AN OVERTURE AND A PRELUDE
"This," said Martha, "is as far as you can venture. There is my
dressing-room, sacred only to the star--that's Poor Little Me."
And with a profound courtesy, she bowed low before Clayton. Then rising
with the air of a tragedy queen, she pointed toward the door.
"Begone, varlet!" she cried, with mock intensity. "Your queen dismisses
you."
Clayton laughed. "So little Martha Farnum has become a great New York
star at last," he said seriously. "I couldn't realize that you were
really going up so rapidly. This offer from Weldon was really enough to
take your breath away, and when he decided during rehearsals to feature
you so prominently, I concluded that perhaps you had more talent than
either of us ever suspected. But when he actually starred you--say, did
you see your name in electric letters as we came by the front of the
theater?"
"Yes," cried Martha. "It almost took my breath away."
Clayton shook his head wonderingly.
"I remember your telling me Gordon offered to get you this engagement,"
he said. "Do you suppose--"
Martha laughed at his half-uttered thought.
"Mr. Gordon has had nothing to do with it," she declared. "I am sure of
that, because he never came to one of the rehearsals. Once I saw some
one out front in the darkened theater who seemed like Mr. Gordon, but
when I asked him if he had attended the rehearsal he declared I was
mistaken."
"But you've seen him?"
"Yes, a number of times, and since you withdrew your restrictions, I
have had dinner with him frequently, but you know all about that."
"I couldn't expect you to be cooped up all the time," Clayton admitted,
"especially when your salary leaped upward so amazingly. And I don't
blame you for taking a more comfortable apartment in the Webster. Aunt
Jane's boarding-house was all right for the chorus girl, but a trifle
too _passe_ for the future star."
Martha shook her head sadly. "I think I was happier in those days than
now," she mused. "The more one attempts, the greater the chance for
failure. To-night I realize what is the ambition of most players, yet,
somehow, I am filled with dread. It doesn't seem right that I, plain
Martha Farnum, should be rushed upward like a skyrocket. Though the
rocket shoots upward in a blaze of glory, the stick must fall."
"Good heavens, you mustn't anticipate bad luck," protested Clayton,
cheerily. "I'm going out front and witness your triumph."
"If it only is a triumph!" sighed Martha.
"It will be," insisted Clayton. "However, don't be nervous. Remember if
you ever need me, I will be within call. _Au revoir_--and good luck to
you," he added cordially, and in another moment he had gone, while
Martha stood staring blankly before her, and wondering what the night
would bring forth.
"Oh, Miss Farnum," cried Lizzie, suddenly emerging from the
dressing-room, "you'd better hurry and dress for the first act. It is
almost time for the overture."
"All right, Lizzie," answered Martha, going to the room and beginning to
disrobe. A moment later, Miss Pinkie Lexington, made up for the part of
a fashionable society woman, entered the green-room cautiously, and
crossed to the door behind the boxes.
"Where can he be?" she murmured to herself. Then, hearing the call-boy
crying "Overture, overture," in the distance, she started quickly toward
the stage, only to pause abruptly when she found herself face to face
with Miss Flossie Forsythe, neatly attired in a maid's costume, and
wearing a white apron and cap.
"Oh, I wouldn't have come here, if I'd known you was here," declared
Flossie, angrily.
Pinkie extended a conciliating hand and said grandly: "Let's be friends,
Flossie. A girl shouldn't have enemies in the company."
"It is hard enough to be compelled to accept an engagement in the same
company with you," replied Flossie, sarcastically, "but thank goodness,
a girl can choose her own friends."
"It's the first part you ever had with real lines, isn't it?"
"No," cried Flossie, indignantly. "I had lines when I was with the
'Follies' on the New York roof."
"Oh, but I mean in a real play," replied Pinkie, superciliously.
"Anyhow, you don't want to get too gay with me. Remember, I got you this
engagement. I asked Martha to give you a real part, because I knew you
needed the money, now you've lost your lawsuit, and Mr. Zinsheimer,
too."
"Zinsheimer!" repeated a stentorian voice behind them, as the proud
possessor of that historic name appeared, gorgeous in the resplendency
of an expansive shirt bosom and a white carnation in his button-hole.
"Now, Pinkie, you know I told you to call me 'Feathers.'"
"Oh, Mr. Zinsheimer," half sobbed Flossie, "you are just in time. Even
though you care nothing more for me, you are too much of a gentleman to
let me be insulted. This _creature_ has--"
"Nothing of the kind, Feathers," interrupted Pinkie. "Flossie's still
sore on me. I say, she'd better forget it. Girls ought to be friends
when they're in the same company."
