CHAPTER XX
THE ENTERTAINMENT
How the following day passed Dorothy did not want to remember. From theearly morning, when she sent the telegram to Mr. Travers, stating thatTavia could not possibly leave, and that a letter to follow would explain,until the hour set for the charity performance, the girl was in onecontinuous whirl of excitement.
Ned's accident did not prove to be as serious as had been feared, althoughthere was no possibility of him being about for several days, at least.
In the excitement and emergency Tavia had marshaled all her individualforces, and proved herself worthy to be a friend and chum of Dorothy Dale.With her change of heart--her resolution to "stick to Dorothy"--thereseemed to come to her a new power, or, at least, it was a return of thepower with which she had previously been accredited.
So the final work of preparation was accomplished, and now it seemed to bemerely a matter of raising and lowering the curtain.
The characters which Ned was to have impersonated were divided among theother young men, it being necessary of course, to "double up" on three orfour parts. Agnes Sinclair openly deplored her loss of a partner, but theothers smiled incredulously when she said she preferred to play with Nedand "hated that big bear, Tom Scott."
Tom made this his excuse for being particularly "grizzly" with the prettyAgnes, and at the afternoon rehearsal he nearly went through the big giltpicture frame, in which the illustrations were posed, when he attempted tointroduce a little impromptu "business" in "The Maiden all Forlorn."
Then when Roland attempted to do "There was a Man in Our Town," another ofNed's parts, his efforts were so absurd and so utterly unlike what thetableau was expected to be, that it was decided to make it "I Had a LittleHusband, no Bigger than my Thumb." Roland certainly looked diminutiveenough to fit into a pint pot, and also seemed qualified to do as he mightbe told with the drum.
Finally all was arranged, or rearranged, and the hour for the play wasalmost at hand.
No more delightful weather could have been wished for. It was clear andcold, while outside a big silvery moon threw a fairy-like illuminationover the scene, and filtered in through the big windows of thedrawing-room of the home of Mrs. Justin Brownlie.
Dorothy laughed her light, happy laugh. After all, perhaps everythingwould come out right--it was such a relief to feel that Ned would soon bebetter. The worry about him was the very worst part of her troubles. Then,suddenly, like the recurrence of an unpleasant dream, the thought of Tom'smidnight visit flashed before her mind.
"Oh, I didn't tell you, Tavia," she said quickly. "I had the awfullestscare the other night. I just stole downstairs to see how Ned was, whenall at once some one rapped at the vestibule door."
Tavia gazed upon Dorothy, pride and admiration beaming in her deep, hazeleyes.
"Oh, you needn't tell me, Doro," she interrupted. "I saw the midnightmarauder, as the poets say. Lucky for him he stood directly under thelight."
"Wasn't it--wasn't it kind of him to be--so--so anxious?" went on Dorothy,making fast her scarf picking up her pretty party-bag.
"Perhaps," assented Tavia, smiling broadly.
"Tom's the sort of fellow who dares to do right, no matter what happens.He would as soon call at midnight as midday, if the occasion warrantedit. And that's saying a good deal for Tom--from me," she concluded.
Nat was waiting at the door. He took particular pains to be nice to Tavia.In fact, most of the difficulties that had for some weeks beenaccumulating about The Cedars seemed to take wings with the occurrence ofNed's accident. The oft-quoted saying about an "ill wind" was once morebeing verified, although it was hard for Ned to be left at home.
The house was already crowded when our friends arrived at Mrs. Brownlie's.
"We will have a good attendance," commented Dorothy with a smile ofsatisfaction. "If we can only make our hundred dollars, and then getlittle Bennie into the hospital, how lovely it will be!"
"There must be a hundred persons here now," Nat assured her, "and at adollar per--"
"Oh, do hurry along," interrupted Eva Brownlie. "We are all waiting foryou, Dorothy. We were worried to death for fear something else dreadfulmight have happened."
Eva surely looked like an angel. She was entirely in white, her hairhanging loosely over her shoulders, with a band of gold, in Roman style,confining it at her brow.
Roland was dancing attendance on Eva--any one could see that he wasfascinated by the pretty twin. Tom came up to Dorothy as she entered thebroad hall.
