noticed the worry in Michael’s eyes. There was something he wasn’t

telling her, she felt sure. Mrs. Cook came to the rescue, gently putting

her hand on Peggy’s shoulder as she said, “I’m afraid you may have to

stay here all day, dear. My husband took the boat to town and couldn’t

get back last night in the storm. He called to tell me before the phone

went out. None of the boats are out today. We’ll just have to wait until

it clears before you can be picked up.”

“But the show!” Peggy cried. “I have to get back for the opening.”

“Well, maybe you can,” Mrs. Cook placated her. “It should clear by

evening, and my husband is sure to return as soon as he can.”

But as the hours progressed, the storm showed no sign of relenting. The

wind whistled angrily, blowing the rain in blinding sheets. No boat

could dare the lake in weather like this.

“A fine idea I had!” Michael accused himself grimly. “A little fun, a

little relaxation—and what happens? I not only wreck the _Merry Mac_,

but I’m responsible for your missing the show!”

“Oh, Michael, it isn’t your fault,” Peggy comforted him. But she was

sick at heart. She had felt so optimistic about her new approach to the

part, ready to play Evelyn tonight as if she had never played it before.

Now she might not even be there. She had no doubt as to what Chuck would

do; he would have Alison play the part and get somebody to read the

model for this one performance. It had been done before in stock. And

there went Peggy’s chance to prove herself, not only to the company, but

to a deep part of her that said, “If I fail this, the opportunity may

never come again.” She wandered over to the window and stood there,

looking out, trying to hold back the tears of disappointment. “Maybe

it’s better this way,” she told herself. “Perhaps I wouldn’t do any

better than I have all week.” But she remembered Randy’s words as he

left her that day on the bus—“You’re a fine actress and I have faith in

you!” Randy must have foreseen both the part and the trouble with

Alison. What he could never have imagined was the possibility of Peggy’s

not being there to play it at all.

By six o’clock the storm finally showed signs of subsiding. Peggy

anxiously watched the sky, wondering if it would be possible after all

to get back in time for the curtain. At seven-thirty the rain had

stopped and the wind was reduced to a murmur. Mrs. Cook took the group

down to the dock to watch for her husband’s boat. “He’s sure to come

soon,” she said. “I think you’ll make it, Peggy.”

Peggy strained to see across the lake. The sky was still gray, but in

the distance they could hear a motor.

“Somebody’s out, Peggy,” Mary cried happily. “I think we will get back!”

But the boat appeared and it wasn’t Mr. Cook after all. They waved and

shouted frantically, but the owner didn’t see them and he veered off in

the opposite direction. A few minutes later another boat came into view

and Mrs. Cook gave Peggy an impulsive hug. “There he is, dear.” She

laughed. “Get ready to dash!”

Mr. Cook didn’t have a chance to say hello as he pulled into the

landing. The three young people practically fell into the boat with Mrs.

Cook shouting hasty directions and waving him off as if to a fire.

“Hurry,” she called as he turned around and sped off. “And good luck,

Peggy—” Her voice trailed away and Peggy gripped the sides of the boat,

her heart in her mouth as the possibility of making the curtain became a

reality.

“This little runabout isn’t too fast,” Mr. Cook warned, “but I’ll make

her do her best!” He pushed the little boat to her limit and in about

twenty minutes they pulled up at Michael’s landing. “This is the closest

one to the theater, Peggy,” Mr. Cook said. “Run! Don’t say thanks—just

make that curtain!”

But Peggy was already out and running up the stairs. With a hasty wave

she sprinted up the walk beside Michael’s house and started to run to

the theater.

The parking lot was jammed with cars, but Peggy didn’t see anyone going

into the theater. Panting, she started to run back to the stage door,

but then realized that Chuck might be out front. She’d better let him

know she was here. She dashed back to the entrance and tore through the

large doors by the box office. Richard was just coming out of the little

room and, seeing her, he grabbed her arm with a sigh of relief. “Thank

goodness, Peggy! We were beginning to think you’d drowned!”