Zinsheimer raised his hands protestingly. "Aw, girls, cut it out, cut it
out. People these days have to be important to have enemies. Forget it.
There's a great audience out in front and all of them waiting to see the
little star. Ach Gott!" he added, as the green-baize doors were suddenly
thrown open from the stage, and an excitable whirlwind blew in. "Ach
Gott, what is this?"
"This" turned out to be an imposing figure attired in the white huzzar
uniform of a German prince. His bronze wig with the pompadour effect,
his upturned moustache, his glittering decorations and smart uniform,
all indicated that he was a Great Personage. But, alas! from the knees
downward the illusion stopped. "This" didn't wear any boots. In fact, he
was in his stocking feet, and he trod the boards gingerly but none the
less dramatically. "This," in other words, was Arnold Lawrence, leading
man, and he was evidently somewhat _distrait_.
"Miss Farnum," he cried. "Where is Miss Farnum?"
"She's there in her dressing-room," explained Zinsheimer. "But she isn't
coming out until--well, until she's more so than she is now. What's the
matter?"
"That stupid bootmaker has failed to send my boots," shouted Lawrence.
"How can I go on without my boots? I have the part of a royal prince of
the German Empire. Do you expect me to appear like this--without boots?"
"Go ask the property man," directed Zinsheimer. "He's got some."
"Bah! A German prince wear property boots? Impossible!"
Martha, all ready for the first act, appeared in the door of her
dressing-room.
"Miss Farnum," cried Lawrence, dramatically, "my boots have not arrived.
I refuse to go on unless correctly dressed."
[Illustration: "MY BOOTS HAVE NOT ARRIVED, I REFUSE TO GO ON UNLESS
CORRECTLY DRESSED."]
"But what can I do?" asked Martha, helplessly.
"Dismiss the audience. I will not appear without the proper costume."
"Oh, dear--please--"
"I will not act."
"But we can get some other boots--"
"I tell you, I will not act."
"For my sake--for the company's sake--"
"I must think first of my art," almost shouted Lawrence. "The critics
are in front. If they saw me in boots not in keeping with the costume,
they would say I dressed the part wrongly. I would be ruined."
Zinsheimer dragged the frantic leading man to one side. "Come here," he
cried. "She's got enough to worry her to-night without you. Now, do you
want the German prince to appear with a black eye?"
"But heavens, man, what am I to do?" protested Lawrence. "Look at me. I
want my boots."
"Aw, go act barefooted," replied Zinsheimer, disgustedly.
"What? I barefoot?"
"Well, why not? You haven't got anything on Ruth and Isadora. If they
can act barefooted, why not you?"
"Preposterous!" exploded Lawrence, seeing he was being made game of. "I
tell you, I decline to act. It is the audience who suffers--not I."
Fortunately Weldon entered at this psychological moment with the package
which had been delayed. The boots had been sent to the box-office
instead of the stage entrance. Lawrence, calmed at once as if by magic,
pounced upon it with a sigh of relief.
"My boots--at last," he cried. "It is all right, Miss Farnum. They have
arrived. I will act to-night."
In the general laughter that ensued, came the sharp cry of the assistant
stage manager calling "Places--first act." As Martha stepped toward the
stage, half trembling with mingled nervousness and glad anticipation at
the actual realization of her much cherished ambition, Weldon touched
her on the arm.
"One moment, if you please, Miss Farnum," he said softly. "Believe me, I
regret to trouble you, but something very important has arisen. Mr.
Gordon wants to speak to you here."
Martha turned toward him in surprise. "Mr. Gordon?" she repeated. "How
absurd! I can't see any one now."
"He's very insistent, Miss Farnum."
"Then tell him, after the play," replied Martha. "He must know the
curtain is just about to rise on the first act."
"He knows that," responded Weldon, sincerely sorry at the awkward
predicament in which he saw things were becoming involved. "I know that,
but please, for my sake, see him, if only for a few moments."
"That's a strange request," pondered Martha. "But if you really want it,
Mr. Weldon, of course I will comply. You have done so much for me that
indeed I ought to."
"I will send him here at once," said Weldon, quickly, and disappeared
through the boxes.
"Gordon?" said Martha, wonderingly to herself. Then to her maid:
"Lizzie, go and watch for my entrance."