Part 13 (2/2)
”And I feeling something grow very fast, here and here” (touching throat and breast), ”and I say, '_You_ have nothing to give me? well'--and then I forget all about I am little j.a.pan girl, and I cry, 'Well, _I_ have something to give you, Frank Sen, and that is one kiss!' And I put my arms about he neck and make one big large kiss right on he kind lips.”
Her chin sank upon her night-robed breast. After a moment she smiled deprecatingly at Mrs. Holmes and whispered: ”You forgive me, other day?
You see I j.a.pan girl--and just once I give big American kiss to my friend, Frank Sen.”
_CHAPTER XXI
STAGE FORFEITS AND THEIR HUMOUR_
It was during the rehearsals of ”L'Article 47” that I enjoyed one single hearty laugh,--a statement that goes far to show my distressed state of mind,--for generally speaking that is an unusual day which does not bring along with its worry, work, and pain some bubble of healing laughter. It was a joke of Mr. Le Moyne's own special brand that found favour in my eyes and a place in my memory. Any one who has ever served under Mr. Daly can recall the astounding list of rules printed in fine type all over the backs of his contracts. The rules touching on _forfeits_ seemed endless: ”For being late,” ”For a stage wait,” ”For lack of courtesy,” ”For gossiping,” ”For wounding a companion's feelings”--each had its separate forfeiture. ”For addressing the manager on business outside of his office,” I remember, was considered worth one dollar for a first offence and more for a second. Most of these rules ended with, ”Or discharge at the option of the manager.” But it was well known that the mortal offence was the breaking that rule whose very first forfeit was five dollars, ”Or discharge at the option of,” etc., that rule forbidding the giving to outsiders of any stage information whatever; touching the plays in rehearsal, their names, scenes, length, strength, or story; and to all these many rules on the backs of our contracts we a.s.sented and subscribed our amused or amazed selves.
When the new French play ”L'Article 47” was announced, the t.i.tle aroused any amount of curiosity. A reporter after a matinee one day followed me up the avenue, trying hard to get me to explain its meaning; but I was anxious not to be ”discharged at the option of the manager,” and declined to explain. Many of the company received notes asking the meaning of the t.i.tle. At Mr. Le Moyne's house there boarded a walking interrogation-point of a woman. She wished to know what ”L'Article 47”
meant; she would know. She tried Mr. Harkins; Mr. Harkins said he didn't know. She tossed her head and tried Mr. Crisp; Mr. Crisp patiently and elaborately explained just why he could not give any information. She implied that he did not know a lady when he saw one, and fell upon Mr.
Le Moyne, tired, hungry, suavely sardonic. ”_He_ was,” she a.s.sured him, ”a gentleman of the old school. _He_ would know how to receive a lady's request and honour it.” And Le Moyne rose to the occasion. A large benevolence sat upon his brow, as a.s.suring her that, though he ran the risk of discharge for her fair sake, yet should she have her will. He asked if she had ever seen a Daly contract. The bridling, simpering idiot replied, ”She had seen several, and such numbers of silly rules she had never seen before, and--”
”That's it,” blandly broke in Le Moyne, ”there's the explanation of the whole thing--see? 'L' Article 47' is a five-act dramatization of the 47th rule of Daly's contract.”
”Did you ever?” gasped the woman.
”No,” said Le Moyne, reaching for bread, ”I never did; but Daly's up to anything, and he'd discharge me like a shot if he should ever hear of this.”
It was almost impossible to get Mr. Daly to laugh at an actor's joke; he was too generally at war with them, and he was too often the object of the jest. But he did laugh once at one of the solemn frauds perpetrated on me by this same Le Moyne.
On the one hundred and twenty-fifth performance of ”Divorce” I had ”stuck dead,” as the saying is. Not a word could I find of my speech. I was cold--hot--cold again. I clutched Mrs. Gilbert's hand. I whispered frantically: ”What is it? Oh! what is the word?” But horror on horror, in my fall I had dragged her down with me. She, too, was bewildered--lost. ”I don't know,” she murmured. There we were, all at sea. After an awful wait I walked over and asked Captain Lynde (Louis James) to come on, and the scene continued from that point. I was angry--shamed. I had never stuck in all my life before, not even in my little girl days. Mr. Daly was, of course, in front. He came rus.h.i.+ng back to inquire, to scold. Every one joked me about my probable five-dollar forfeit. Well, next night came, and at that exact line I did it again. Of course that was an expression of worn-out nerves; but it was humiliating in the extreme. Mr. Daly, it happened, was attending an opening elsewhere, and did not witness my second fall from grace. Then came Le Moyne to me--big and grave and kind, his plump face with the s.h.i.+ny spots on the cheek-bones fairly exuding sympathetic commiseration.
He led me aside, he lowered his voice, he addressed me gently:--
[Ill.u.s.tration: _W.J. Le Moyne_]
”You stuck again, didn't you, Clara? Too bad! too bad! and of course you apprehend trouble with Daly? I'm awfully sorry. Ten dollars is such a haul on one week's salary. But see here, I've got an idea that will help you out, if you care to listen to it.”
I looked hard at him, but the wretch had a front of bra.s.s; his benevolence was touching. I said eagerly: ”Yes, I do care indeed to listen. What is the idea?”
He beamed with affectionate interest, as he said impressively, ”Well, now you know that a bad 'stick' generally costs five dollars in this theatre?”
”Yes,” I groaned.
”And you stuck awfully last night?”
”Yes,” I admitted.
”Then to-night you go and repeat the offence. But here is where I see hope for you. Daly is not here; he does not know yet what you have done.
Watch then for his coming. This play is so long he will be here before it's over. Go to his private office at once. Get ahead of every one else; do you understand? Approach him affably and frankly. Tell him yourself that you have unfortunately stuck again, and then offer him _the two 'sticks' for eight dollars_. If he's a gentleman and not a Jew, he'll accept your proposal.”
Just what remarks I made to my sympathetic friend Le Moyne at the end of that speech I cannot now recall. If any one else can, I can only say I was not a church member then, and let it pa.s.s at that. But when I opened my envelope next salary day and saw my full week's earnings there, I went to Mr. Daly's office and told him of my two ”sticks” and of Le Moyne's proposed offer, and for once he laughed at an actor's joke.
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