“Where is everybody?” Peggy gasped. “I’m here—tell Chuck—”

“Wait a minute,” Richard held on to her with concern. “The show’s

started, Peggy....”

Breathlessly, Peggy stopped short while it sank in. Of course! Nobody in

the lounge, the doors to the auditorium closed— The audience were in

their seats and the curtain had opened! Still trying to get her breath,

she looked at Richard helplessly while tears came to her eyes.

“Oh, come on, Peggy.” Richard patted her shoulder kindly. “It isn’t that

important. If you only knew how worried we were about you! I’m so glad

you’re safe and sound I don’t give a hoot about the show!”

“Thank you,” Peggy managed to say. “I couldn’t help it—I tried to get

back.”

“I know. You can tell me all about it later. Why don’t you go home now

and get some rest?”

“No! Oh, no.” Peggy collected herself and took a deep breath. “As long

as I’m here, I’m going to watch!” It was a difficult decision. “Who’s

doing the model?”

“That girl, June Tilson; she’s winging it.”

“Well, come on, then.” Peggy smiled bravely. “Aren’t you going to give

me a seat?”

Richard grinned at her admiringly. “You’re quite a girl, Peggy. I’ll

give you the best seat in the house!”

But Peggy preferred to watch from the rear of the auditorium, so she and

Richard quietly found places together. It was almost unbearable to see

someone else doing her part, but Peggy grimly watched, determined to be

as objective as possible. It was doubly difficult to admit that Alison

was quite marvelous as Evelyn. She was obviously working on emotion and

excitement, but it didn’t matter. She established herself as the star of

the play, projecting her self-assurance and technique so that the

audience had eyes for no one else on stage. June Tilson did a remarkable

job as the model on such short notice. No one but Peggy or another actor

could have known that she was reading the part in bits and pieces before

she made an entrance, improvising, and finding her lines on the back of

furniture where they had been carefully pasted before the show.

“She’s good!” Peggy whispered. “My, she’s good! Winging a part like that

takes a lot of courage. I thought she probably would read it.”

“Chuck said she could, but she wanted to do it this way. She’s a fast

study, too!” Richard nodded in agreement.

Watching _Guest in the House_ was one of the most painful experiences of

Peggy’s life. By the time the play was over she felt as though she’d

been drawn through a wringer. Wearily, she left her seat, as the actors

were taking curtain calls, and bravos for Alison’s performance were

filling the air. She walked outside and back to the stage door. Alison

deserved her congratulations, and she sincerely wanted to tell June

Tilson how good she had been.

Alison was still in make-up on stage, flushed with excitement and

satisfaction. Everyone was milling around with words of praise for her

wonderful job. No one would ever know what courage it took for Peggy to

join the group and add her congratulations. Alison was too much in a

whirl with her own triumph to take any special satisfaction from Peggy’s

praise, and Peggy realized how right Rita had been. Alison had no

personal spite; it was only her career that concerned her.

Everyone was glad to see Peggy back unharmed, but it was impossible to

miss the undercurrent backstage. The company also was relieved that

Alison had played Evelyn and “saved the show.”

A middle-aged man from the audience drew Alison away from her group of

admirers and took her aside for a private discussion. In a few minutes,

Alison rushed back excitedly, looking for Chuck. “I’ve got a screen

test!” she exulted. “I have to leave tomorrow!”

“Leave!” The entire company was stunned. Actresses just didn’t walk out

on a theater in the middle of the season. But Alison was blithely

unconcerned.

“That was Sidney Mitchell, the talent scout from Lion Studios! He said

he’d never been so impressed with a performance in summer stock! He

thinks I’m great, said he couldn’t believe anybody could do a job like

that at the last minute!”

“But you told him you’d played the part before, didn’t you?” Chris Hill

demanded incredulously.

“Of course not!” Alison hotly defended herself. “Why should I? Let him

think whatever he likes. The important thing is that he wants to test me

for a part immediately. They’re looking for an unknown, and the part is

of a girl very like Evelyn. Oh,” Alison glowed, looking more beautiful

than ever with her taste of success, “just think, I might actually get

to Hollywood!”

