Part 34 (1/2)

”Not I, faith. I was but jesting. And so you've fixed upon her. But I hear that Mr. Rich has set his face against so many songs. He won't take your Polly merely because she can sing.”

”Mr. Rich is a fool--in some things,” rejoined Gay hastily. ”He can dance, I grant you, and posture as no other man can, and he thinks he can act! I heard him once at a party of friends. My good Spiller, if his vanity ever prompted him to air his voice on the stage, the people would think he was mocking them, and one half would laugh and the other half boo and hiss.”

”I know--I know. Still, he holds command, and he likes his own way, no man better.”

”No doubt, but whatever a man wills he has to give up when a woman says yea or nay. My good d.u.c.h.ess means to have a word with him over the songs.”

”If that's so John Rich had better capitulate at once. He's as good as beaten.”

Lavinia could only catch a word of this talk here and there. She was being pestered by half a dozen sparkish admirers who were somewhat taken aback when they discovered that the ”gentlewoman who had never appear'd on any stage before” could more than hold her own in repartee and give the fops of fas.h.i.+on as good as or better than they gave. How could they tell that the sprightly young budding actress had graduated in the wit and slang of the streets?

But she was pestered and peeved all the same, for she dearly wanted to talk to Gay and Spiller. At last the modish gadflies got tired of having their smart talk turned against them, and one by one fell off, especially as Huddy, whose blunt speech was not much to their taste, came up and intruded without apology into their vapid banter.

”The gal's done well, Spiller,” said Huddy, ”and I'm obleeged to ye. Now I want to get on the road and waste no time about it. I ought to be at Woolwich afore a fortnight's over, then Dartford, Gravesend, Rochester, Maidstone, and so away on to Dover. What d'ye say, miss? I can give ye a good engagement--no fixed salary in course--sharing out, that's the rule with travelling companies--Mr. Spiller knows what I'm a'telling you is right.”

Lavinia hardly knew what to say to this, and she turned to Spiller for advice. Huddy saw the look of doubt on her face, and went on with his argument.

”It's this way, miss. I don't say as you didn't play to-night to my satisfaction--thanks to my rehearsing of you--but you've got a lot to learn, and, by G.o.d, you won't learn it better anywhere in the world than with me. Ask Mr. Spiller--ask Mr. Hippisley. They know what's what, and they'll tell you the same.”

Spiller nodded.

”You've made a good beginning, but the more practice you have the better. Isn't that so, Mr. Gay? Mr. Gay has great hopes of you, my dear and--but you'd better hear what he has to say.”

”Oh, I should dearly love to,” murmured Lavinia.

They were now in the green room. Mrs. Fitzgerald was on the stage singing ”in English and French,” and her shrill tones penetrated the thin walls greatly to Gay's discomfort. The lady's voice was not particularly sweet.

”Let us walk apart, Polly,” said he. ”We shan't hear that noise so keenly.”

He took her arm and placed it beneath his.

”Spiller's right, my dear. I have great hopes of you, but your chance won't come for months. The time won't be lost if you work hard at everything Huddy puts in your way. You'll have plenty of variety, but you won't earn much money. The sharing out system puts the lion's portion into the manager's pocket. But that can't be helped. Still, if you want money--the d.u.c.h.ess----”

”Oh, Mr. Gay,” broke in Lavinia anxiously, ”I've been sorely worried thinking of her grace. Have you told her?--I mean about me running away from school and--and----”

Gay laughed and playfully pinched her cheek.

”The love story, eh? Yes, I told the d.u.c.h.ess, and she was vastly entertained. She's a woman of infinite spirit and she likes other women to have spirit too. She's not without romance--and I wouldn't give a thank-you for her if she were. If you'd run off out of restlessness or a mere whim or fit of temper, I doubt if she'd troubled about you further; but love--that was another thing altogether. Oh, and your courage in escaping from that dissolute rascal--that captured her. My dear, Queensberry's d.u.c.h.ess is your friend. She's as desirous as I am that you should be Polly Peachum in my 'Beggar's Opera,' and when I tell her about to-night she'll be overjoyed. You need not fear about the future save that it depends upon yourself. But Polly, what of the young playwright, Lancelot Vane?”

”I don't want to hear anything about him!”

”What! Have you and he tiffed? Well, 'tis a way that true love works.

But let me tell you I've handed his play to Mr. Cibber, though much I doubt its good fortune. Honestly, my child, though some of the lines are good, others are sad stuff.”

”I don't wish Mr. Vane any ill will, but it is no affair of mine whether his play be good or bad.”

”Mercy on me! But you told me he wanted to write in a part for you.”