Part 7 (1/2)
”Twelfth Night,” which was the Old Girls' play, was a huge success.
Nancy and Josephine had been so excited all week that Judith had found it about impossible to keep her own attention on her lessons. Catherine must be a chief character in the play, decided Judith, for Catherine's room was the centre of numberless committee meetings and endless discussions, and Genevieve Singleton--who, to Judith's envy had established herself as Catherine's chief messenger--ran hither and thither, bursting with importance. Nevertheless the secret was kept, and as Judith sat with Sally May and Frances Purdy and all the other new girls on Friday night and listened to the noise behind the green curtain, she felt that she could bear the suspense no longer.
And then, when the curtain rose, the Master Magician waved his wand and Judith, who had seen very few plays, was transported to a land of beauty, romance, and sweet adventure. Helen made a n.o.ble Duke, and Catherine an enchanting Viola. Judith had never quite recaptured the thrill of delight she had felt when on the opening night of term she had first seen Catherine, but now to the charm and witchery of first impressions of beauty was added the knowledge of Catherine's sweetness and gentleness. Nancy might be a witty Maria, and Josephine a rollicking Sir Toby; Judith had eyes and ears for Viola only, and as the play progressed she envied pa.s.sionately the Duke who seemed criminally stupid in his misunderstanding of Viola's love. The surprise of the play was Genevieve Singleton's Malvolio. Even Judith was moved out of her trance of adoration to laughter and admiration.
”That was real acting,” said Sally May with the air of a theatre habitue as Malvolio pranced off the stage in the immortal scene of the yellow stockings and cross-garters.
After the last bravos had died away and the actors had bowed their thanks before the footlights, both audience and players were refreshed with lemonade and cakes, and Judith transferred her envy to the fortunate ones who stood talking over the evening's triumph with Catherine and Genevieve and the rest of the cast. She envied Genevieve who had had such a success, and she wished, but did not dare, to join the group. ”Perhaps,” thought silly Judith, ”if I run upstairs now and get her room ready for her, Catherine may kiss me good-night.” Judith was on the verge of what is technically known as a ”crush.”
Meanwhile preparations went forward in earnest for the ”Christmas Carol,” and ”All costumes must be finished for Monday. Full rehearsal at eight o'clock in the Big Hall.” So ran the Order-in-Council.
”I'm certainly glad Tiny Tim's costume is done,” thought Judith as she ran downstairs for the rehearsal; ”four more days till the literature exam. I'm going to work like everything.”
”Come on, Judy,” Sally May hailed her as she found her place behind the curtain where she was to help s.h.i.+ft scenery; ”you're late, but who ever heard of a rehearsal starting on time?”
”Seems to be some sort of a row on,” said Judith as a distinct groan reached their ears. ”What's up?” she asked as they joined the group on the stage.
”Marjorie Jones has measles,” answered Eleanor, their stage manager: ”come here, all of you, and think _hard_. Who can take Scrooge at such short notice? Is there any new girl with a good memory? It's the longest part by far.”
Various names were proposed and rejected for one reason or another, and then Eleanor's eye fell on Judith, who saw her consider for a moment, speak in a low tone to the two other prefects; then very reluctantly she answered the summons, ”Judith, come here and read this page for me, will you, please? Perhaps you'll do.”
Judith read the page and a tiny feeling of resentment began to make itself felt. She hadn't been asked to do anything nice, or anything she wanted, and now they weren't even asking her if she would be willing to take Marjorie's place.
”I guess you'll do,” was Eleanor's uncomplimentary comment when Judith had finished.
”There's really no one else,” she said, turning to Patricia, ”and I think Judy can be word-perfect by Friday. I'll coach her every spare minute myself. Come along, Judy,” she added, ”and read over the part before we begin.”
Somewhat breathless from this prompt decision, Judith obediently took the ma.n.u.script and seated herself at one corner of the stage. Suddenly as she read, the full meaning of this new turn of events flashed into her brain. The final term examination in literature was listed for Friday morning, and Judith had planned to spend all her spare time between now and then in the thorough revision of her work, for there was still much to be done, and this examination would really decide whether she or Joyce or Phyllis would head the list.
For a long ten minutes Judith read her part and at the same time debated within herself, while Eleanor settled some difference of opinion about exits and entrances. Self number one tried to hoodwink self number two--”Top Self” and ”Deep-Down Self,” Judith as a little girl had christened these two voices within her. ”Daddy would like you to come out first; you oughtn't to disappoint him. Lessons must be done. Just go and tell Eleanor you can't do it and then your time will be your own.”
”No,” said Deep-Down Self, ”be fair, Judy. You know you can't act well, you won't be a success like Genevieve. You don't want Catherine and the others to see you fail, and honestly, do you want to come out first for Daddy's sake or for your own? I really believe you don't think enough fuss has been made over you. You'd _rather_ work at your literature and come first, perhaps, but you can memorize quickly and they need you.
Which _ought_ you to do?--never mind whether it's hard or not.”
Judith had always been honest with herself and she knew quite well what the real issue was.
The struggle was hard, the hardest, perhaps, which Judith had ever fought. Mechanically she turned the pages while the argument continued within her. She seemed to have no way of deciding, when suddenly she remembered Nursing Sister Ruth's words, ”York Hill girls have the reputation overseas of being willing to tackle any job--no matter how hard--and of _putting it through_.” Top Self hadn't a chance after that.
Filling in here seemed her most immediate duty and Judith settled down grimly to her task.
The rehearsal was long and tiring, and twenty times during the first hour Judith was tempted to give up. But she did her best, and although Eleanor was distracted by all the numberless things demanding attention, she found time to stop and say at the end of the first act, ”Good work, Judy! I knew I could depend on you. You'll make a first-rate Scrooge, and you are a brick to get to work without any fuss.” And although Judith did not believe the remark about her acting, her face flushed with pleasure and she determined that she would not spend another moment in questioning. This job must be put through.
And it was. She woke early in the morning and learned her part by the light of Nancy's flashlight. She cut her recreation time and scamped her lesson preparation. She thought and lived Scrooge, and as she had a good memory she was word-perfect before Eleanor had thought it possible.
Eleanor and Patricia coached her whenever they could, and Miss Marlowe gave her Wednesday evening and Thursday afternoon.
Friday morning, and with it the literature examination! Judith read the paper with a sinking heart. She would not fail, but, as she had guessed, the extra reading which she had planned to do during these last few days would have given her paper ”The little more, and how much it is” which would have lifted it to the first rank. Came Friday afternoon with its last rehearsal and then the fateful night.
Judith will never forget the thrill of terror that ran through her as the curtain rose and she saw the rows of faces staring at her out of the semi-darkness. For an instant she was paralyzed with terror, and it was only the audience's delight at finding Frances arrayed as Scrooge's irrepressible nephew that covered the gap between ”Merry Christmas, Uncle,” and ”Bah! Humbug!”