“Well, of course we can’t ask you to stay,” Chuck said. “I suppose June

won’t mind continuing in your part—”

“I’d love to,” June agreed, “and by tomorrow I’ll know the lines.”

“Good.” Chuck smiled. “And Peggy will resume Evelyn tomorrow night.”

Everyone turned to look thoughtfully at Peggy, only now realizing that

if she hadn’t missed the show, the talent scout would have seen her,

maybe “discovered” her, instead of Alison. Their expressions were easy

to read. Curiosity, pity, and a slight feeling of guilt at their obvious

approval of Alison’s performance. Peggy bravely accepted their glances

and smiled back at Alison. “I hope you do get the part, Alison,” she

said gravely. “Be sure to let us know.”

Peggy couldn’t wait to get back to the annex and be by herself for a

while. The reaction was just beginning to set in. If she had to stay

another minute, she felt, she would break into tears. Hastily excusing

herself with a promise to recount her adventure the next day, she

started to leave.

But Rita stopped her at the stage door. “Don’t let it bother you too

much, Peggy,” she said gently. “These things happen all the time. It’s

just rotten luck for you. The only time we’ve had a talent scout all

summer, and you had to have an accident!”

“It doesn’t matter, Rita,” Peggy said with difficulty. She didn’t want

to talk another minute.

“But it does—I mean Alison’s lying like that....”

“But she wasn’t lying,” Peggy protested.

“Well, it amounts to the same thing, withholding the fact that she’d

played the part before—that wasn’t very honest. I just thought you ought

to know that everyone feels the same way about that. It wasn’t very

ethical.”

“Let’s talk about it tomorrow,” Peggy pleaded, and Rita, understanding

that she wanted to be alone, gave her a comforting pat and let her go.

Once in the privacy of her tiny bedroom, Peggy finally broke down and

wept. It _was_ rotten luck, she admitted to herself. The one chance

she’d had all summer, and she’d missed it. Why did Mr. Mitchell have to

pick this particular night to come?

“It isn’t that I don’t wish Alison good luck,” she cried softly, “but at

least he could have seen both of us in the play. He would probably have

picked Alison anyway, because she’s good movie material. But if he had

only seen my work—it would have been something to take back to New York

with me.”

And on top of that she had missed the opportunity to play Evelyn at the

peak of her feeling about the part. Would she be able to do it at all

tomorrow night? She buried her face in the pillow and sobbed until she

was too exhausted to cry any more. Then, blessedly, sleep came.

Alison was gone by the time Peggy awoke the next morning. It seemed

unbelievable that she had managed to assemble her things and pack in

such a short time, but her little room was as stark and bare as if no

one had been in it all summer.

The cast didn’t attempt to disguise their disapproval of Alison’s hasty

exit. “That’s typical of anybody so career-minded,” sniffed Danny Dunn.

“No gratitude. Alison doesn’t have the least conception of anyone’s

problems except her own.”

“Thank goodness we have June Tilson to take her place,” Rita echoed. “I

don’t know what Chuck and Richard would have done.”

By evening Peggy was so exhausted that she almost didn’t care how the

play went. She was tired of questioning looks and concern. Tired of

thinking about Evelyn. She put on her make-up and dressed for her

entrance, as unconcerned as if she were simply going out to dinner. She

watched the other actors begin the play and waited for her cue with such

a lack of emotion that she wondered for a moment if she could possibly

be coming down with a cold or a fever. She simply didn’t care. Her cue

came up, and marshaling as much energy as possible under the

circumstances, Peggy walked on stage.

For the two hours that she played Evelyn, Peggy worked with a most

peculiar sensation. She felt as though she were standing beside herself,

looking on. She watched Evelyn, heard Evelyn, moved her around like a

puppet, with an objective, detached viewpoint completely new to her. She

felt nothing whatsoever inside.

