CHAPTER XX DOROTHY AND THE MANAGER
Dorothy sank into a chair near the door. Two or three important-lookingwomen were moving about restlessly, awaiting their turn to pass beyondthe portal guarded by a stout youth, and face the manager in his privaterooms. Others, younger and more timid, sat quite still in their chairs,as did Dorothy, and the girl could imagine that they were silentlypraying for success in the prospective interview with one who mightdecide their fate. Dorothy seemed beyond thinking consistently about herown circumstances; she just sat there and waited. The youth at the doorof the private office looked at her sharply. Doubtless he was wonderingwhether she had an appointment, or whether she was one to be allowed toenter out of her turn because of some "pull."
It seemed to Dorothy that the very place rang with an appeal for place,for position--for opportunity, although not a word was spoken. But thelook on the faces of those waiting spoke louder than words.
Finally a girl in a red hat went in and came out so quickly that theothers looked at her curiously. She murmured something that showed shehad been treated with scant ceremony. Then a very stout woman, wearing anenormous veil brushed past Dorothy. She was not escorted in by the boy,but dashed past him as the girl in red came out. Then, when the womanwith the excess of avoirdupois came out, the boy stepped up to Dorothy.
"Your turn," he said kindly. Then it occurred to Dorothy that every oneso far had been kind to her. Were these people, that others had spoken ofso slightingly, not all respectful and polite to any one who seemed tomerit such consideration? She felt that they were not half as black asthey had been painted.
The next moment the anxious girl was in the private office of themanager. It was a small room, but not gloomy in spite of the fact that itwas in the midst of a darkened theatre. A fine rug was on the floor andthere were a few well-chosen pictures on the walls, the electric lightsshowing them off to advantage.
While the manager, who sat in a big revolving chair, looked over somepapers on his desk before turning to Dorothy, she had an opportunity tosee that there hung before him what were evidently family photographs.One was of a little girl and another of a youth. Surely, she thought, aman who had time to look at his children's pictures during business hourscould not be so very harsh because his time was taken up by a girl.
"Well?" asked the manager suddenly as he wheeled around in his chair,wiping his glasses carefully but not seeming to look at Dorothy.
She caught her breath with a gasp. The moment had come. Her heart wasbeating painfully.
"I--I came to--to ask if you--if you have on your books the name of ayoung lady--Miss Octavia Travers?" she managed to stammer out. "A younglady with the 'Lady Rossmore's Secret' company, I believe."
"Travers," repeated the manager thoughtfully, "Travers? Seems to me Ihave. Is she your sister?"
"Not exactly, but I have always regarded her as such--we have been veryclose friends all our lives."
"Not a very long time at that," remarked the manager with a smile. "Butwhat is it you want to know about her?"
"To get her address."
"Let me see, I'll look it up--but if she is such a close friend of yourswhy didn't she send you her address? She knew where she was going to be,"and he spoke pointedly.
Tears welled into Dorothy's eyes, and she felt that she could not trustherself to speak. The manager looked critically at her. Then he laidaside the book he had picked up to consult.
"Run away?" he asked.
Dorothy nodded.
"Well, don't feel so badly about it, my girl. We'll see if we can't findher for you. But first you had better tell me the story. It will helpgreatly. You see when we engage a girl and she happens to provesatisfactory we have no excuse for dismissing her unless she might beunder age--and then her parents--of course--"
"But I must keep the entire matter from her parents," interruptedDorothy. "I must find Tavia myself and I know when I do she will listento me and it will be all right again."
Dorothy was visibly trembling. The manager folded his arms and looked ather thoughtfully.
"You're quite a young girl to undertake this," he said finally. "But Ilike your spirit, and I'm going to help you. I tell you, my child, thestage is no place for a young person who has had no experience with theways of the world. I never encourage a young girl to go on the stage.There are plenty of older characters whom we can get and then there isless danger. But this girl you are looking for--was she about yourheight?"
"Yes, with very brown hair," replied Dorothy. "And such lovely lightbrown eyes."
"Let me see," and he consulted the book again. Dorothy waited anxiously,as he turned page after page. Then he stopped. "Yes, here it is," hesaid. "Christina Travers. That must be the girl. They rarely give thename just right."
"Yes, she might say Christina," admitted Dorothy. "The girls at schoolcalled her 'Chris' for short."
"Well, she is with the 'L. R. S.' company--I beg your pardon, I mean the'Lady Rossmore's Secret' company. We get in the habit of abbreviating it.It's a light thing we put on for a filler. I'm afraid it isn't doing anytoo well, which, however, may make it easier for you to induce yourfriend to give it up."
"Oh, I hope I can!" and Dorothy left her seat and came to stand besidethe manager's desk. She had lost nearly all her fear and nervousness now.
