THE MORNING AFTER
White and gold were the decorations of Martha's apartment in the
Webster--all white and gold except the dainty bedroom, which was in
pink. Visitors, however, saw only the white and gold of the parlor and
the drawing-room, with perhaps an occasional glimpse into the dark-oak
dining-room.
The first streaks of early dawn, penetrating the crevices behind the
heavy, drawn curtains, cast a few shadows, and in the dim light one
might have seen a dozen baskets of flowers, mostly orchids and roses,
ranged about the drawing-room.
It must have been almost nine o'clock when Lizzie, entering from the
maid's room, drew the curtains and flooded the white and gold parlor
with rich, warm sun-light. The curtains of the bedroom were still drawn,
but evidently Martha was wide awake, for a voice called from the inner
room.
"Is that you, Lizzie?"
"Yes, Miss Martha," replied the maid. "It's 'most nine o'clock. Shall I
get you the papers?"
Martha, hastily throwing on a pink dressing-gown, entered the parlor.
Her eyes were still heavy, and her face was drawn and troubled.
"I've had a wretched night," she said, dropping into a great arm-chair.
"I couldn't sleep. After that terrible ordeal--"
"Terrible?" repeated Lizzie, aghast. "Lord, Miss, I heard all the stage
hands say the show was great. The actors are the only ones I heard roast
it at all."
"I'm afraid I made a terrible mistake," sighed Martha. "I tried to do
things too quickly. I was ambitious, but I forgot that the race is not
always to the swift. I should have spent years and years in preparation
before attempting last night. Of course I was misled by the management,
who made me believe I was being promoted because of my ability."
"And wasn't that the truth?" demanded Lizzie.
Martha smiled wanly. "I can't explain now," she said. "I know I never
realized until after last night what an absolute failure I had been."
"Oh, don't say that, Miss Martha," protested Lizzie. "Look at the
applause you got, and all these flowers."
"Applause and flowers--that's all failures ever get," and Martha shook
her head wearily. "The end of my dreams has come. I shall close the
theater to-night."
"Lord, Miss Martha," cried Lizzie, "don't be hasty. Ah," as a knock
sounded on the door, "there are the papers. Shall I open them up for
you?"
"I can find the notices easily enough," said Martha, taking the papers.
"I am sure the horrid headlines will stare me in the face. Mr. Clayton
tried to encourage me last night, but I am sure the verdict will be
against me."
"I wouldn't bother with the papers if I felt that way, Miss Martha. Lots
of the actors at Mrs. Anderson's said they never read no criticisms, but
once in a great while when an actor got a good line, I always noticed
he'd find a way to read it aloud at the supper table."
"By the way, Lizzie," said Martha, suddenly, "is Mrs. Anderson's full
now, do you suppose?"
"It wasn't yesterday."
"Do you suppose I could get my old room again?"
"Your old room?" cried the amazed Lizzie. "Why, that's no place for a
real actress."
Martha sighed again and tried to smile. "But I'm not a real actress and
I must find a cheaper place. Pack up to-day. Better 'phone the hotel
office at once that we shall leave in an hour."
Lizzie went to the 'phone while Martha opened the newspapers. She turned
the pages idly until she found the headlines she sought, and for a
moment read in silence. Suddenly she sprang to her feet and threw the
papers on the floor.
"Infamous," she cried bitterly. "Why need they be so cruel? I won't read
another line."
At that moment there was a knock at the door, and Pinkie, resplendent in
a new tailor-made gown, brilliantly red, burst into the room.
"Just rushed in to tell you how perfectly grand you were last night, and
what perfectly lovely things the papers said about me," she cried. "Of
course, that smart critic on the _American_ might have said I had
improved a little, but then he said I was just as artistic when playing
lines as when I was only in the sextette. Nice, wasn't it?"
Martha smiled. "What did the _Journal_ say?" she asked.
"Oh, something nice--I don't quite remember," evaded Pinkie.
"And the _Herald_?"
"Success!" cried Pinkie. "But I think it's a shame what some of them
said about you, Martha. It isn't so at all."
"Never mind, dear," said Martha, somewhat wearily. "We did the best we
could."
"The trouble was the play was bad," continued Pinkie. "Don't know what
that author meant by putting me only in one act, and then letting
Flossie come on twice to interrupt my scenes. But come along,
Martha--you must put some powder on that nose if you expect to live
through another day. I'll help you dress."
[Illustration: "THIS IS INFAMOUS, INFAMOUS! I WON'T READ ANOTHER
LINE."]
Half an hour later, as Martha had almost completed her toilette, Lizzie
interrupted to say that the hotel clerk wanted to send some one up to
look at the apartment--a newly married couple. Would it disturb Miss
Farnum? If so, they would make the couple call again.
"Certainly not," replied Martha. "Show them around yourself. I'll be
ready to leave in a few minutes."