After the play Peggy took her solo curtain call and received the most

tremendous ovation she had ever heard in the theater. She bowed and

smiled, wondering what all the shouting was about, and was utterly

astonished to see Chuck come to her with real tears in his eyes.

“That was one of the most beautiful performances I have ever seen in my

life,” he said, looking at her with something like awe. “I won’t even

ask you what happened. It was too wonderful to spoil by trying to

analyze it!”

Ford Birmingham came back to congratulate her, too. “I haven’t yet

written my review, Peggy, because I heard what happened last night. I

saw both of you play it. Alison was awfully good, but I haven’t seen a

job like yours in years! I’m truly grateful for having had the

opportunity to see you!”

The entire cast looked at Peggy with a respect so new and surprising

that Peggy didn’t know what to think. “You’re not fooling me, are you,

Chuck?” she whispered. “I didn’t feel a thing out there. Was I really

that good?”

“Oho!” Chuck grinned at her mysteriously. “So our little ingénue has

discovered another secret—and all by accident! Listen, Peggy, sometimes

it happens that way. Just when you feel dead inside you’ll give a

performance so electrifying that everybody wonders what happened. It

doesn’t always work, you can’t always be so objective. But I guess

that’s what happened to you tonight. Tomorrow it’ll be different, but

you’ll never have trouble with Evelyn again!”

And Peggy never did. Whether it was because Alison was no longer in the

wings, watching and criticizing, or just because Peggy had finally

“caught” it, she finished the week giving a glorious performance that

brought more and more people to the theater, and sent them away knowing

that they’d had a rare experience.

“This is what really counts,” Peggy thought gratefully. “Not a screen

test or my ‘career,’ but the knowledge that I can really contribute

something to the theater. Play a part with the author’s intention, not

from my personal viewpoint.” Peggy felt immensely gratified to know that

she was beginning to return a little of what the theater had already

given to her.

XV

Summer Stock

The season closed with a rollicking farce that drew a full house every

night. Enough money poured into the box office to pay back the investors

and the Chamber of Commerce and even leave something over for the new

science lab. On the last night of _See How They Run_, a tremendous party

was held backstage after the show. Everybody was there. Aunt Hetty was

hostess, beaming and brusque as ever, with lavish promises of what the

theater would do with her barn next summer. For it was certainly

established now that the Kenabeek Summer Theater was here to stay!

The directors of the Chamber of Commerce and the members of the School

Board were there; all the apprentices and their families came; Mr.

Bladen read a special poem of praise for the theater; Mr. and Mrs. Cook

and Mrs. Hopkins and all their friends joined the celebration. Mr.

Miller and Michael were happy to report that the _Merry Mac_ had not

been damaged beyond repair after all, and that next summer she would be

back, ready to take the cast across the lake to the Golden Hound for

dinner.

“Are you game, Peggy?” Michael asked with a twinkle.

“Any time,” Peggy laughed. “Tonight if you like!”

“Well! That certainly speaks well for my son’s seamanship,” Mr. Miller

declared.

“If it weren’t for him, we’d all be at the bottom of Lake Kenabeek,”

Mary Hopkins said. “Wreck or no wreck, Michael’s a mighty good sailor!”

“And the _Merry Mac_ was a smart boat to pick the Cooks’ island out of

all the islands in the lake!” Peggy said. “I’d trust her again any

time.”

“And the Cooks have practically put Bladen’s Antiques out of business,”

Mr. Bladen added, winking at Peggy. “After your boys cleaned up my shop,

the Cooks couldn’t seem to take things away fast enough. Then their

friends started to come! Pretty soon, I’ll have to start buying more

antiques or just stick to poetry!”

Bill Slade dashed into the theater, breathlessly waving an envelope and

calling for everyone to be quiet. “I know this is going to be a huge

shock,” he cried excitedly, “but you all know how much our business has

improved since the Kenabeek Summer Theater came to town—for many

reasons.” He grinned at Peggy. “Well! Although my brother Max is too

shy, and to be honest, still too stiff-necked to come here personally

and admit a mistake, he’s tried to redeem himself in a mighty concrete

way!” With a huge smile of satisfaction, Bill dramatically opened the

envelope. “Here’s a check to match whatever the Summer Theater is

donating to the high school—from Maximilian W. Slade! You just fill in

the amount!”