"How's the boy?" he inquired kindly. "Has he forgiven me yet?"
"Of course," replied Dorothy, smiling. "He's getting better. But it washard to leave him alone with his hurt--and Norah. Not that Norah is to beclassed with the injuries," she hurried to add, laughing merrily.
"They are waiting for the orchestra," Tom reminded her, taking her musicand escorting her to the piano.
The girls, with their violins, were already in place. Dorothy felt someembarrassment in facing a room filled with those she considered criticalspectators, for the best society of all the Birchlands, as well ascultured persons from Ferndale near by, had come to the entertainment.
The Brownlie girls played the violins. Dorothy gave them the "A" note, andthey put their instruments in tune, with that weird, fascinatingcombination of chords which prelude the opening strains of enthrallingmusic. Then they began.
The first number received a generous encore, and the girls played again.Then there was a suppressed murmur of expectancy--a picture was about tobe presented.
Slowly the curtains were drawn aside. The lights had been "doused" as Nat,the acting stage manager, expressed it, and only a dim glow illuminatedthe tableau.
An immense gilt frame, containing a landscape as a background. In front ofthat the living pictures were posed. It was Jack Spratt and hisWife--presented by Tavia and Roland.
The audience instantly recognized the illustration, and vigorous applausegreeted the tableau. Tavia was surely funny--so fat, and so comical, whileRoland looked like a human toothpick. The clean platter was cleaner thaneven Mother Goose could have wished it, and, altogether, the first picturewas an unqualified success.
Tavia was shaking with nervousness when the curtain was pulled together,and when, in response to an imperative demand from the audience, it wasparted again, Tavia could scarcely keep from laughing outright. It was oneof the difficult pictures, but the girl's talent for theatricals stood herin good stead, while, as for Roland, he seemed too lazy to make anyblunders.
Tom, as "Jack Horner," came next. Fat! Numbers in the audience insistedthat he was the original "Roly-poly," but the big paper-covered pieprecluded all further argument. Tom held his thumb in that pie asfaithfully as ever a real, picture Jack Horner did. He had to pose for asecond view, and at that the throng was not satisfied, but Nat declaredthat one encore was enough.
Then Little Bo-Peep appeared--fast asleep, lying on some fresh hay fromthe Brownlie barn. And what a charming picture Dorothy did make!
She wore a light-blue skirt, with a dark bodice, and a big, soft strawhat, tossed back on her head, did not hide the beauty of her abundantlocks. Her crook had fallen from her hand, and rested at the bottom of thelittle mound of hay. It was a delightful representation, and Dorothyseemed actually painted upon the canvas, so naturally did she sleep. Mrs.Brownlie nodded approvingly to Mrs. White. Dorothy's picture was not onlypretty, but it artistically perfect.
The audience seemed loath to disturb the little scene by applause, andinstead of answering to an encore Dorothy was obliged to keep her Bo-Peepattitude for the length of time that it would have required to present hertableau a second time.
Tom grasped Dorothy's hand as she left the frame.
"Great!" he exclaimed enthusiastically. "I wish Ned could have seen you!"
Dorothy was glad--pardonably glad. She had thought a "solo" difficult, andhad doubted her ability to make it attractive, but now she was quitesatisfied.
There was some delay i
n presenting the next number, but the wait wasforgotten when the curtains were pulled apart.
It was a depiction of "Peter, Peter, Pumpkin Eater," with Eva's fair headsticking out of an immense paper pumpkin shell. Nat's face, in thecharacter of Peter, was in a most satisfactory smile, consequent,probably, upon his ability to "keep her very well," and it was surely avery funny picture. Eva assumed a distressed look, and was thankful thatonly her face had to act, for the quarters of the pumpkin shell wererather limited.
Other tableaux followed, each one more or less well impersonated, untilTom and Agnes went at "The Maiden all Forlorn."
As the "Man all Tattered and Tom," Tom was a veritable scarecrow, with afringe of rags all over him, and the familiar battered hat well turneddown to conceal any accidental smile that might detract from his seriouspose. He was bending over Agnes in the regulation picture-lover attitude,and as the curtains were pulled together Tom did what any other young manon earth might have done--he kissed the Maiden all Forlorn.
