THE WAY OF THE WILFUL
When Polly O'Neill came out into the street again, she did not know
whether she was walking on the sidewalk, in the air, or at the bottom
of the sea. But because of a certain thrilling excitement she felt
that she must have wings and because of a heavy weight inside her that
she must be in the depth of the sea.
For Polly had just signed an engagement to act for two weeks in a
Christmas pantomime.
It sounds incredible. And it was possibly as unwise and headstrong a
thing as a girl could well do. And yet Polly had originally no actual
intention or desire to do wrong. Simply she had yielded to a sudden
impulse, to an intense curiosity. But now things were different; for
Polly was realizing her wilfulness completely, and instead of repenting
and turning back to confess her folly, was every moment trying to plan
by what method her purpose could be accomplished.
Not for anything in the world would her mother give her consent to her
experiment. And that in itself should have been a sufficient argument
against it. Yet Polly explained to herself that, after all, there
could not be any great harm in doing what she so much wished, provided
that she made confession afterwards. She was almost eighteen, and
thousands of girls in New York City were earning their living, who were
years younger than she. Perhaps it might even do her good to find out
what this stage life really was like--whether it was as fascinating as
she dreamed, or all tinsel as most grown people were so fond of telling
her.
No, the question that was uppermost with Polly O'Neill was not in
connection with her decision. It was how her decision might best be
carried out.
Fortunately she had been writing that she did not believe that she
would come home for the Christmas holidays. She did wish to see her
mother and Mollie and Betty, of course, and had almost given way to
this longing only an hour before. But now, had not fate itself
intervened, flinging her into the path of her desire? And Polly was
Irish and had always declared that she believed in the leadings of
fate, even when her mother and sister had insisted that fate and her
own wish were too often confused in her mind.
Had she not hidden herself in the corner when the theatrical manager
entered the room, with every intention of running away as soon as she
could escape unobserved? And then had he not suddenly swooped down
upon her, selecting her from the dozens of other applicants? Polly was
not exactly sure of what had happened, except that the man had said
that she looked the part of the character he was after. The fact that
she had confessed having had no stage experience had not even deterred
him. The new play was to be chiefly for young people and the manager
particularly required youthful actors and actresses.
The play to be produced was the dramatization of a wonderful old
Bohemian fairy story, which Polly remembered to have read years before,
called "The Castle of Life." The story is that of a little boy,
Grazioso, brought up by his grandmother, whom he loves better than all
else in the world. Then one day he sees that the grandmother is
growing old and fears that she must soon leave him. And so he sets out
to find "The Castle of Life" in order once more to bring back youth to
the old woman. The play follows his adventures on the road to the
castle, and includes his meeting with two fairies--the Fairy of the
Woods and the Fairy of the Water. Polly was to impersonate the wood
spirit.
Her appearance did suggest the character, though naturally she could
not appreciate this fact. But there was always something a bit eerie
and fantastic about her, something not exactly of the everyday
world--her high cheekbones and thin, emotional face with its scarlet
lips and intense expression faintly foreshadowing an unusual future.
But Polly at the present moment was not feeling in the least unusual,
only rather more self-willed and more calculating. Never could she
recall having deliberately deceived any one before in her entire life.
And yet to accomplish her present purpose there was no other way than
the way of deception. No one in Woodford must guess at her reason for
remaining in New York during the holidays, nor must Miss Elkins have
any possible cause for suspicion. Of course she could not stay on at
boarding school. That idea was utterly ridiculous. She would never be
allowed to go out for a single evening alone. Already her right to
liberty had been considerably overreached by this walk of hers down
town. And what she had done during the walk! The offender smiled
rather wickedly at the thought of the consternation and excitement that
the discovery of her act would create. Home she would go to Woodford
then to stay indefinitely!
But Polly did not mean to be found out, She meant to have her little
taste of emancipation and then go back into routine again, until she
was old enough for a larger freedom. So for this reason, although she
should have returned to school an hour before, she continued walking
slowly, devising and rejecting a dozen plans. It was going to be
tremendously difficult to accomplish her purpose. But this she had
foreseen five minutes after she had promised to accept the theatrical
manager's offer. However she would "find a way." She remembered how
often the Princess had said that she had more talent than "Sentimental
Tommy" in this particular direction.
She reached Miss Elkins' school and received five minutes' scolding
from that lady, in the meekest spirit, still without having any idea of
what she could possibly do to accomplish her design.
All evening she talked so little and her attention was so concentrated
upon the lesson which she appeared to be studying, that her school
companions left her entirely alone. Polly's passion for studying had
always been regarded as an eccentricity. But now since she had
announced on that afternoon that she had her own living to make there
was possibly some excuse for her industry. Nevertheless the girls felt
more convinced than ever that she was not in the least like any of the
rest of them and, although rather fascinating and unusual, not a person
whom one would care to know intimately.
The difference in her manner and expression that night attracted the
attention of one of the teachers--the girl's face was so tense and
white, her blue eyes showed such dark shadows beneath them. It was
owing to this teacher's advice that Polly was allowed to leave the
study hall an hour earlier than usual and go to her own room and to bed.
She was not feeling particularly well. Her head did ache and her
conscience troubled her the least little bit, notwithstanding she had
not the faintest intention of surrender. With hot cheeks and cold
hands she lay still for a long time until the noises of the other girls
retiring had quieted down and the big house was silent. Then Polly
suddenly sat up in bed. A moment later she had crawled out on the
floor and lighted a candle by her writing desk. The electric lights
had been turned off for the night. But even in the pitch darkness
Polly would still have composed her letter. For an idea had at last
come to her. And if only she could get just one person to accede to it
her way would be plain. The one person might be difficult. Polly was
perfectly aware of this, but then she had great faith in her own powers
of persuasion.