Amid cheers and hurrahs, the School Board gratefully accepted the check.

“Oh, Bill, that’s just about the nicest thing that’s happened all

summer!” Peggy cried.

“It makes me very happy!” Bill said, grinning from ear to ear. “Next

summer, Max might even put in an appearance at a play!”

Richard Wallace made a short, funny speech, thanking everyone for their

cooperation, and at the end giving a word of special praise to the

actors who “worked together without undue friction, without too many

complaints, and with only a minimum of backstage feuds, which is

probably a ‘first’ for any Adirondack stock company! Or any other, for

that matter!”

There were toasts to the actors, toasts to Gus and the apprentices,

toasts to everyone, including the _Merry Mac_, the annex, Lake Manor,

the audiences, and Mrs. Brady’s food. The party lasted long, with all

the actors talking about the possible jobs that awaited them in New

York.

“What do you think you’ll do when you get back to New York, Peggy?”

Chris Hill asked. “Do you suppose we’ll have a chance to work together

again?”

“I hope so,” Peggy replied, glad to know that she could now talk to

Chris naturally and calmly, as actor to actor. “I’m going home for a

visit first, but after that anything can happen!”

“And next time we won’t let personal feelings interfere with our work,

right?” Chris beamed at her, his handsome face teasing a little, but now

Peggy understood.

“Right!” Peggy smiled.

“And give Randy my regards,” Chris added seriously. “He’s a great guy,

and I really hope to see him again sometime.”

The party finally broke up, with everyone going back to the annex to

start packing. Chuck and Richard had to stay after the close of the

season to wind things up, but almost everybody else was leaving Lake

Kenabeek on tomorrow’s bus. Peggy remained quietly in the theater after

everyone had gone. She wanted to be alone for a little in this theater

that she might never see again.

The flats had been stacked away for the party, and now only the

worklight was left, its circle casting a small pool of light on the

empty stage. Peggy stood there alone, looking out at the silent

auditorium and thinking of everything that had happened this summer. She

remembered the first time Rita and Gus had brought her up to the

theater—the stage had looked just like this. That night she had had her

first taste of the hectic backstage activity of painting flats. She had

learned so much this summer, Peggy thought gratefully. She had learned

about the theater and about working with people—even about summer

romance and handsome leading men! Peggy smiled wistfully, wishing that

Randy could be here with her now. He was the only person she knew who

could share her feelings about a dark theater like this—the smell and

the memories and the ghosts.

For it seemed to her that the house was filled with echoes from all the

plays they had done that summer, that all the parts and the plays and

the authors were still alive here somehow. This emotion was the magic

that had brought Peggy to the theater in the first place—this sense of

life, of living literature, of a communication that was nowhere else so

special as between actor and audience.

Peggy remembered the first time she had walked out on this stage in

_Dear Ruth_. How nervous she had been! And then as the weeks progressed,

her sureness had developed, her professionalism had increased. She had

learned from Rita and Gus and Chuck, from Richard and Danny and Alison.

Yes, perhaps most of all from Alison Lord, who had shown her the

contrast between career and dedication.

“I hope I will come back here sometime,” Peggy said aloud in farewell.

She was sentimental enough to wish to say a private good-by to her

summer. “And thank you,” she whispered, “thank you for everything.”

As she finally walked out the stage door for the last time, her make-up

kit tucked under her arm, she could already hear the questions her

parents would ask when she arrived home for her visit.

“Well! What did you do this summer, Peggy?” they would say. “What

happened? Tell us all about it.”

“My goodness,” Peggy wondered, smiling at the stars, “how can I possibly

tell them?”

[Illustration: Endpapers]

[Illustration: Back cover]