Part 21 (1/2)
By dinner time the astonis.h.i.+ng news had spread over the campus. Roberta Lewis was going to be Shylock. She hadn't been in but one play since she entered college and then she took somebody's place. n.o.body had thought she would get it. n.o.body knew she could act except Betty Wales. Betty found out about her somehow--she was always finding out what people could do,--and she got her in at the last minute because Mr. Masters didn't like Jean's acting,--or somebody didn't. Roberta's was magnificent. They wanted her for Portia too. Mr. Masters had said it was a great pity there weren't two of her. How did she take it? Why, she acted shy and bored and distant, just as usual. She seemed to have expected to be Shylock!
But she wasn't ”just as usual.” She was sitting by her window in the dark, with Mary Brooks's picture clutched tightly in one hand and her father's in the other, and she was whispering soft little messages to them.
”Dear old daddy, you were in all the fraternities and societies, and on all the college papers and the 'varsity eight. Well, I'm on one thing now. You'll have one little chance to be proud of me, perhaps, after all these four years.
”Now, Mary Brooks, do you see what I can do? I couldn't write and I couldn't be popular or prominent or a 'star' in any of the cla.s.ses. I'm not that kind. But after all I shall be something but just one of the Clan before I leave.
”Oh, I wonder if Mary and father would like to sit together at the play.”
While Roberta was considering the probability that they would, Betty knocked her soft little knock on the door. Roberta always knew Betty's knock.
”Come,” she called in a queer, trembly voice. How was she ever going to thank Betty for seeing what no one else saw, and helping her to stick to it and get her chance in a nice quiet way that wouldn't make her feel awkward if she failed?
But Betty didn't give her time to open her mouth. ”You dear old thing!”
she cried. ”Oh, I am so happy! I never thought you'd get it. Honestly, I didn't. I just thought you might as well try. Roberta, you ought to hear the things Mr. Masters has been saying about you.”
Roberta laughed happily. ”It's nice, isn't it?” she said. ”Didn't you think I could get a part? You were the one who told me I ought to try.”
”Yes,” said Betty solemnly, ”I thought you'd get one of the Sals probably--you know the ones I mean,--Solanio, and the others that sound like him. We call them the Sals for short, I never dreamed of your being Shylock, any more than I planned for you to be Ermengarde. You did it every bit yourself, Roberta Lewis, by just happening to come around at the right times.”
”And by coming to the right person,” added Roberta.
But Betty only laughed at her. ”It's bad enough to be blamed for things you've done,” she said. ”I simply won't be praised for things I haven't done. I never was so pleased in my life. Roberta, Miss Kingston says you're a genius. To think of my knowing a genius! I must go and tell Helen Chase Adams.”
Down-stairs Madeline was telephoning to Clara Madison, who, owing to her strong prejudice against bed-making, still lived off the campus. ”A dark horse,” she explained, ”is a person like Roberta Lewis. I didn't have time to tell you this morning. Good-b----Oh! haven't you heard? She's going to be Shylock. No, the committee haven't announced it yet, but Mr.
Masters shouted it aloud in the corridor at college hall. Don't forget what a dark horse is, Clara.”
The B's, innocently supposing that Roberta was out because her windows were dark, were celebrating in Nita's room, while they awaited her return. This meant that Babbie was doing a cake-walk with an imaginary partner, Babe a clog-dance, and Bob a highland fling, while Nita hugged her tallest vase and her prettiest teacup and besought them to stop before Mrs. Kent came to see who was tearing the house down.
Bob stopped first, though not on account of Nita's bric-a-brac or a possible visit from Mrs. Kent.
”Nita,” she demanded breathlessly, ”did you say Betty thought of Roberta?”
”Yes,” Nita a.s.sented. ”n.o.body else on the committee knows her at all except Rachel, and she is as surprised as the rest of us.”
”Gee!” Bob's tone was deep with meaning. ”Then I know who won't like it.”
”Who?” Babe ended her dance to ask.
”Jean Eastman,” said Bob solemnly.
Babe gave her a disdainful glance. ”How much brains do you think it takes to find that out, Bob Parker? Of course she won't like it.”
But Bob only smiled loftily and declared that if Roberta hadn't come in by this time they must all go straight home to dinner.
CHAPTER XII
CALLING ON ANNE CARTER