"They play in Rochester to-night," went on the manager consulting hislist. "Then they go to Rockdale--"
"Only one night in Rochester?" asked Dorothy, showing some surprise anddisappointment.
"Well, one night of that I fancy will be enough for any place," was themanager's laughing reply. "However, they may stay over to-morrow. ButRockdale is only a few miles from there. You could easily catch them atRockdale. Is there anything more I can do for you?"
"No, thank you," and Dorothy turned away.
"If I can now, or later, just let me know," went on the manager. Then hewished her good-bye and turned back to his desk.
Dorothy's cheeks were flushed when she stepped up to Nat in the lobbywhere he was watching the men putting in place the photographs of thenext week's performers. He seemed to have forgotten all about his cousin.
"Oh, is that you?" he asked, and he looked like some one suddenlyawakened from a dream. "I do believe if I stood here much longer I'd beput into a frame by mistake. How did you make out?"
"You mustn't ask," answered Dorothy pleasantly. "You see I can't quitereport on it yet."
"Oh, very well. I was only wondering--"
"But you mustn't wonder. You agreed to act as my escort and so you mustbe content with that. I can only tell you that I am perfectly satisfiedwith the interview I had."
"Which means that our little friend Tavia is not with any company. Well,I'm glad of it. I always did give her credit for having better sense. Butyou see, Doro, you are such a romancer that you sometimes make storiesout of dreams. But I must say you do look ten years younger. That managermust have been a nice fellow."
"He was," answered Dorothy, glad that Nat, as usual, had jumped to aconclusion and decided the matter of the interview for himself, leavingher free to go on without contradicting or making any explanations. Itwas so much better under the circumstances, she thought, that not evenNat should know the truth.
But just how she was going to carry out the remainder of her tasksecretly she could not quite determine. However, she had now becomeaccustomed to doing each part as it presented itself, without planningfurther into the future, and, in that manner, she hoped to be able toproceed until the last link in the chain of her search had beencompleted.
"We must get the souvenir cards," Nat reminded her, as they came to astore with the pretty-pictured varieties in the window. "I'll just buy apack of mixed ones--it will save time."
But Dorothy was not thinking of souvenir cards. Thoughts came to her ofthe play at Rochester, with Tavia as one of the characters--Tavia whomust be timid amid her new and unaccustomed surroundings in spite of herapparent re
cklessness--yes, Tavia would be much frightened at what shehad done, Dorothy was sure of it, when the girl, so far away from homeand friends found herself before a critical audience in a theatre.
"If I could only reach her before another night," Dorothy thought, "buthow can it be managed?"
The boys would start for home to-morrow, and of course Dorothy would haveto go with them. Something would surely happen--_must_ surely happenbefore then to help her, Dorothy thought, with a confidence which greatemergencies sometimes inspire.
"Now I suppose," remarked Nat, as he made his way out of the post-cardstore, "if you were to send one of these particularly bright red ones toTavia at Dalton she would send one back on the next mail, wishing you amerry Christmas, for all your trouble. What do you suppose she would sayif she knew of the merry chase that had been going on after her, and allthe places you have been looking for her? And all the while she was assafe as little Bo-peep."
"But I don't intend to send her any cards until she writes me first,"answered Dorothy. "She owes me an apology for not writing to me."
"Same here," said Nat. "I'll treat her the same way. The saucy littlething," he added facetiously, "not to answer our nice long letters. Sheought to be slapped."
Dorothy laughed at her cousin's good humor. It was better that he shouldtake this view of the case than that he should suspect the real facts.Dorothy glanced at some of the cards as they hurried along back to thehotel.
"Now there's one," pointed out Nat, "that would just suit thecircumstances. A girl doing a song and a smile--that's the 'turn' Taviahas been doing to you, Doro. We must save that one for her."
"Yes," answered Dorothy abstractedly, taking the card in her hand. It wasthe picture of a girl in chorus costume, and was enscribed with anappropriate verse.
"Don't you see," explained Nat, "they've got everything down to apost-card basis now. That one is intended to be used in place of making aparty call when a gentleman has blown a girl to a theatrical good time.She just sends this card back and that suffices for formal thanks.
"Of course it might not just suit our set," he conceded, "but for thosein the post-card clientele it's a cinch, as the poet says. I tell youafter a while we will be able to carry on all our business correspondencewith picture postals and not be under the necessity of writing a word.Great scheme, Nat (patting himself on the left shoulder with his righthand), get a patent on your new post-card."
They had now reached the hotel. The veranda was deserted as the hour fordinner was almost at hand and the guests were dressing. Nat left Dorothyat the elevator, with a warning to be ready early in the morning. Then hehurried to where he and Ned were staying.