Part 2 (1/2)

”Now, run along and see Mr. Thompson at the Academy. He's the doctor.”

He rose by way of dismissal, and indicated a door other than which I had entered. I thanked him and a.s.sured him my voice was quite strong.

”You're a pretty little thing,” he said as he accompanied me to the door. ”Pretty little figure ... what d'ye weigh?”

”I don't know really how much, but I think about one hundred and ten pounds,” I answered with some confusion.

”As much as that? Where do you carry it all?” He ran his fat, stubby hands over my shoulders and down about my hips. His smile became a leer.

Before I could realize what was happening he had taken me in his arms, and his heavy, wet lips were pressed against my mouth. His hands played over my body, and, though I struggled to cry out and to release myself, I was unable to do either. It seemed as if my senses were deserting me; then, the m.u.f.fled bell of the telephone sounded, and he released me.

”d.a.m.n that bell,” he said. Nauseated with disgust and fright, I cowered in the corner; he tried to draw my hands from my face, laughing as he whispered: ”Like it, like it, do you?” Then with another oath at the continued call from the telephone, he crossed to his desk. ”Run along now,” he directed, without a look....

I never knew how I found my way down the stairs to the street. I did not wait for the elevator. I saw that people looked at me as I hurried along the street--whither I did not ask myself. Only when I collided with someone on the stairs did I realize that I had gone straight to the agent's office.

”h.e.l.lo, little lady!” I recognized Miss Burton's voice. ”My, we're in a hurry! For G.o.d's sake, child, what's happened to you? What's the matter?

You look as if you were going to throw a fit! Here--let's go to a drug store.”

After a dose of sal volatile, Miss Burton called a hansom and insisted on taking me home. I did not want her to accompany me. I wanted to be alone. When we were safely in the house I lost all control. She let me have my cry out without asking a question. Then, when I was calmer, I told her what had happened.

”The old blackguard! The old blackguard! I've heard that about him before. Why didn't you hand him one? Why didn't you smack his face?”

”I'll leave that to my husband,” I replied with tearful dignity.

Miss Burton contemplated me between violent puffs of her cigarette. Then she shook her head. ”Um-um, girlie; no, sir ... you mustn't tell your husband.”

”Why not?” I demanded.

”Well, if you tell your husband, and he's the man I think he is, he'll go straight up and knock the old beast down. That will get him in bad; this manager is a power and controls a dozen attractions, as well as theatres. Your young man may find it difficult to get an engagement in the future.”

Miss Burton paused to allow the idea to percolate into my brain.

”Then there's another side to it. If you tell your husband and he does not go up and knock the fresh gentleman down, you'll despise him for it ... oh, yes you will! You would not acknowledge it even to yourself, but, way down deep in the bottom of your heart, you would never forgive your husband for not resenting the insult to you.... Better not tell him at all....”

We both were silent for some time. I was struggling with a thousand conflicting emotions.

”You see, girlie, you've got an awful lot to learn. You're new to the game. That's the reason these things go so hard with you.”

”Do you mean that 'these things' are a part--a regular part--of the business?” I began, with a burst of resentment. ”I don't believe it! I can't believe it! I'm sure my experience was exceptional. I know that girls who typewrite for a living, clerks and even housemaids have unpleasant experiences, for I have read about it in the papers. There are bad men in all walks of life. I travelled nearly a whole season before I was married, and--”

I stopped short. My mind visualized a situation. When I joined the company in which I met my husband I was singled out for marked attention by the star. I believed this attention to be a kindly interest in a novice. It never occurred to me to question the intent and purpose. I was the understudy for the leading woman; the star had told me that I had exceptional talent, and with the proper direction I should develop into a splendid emotional actress. Quite often we would have private rehearsals--sometimes in the theatre, but more often in the star's apartment in the hotel. Invariably we rehea.r.s.ed alone. I was flattered and sincerely appreciative of the star's efforts to develop my talent; we played scenes from Romeo and Juliet, and my star played Romeo with such fervour that I quite forgot my lines. When the star's wife joined the company the rehearsals were suspended; it seemed quite natural to me that the star wished to devote his time to his wife. She was still a beautiful woman, though her face was sad and bore a discontented expression. She kept aloof from the Company, and it was said that she did not approve of stage-folk, especially the women. I wondered why she had married an actor. Later, when Will and I became friends, he questioned me about these private rehearsals; then I began to notice that he managed to drop in for a call on the star when we rehea.r.s.ed at the hotel, or he would wait about the stage when we were in the theatre.

This happened frequently as our courts.h.i.+p progressed. I recalled how, one day when Will was discovered in the wings, that the star called out to him quite irritably, ”You were not called for rehearsal, were you, Mr. Hartley? You're not needed, and your presence makes Miss Gray self-conscious.”

Shortly after that Will insisted upon announcing our betrothal to the star. I never went to rehearsals unattended after that, and the calls became less frequent. Soon they were abandoned altogether. Now, for the first time, I understood Will's watchfulness--perhaps I understood why the star's wife had so sad a face....

”And what?” Miss Burton repeated after me.

”I was thinking, that was all.”