Part 15 (1/2)

Contrary to the popular idea, based mainly on the comic weeklies, theatrical backers or ”angels” are comparatively rare. Therefore, Victor Weldon's line of procedure since Mrs. Dainton had abruptly closed her American tour because of the illness of her Pomeranian pup, had been exceedingly uncertain. He had planned various productions on his own account, and he had endeavored unsuccessfully to interest certain financial gentlemen of the Wall Street district in the merits of two or three plays he had read. One of them in particular, a simple little comedy of peasant life in Germany, with two or three songs, had greatly impressed him. It was of Viennese origin, skillfully translated and adapted, but preserving the Viennese atmosphere and characters. Ent.i.tled ”The Village Girl,” the central role was that of a peasant girl who fell in love with a prince when the latter was hunting in disguise as a mere woodsman. Afterwards, meeting him at the state ball face to face in his gorgeous uniform, she, by renouncing her love for him because of his rank and t.i.tle, ultimately led the old Emperor to relent and give his consent to their marriage.

”Good plot,” murmured Weldon, after reading it in his private office.

”The old stuff like this always goes with the public. There's a plot that must succeed, because it has never been known to fail. I can produce this play and make a barrel of money if I can only find a backer. I wonder if I couldn't rope Gordon in on this?”

Which explains why Sanford Gordon had already heard of the play at the time he renewed his acquaintance with Martha, and further explains the fact that three days later he was closeted with Weldon in the inner private office of Suite 1239 in the Knickerbocker Theater Building.

”It will cost about twenty thousand cold, before we ring up the curtain,” explained Weldon, skillfully calculating with the aid of a pencil and a pad of paper. ”It will take about seven thousand for the production, including costumes and uniforms. Everything is Viennese this season, so we must get the correct atmosphere. Advertising and printing may take up two or three thousand more, and then we'll probably have to guarantee at least twenty-five hundred to the theater we select. I'd like to get a cla.s.sy theater like the Globe, where they have ushers in English military uniforms, and society people always go there because some one tipped them off that it was _the_ society theater of New York.

But it might take a little more money to get the Globe.”

”Get the Globe by all means,” said Gordon. ”A few thousand more or less mean nothing if the thing is a hit, and if it is a failure, I guess I can stand the loss quite as well.”

Victor Weldon sprang to his feet excitedly. The ”roping in” had been easier than he antic.i.p.ated, for Sanford Gordon, in spite of his propensity for squandering wealth in certain directions, belonged to the category of ”wise people.” No one ever wasted postage to send him green-goods catalogues, and Weldon had been extremely doubtful of his ability to get Gordon as a backer, although, of course, he had enjoyed unlimited opportunities to win his confidence while acting as Mrs.

Dainton's manager.

”It's the chance of a lifetime,” Weldon thought to himself as he clasped Gordon's hand to bind the bargain.

”I'll have the necessary legal papers drawn up by my lawyer,” explained Gordon. ”The money will be deposited with the Commercial Trust Company to-morrow morning. You will handle this production exactly as though it is your own--with one exception, my dear Weldon.”

”What is that?” asked Weldon, apprehensively.

”You will engage for the leading role a young lady I will designate--”

”Ah, now I understand--” began Weldon, smiling.

”--who will have no inkling whatever of the fact that I am the backer of this show. In fact, no one must know that I am furnis.h.i.+ng the money.

Furthermore, at any time I see fit--if, for instance, the young lady cannot, in my judgment, play the part satisfactorily--I reserve the right to stop the whole production _instantly_, merely paying the necessary bills. Do you understand?”

”But you wouldn't close the show if it's a hit, would you?” demanded Weldon.

”I'm not likely to close the show at all,” he laughed. ”But I have reasons of my own for reserving that right. Otherwise, however, you are the manager, owner, producer and director. Do as you please, my dear Weldon, but remember the terms of our compact.”

”I am not likely to forget them,” cried Weldon, enthusiastically. ”But,”

he added nervously, ”can the young lady you wish me to engage really act the part?”

”I don't know and I don't care,” responded Gordon. ”The fact remains that she is going to play the part, and if she doesn't know how to act, teach her. That's all.”

Weldon shook his head sadly.

”I had hoped, after my experience, Mr. Gordon, that I was through with those bloomers where they try to force an unknown on the public,” he sighed. ”But I know you too well to try and argue that a well-known actress of reputation would help the piece and perhaps make it a hit.”

Gordon picked up his silk hat and balanced it with one hand while he took his cane and gloves from the desk.

”It is immaterial to me, Weldon, whether the piece is a hit or not,” he said carelessly. ”Of course, I sincerely hope, for your sake, that it proves a success. But I won't shed any tears if it isn't. Like the respected founders of the New Theater, I am not producing this play to make money. I am simply endeavoring to give a certain young lady a chance to play a star part in a Broadway theater. If she has the merit to succeed, so much the better, for her sake and for yours. But personally I don't give a d.a.m.n--so long as I pull the strings.”

CHAPTER XI

IN THE GREEN-ROOM