Some three minutes later, Mr. "Marky" Zinsheimer and his bride, formerly
Miss Flossie Forsythe, were ushered into the white and gold apartment,
entirely ignorant of the fact that it was occupied by Miss Farnum. Mr.
and Mrs. Zinsheimer having been married a little more than one hour,
were already looking for a dove-cote for their honeymoon.
"This might suit us all right--" began Zinsheimer, when Flossie
interrupted him with a shriek.
"Bless my soul, if it ain't Lizzie," shrieked Flossie.
"Lizzie?" repeated Zinsheimer. "What are you doing here?"
"Why, this is Miss Farnum's apartment," explained the maid. "I'll tell
her you're here, Miss Forsythe--"
"Mrs. Zinsheimer, if you please," responded that young lady, haughtily.
"We were married this morning."
"Fact," admitted Zinsheimer. "I always liked you best, Flossie, until
you got mad at me because I helped Pinkie, but when I saw you playing
the demure little maid last night, with Pinkie lording it all over you,
and you never answering back, I said: 'There's the girl for me.' So I
waited at the stage door, and when you came out I grabbed you and we sat
up so late at Jack's that it was morning before we finished talking
things over. So then there was only one thing to do--get married."
"Sure, you both look happy," said Lizzie.
"And we are happy, aren't we, Marky?" cried Flossie. "I'm going to give
up the stage for good and all."
"You can have this apartment in an hour," said Lizzie. "Miss Farnum is
giving it up because it's too expensive."
"Too expensive for her, eh?" smiled Zinsheimer; then he added
confidentially: "I know lots of people who would consider it an honor to
be allowed to pay her rent."
"Marky," cried Flossie, warningly. "Remember you are a married man now."
"Marky," to conciliate his bride, took her in his arms and kissed her.
At this psychological moment, Miss Pinkie Lexington emerged from the
boudoir. She shrieked at the sight.
"Marky," she cried. "You here with Flossie?"
Flossie proudly drew Zinsheimer far from the possibility of contact with
Miss Lexington, and proudly, almost haughtily, threw a defiant look at
her rival.
"My _husband_, Mr. Zinsheimer," she said.
Pinkie, with a scream, sank upon the big arm-chair and rocked herself to
and fro. "They are married," she moaned. "They are married."
"This morning, dear," smiled Flossie, coldly. "Thanks so much for your
congratulations."
"Married," repeated Pinkie, incredulously. "Married."
Zinsheimer advanced cautiously, and gave her several encouraging pats on
the shoulder.
"There, now, don't take on so," he said suavely. "There's other fish in
the sea, almost as good. It isn't half as bad as what they say in the
papers about the play. Listen to this," he added, unfolding a newspaper
and reading: "'A luridly ludicrous exhibition of maudlin mush,' Ach
Gott, what you think of that? 'A misguided author loaded a thirteen-inch
gun to the muzzle with idiotic words and reduced a large and
long-suffering audience to a peppered wreck. As an author, he's a joke.
As a murderer, he has the punch.' What funny fellows those critics are.
Here's what he says about Miss Farnum: 'The star--who, by the way, could
only be observed with the aid of a Lick telescope--was only a shooting
star. She made one faint, fantastic fizzle, then dropped without even a
hiss into the gloom of merciful oblivion. She was not even a meteor, and
only an innate sense of delicacy prevents our calling her a
devil-chaser.' No wonder the ladies love the _Sun_. Now, Pinkie,
listen--here's what he says about _you_."
"What?" shouted Pinkie. "Does that man dare--"
"He does. Listen: 'Among the cast appeared Miss Pinkie Lexington, with a
German accent on her Lex; a portly person of the oval type. She looked
like a turnip and acted the part artistically. Had this succulent
vegetable only burst from her scant foliage--but there, who roasts a
turnip?'"
"Oh, if he were only here now, where I could get my mitts on him,"
shouted the frantic Pinkie, springing to her feet. "Oh, let me go. I am
stifling. Thank heaven, the air outside at least is pure." And Pinkie
stormed from the room.
Flossie gazed after the retreating form of her former chum.
"Good exit, that," she observed. "Pinkie really ought to go in for
melodrama."
Martha, who had heard enough of the commotion to realize what was going
on, entered and congratulated both Flossie and Mr. Zinsheimer.
"Sorry you are leaving this place," volunteered "Marky." "Any--er--money
troubles?"
"None whatever, thank you," replied Martha. "I am going to leave the
stage and go back to my old home in Indiana."
"Leave the stage?" gasped Flossie.
"If you ever need assistance, you know"--"Marky" coughed
confidentially.
[Illustration: "SHE LOOKED LIKE A TURNIP AND ACTED THE PART
ARTISTICALLY."]
"Thank you. Good-bye," replied Martha, smiling.
"Marky," pouted Flossie, "I think we'd better be going. Come--you
promised to buy me a lot of new things this morning. Hurry up, _angel_."
"Angel?" repeated Zinsheimer. "That's just what I would like to be, but
she won't let me. All right, Flossie, I'm coming."