Everybody behind the scenes saw it.
"I never want to act with him again!" declared Agnes loudly andscornfully, as she scrubbed her offended cheek with her handkerchief. "NedWhite is always a gentleman."
Dorothy was sorry, but it seemed a natural joke. Every one but Agnesthought the same thing, but somehow the forlorn maiden could not beconvinced that Tom was simply thoughtless in his joking.
The incident, trifling as it was, somewhat marred the good humor of theplayers. Roland came near falling for a second time in his "Jack beNimble." As it was, the big candlestick did topple over just as thecurtain bell sounded. Then Edith Brownlie looked decidedly miserable as"The Queen was in the Kitchen, Eating Bread and Honey." She liked TomScott--everybody knew that--and now Tom, in addition to having latelyfavored Dorothy, had kissed Agnes! Of course, the girls, and boys too,teased the sensitive Edith, and she lost interest in her picture.
Dorothy breathed a sigh of relief when Mary Mahon's number was announced.Mary was actually quivering with excitement. She wanted to act, andDorothy was confident that she would do well.
Her recitation was entitled "Guilty or Not Guilty?" and as she stepped outand made her bow, the house was hushed in silence. In a plaintive voiceshe began that well-known poem:
"She stood at the bar of justice, A creature wan and wild, In form too young for a woman, In feature too old for a child."
How the lines seemed to suit her! Surely the features of Mary were too oldfor those of a child. Her face had a drawn, pinched look, and her eyeswere so deeply set.
But the pathos of her voice! When she pleaded with the judge for mercyagainst the charge that she was a thief she mentioned the starvingchildren.
"I took--oh, was it stealing?-- The bread to give to them!"
The women pressed their handkerchiefs to their eyes. There was somethingalmost too real in the child's plea. Who was she? they asked. Aprofessional?
Dorothy was delighted at Mary's success. The girl was her "find," and itwas she who had taught her how to use her voice so well in the patheticlines. True, she found an apt pupil in Mary, and Dorothy was but too gladto accord her the entire triumph, when the recitationist bowed again inresponse to the hearty applause and retired.
A gentleman in the audience left his chair, and, walking over, spoke toMrs. White. He was Dr. Baker, one of the hospital staff.
"I think I know that child," he said. "Does she not live with an agedcouple named Manning?"
"I believe she does," replied Mrs. White, making a place for Dr. Baker tosit down beside her. "My niece Dorothy is much interested in thechild--she seems to have a faculty for discovering genius, has Dorothy."
"Well, I have not seen little Mary for some years, but there is nomistaking her. Her mother, an actress, died in one of the charity wards ofthe hospital, and I am afraid the child has inherited the fatal maladyfrom her mother. She looks now like a consumptive."
Mrs. White was startled. Certainly Mary was delicate in appearance, butshe had not thought of her as having a disease.
"There's no time to spare in her case," said the physician in a lowvoice. "Bring her to me as soon as you can."
"Dorothy did not expect to have a real case assisted so promptly,"remarked Mrs. White. "It is rather out of the ordinary--a patient playingfor her own benefit."
"I suspect that your pretty niece brought this child out with the solepurpose of making her happy," said Dr. Baker, "and she evidently has noidea how much real happiness she is destined to confer on her. Perhaps amonth later it would have been too late to save her. Now I think we can,though there is a flush on her cheeks that I do not like."
The curtains were separated to disclose the last number. It was a tableauof all the girls and boys, posing as the "Haymakers." It made a beautifulpicture, the girls in their gaily-colored dresses, with great,broad-brimmed hats, and the boys dressed in equally rural costumes.
Dorothy was so glad that it was all over--that this was the last picture.Agnes stood next to her. The curtains were drawn, and then separated againin response to insistent applause. There was a moment more of posing, andthen it was all over.
As the curtain shut out the sight of the audience, Agnes slipped her armaround Dorothy's waist. Then she leaned over and whispered in her ear.
"I am sorry to have made all that fuss about--about him kissing me. But,Doro, dear, I do hate a flirt, and everybody knows Tom Scott is in lovewith you."