The Adventures of Sally Page 3

  It was exactly two months since Sally had become engaged to GeraldFoster; but so rigorously had they kept the secret that nobody at Mrs.Meecher's so much as suspected it. To Sally, who all her life had hatedconcealing things, secrecy of any kind was objectionable: but in thismatter Gerald had shown an odd streak almost of furtiveness in hischaracter. An announced engagement complicated life. People fussed aboutyou and bothered you. People either watched you or avoided you. Suchwere his arguments, and Sally, who would have glossed over and foundexcuses for a disposition on his part towards homicide or arson, putthem down to artistic sensitiveness. There is nobody so sensitive asyour artist, particularly if he be unsuccessful: and when an artist hasso little success that he cannot afford to make a home for the womanhe loves, his sensitiveness presumably becomes great indeed. Puttingherself in his place, Sally could see that a protracted engagement,known by everybody, would be a standing advertisement of Gerald'sfailure to make good: and she acquiesced in the policy of secrecy,hoping that it would not last long. It seemed absurd to think of Geraldas an unsuccessful man. He had in him, as the recent Fillmore hadperceived, something dynamic. He was one of those men of whom one couldpredict that they would succeed very suddenly and rapidly--overnight, asit were.

  "The party," said Sally, "went off splendidly." They had passed theboarding-house door, and were walking slowly down the street. "Everybodyenjoyed themselves, I think, even though Fillmore did his best to spoilthings by coming looking like an advertisement of What The Smart MenWill Wear This Season. You didn't see his waistcoat just now. Hehad covered it up. Conscience, I suppose. It was white and bulgy andgleaming and full up of pearl buttons and everything. I saw AugustusBartlett curl up like a burnt feather when he caught sight of it. Still,time seemed to heal the wound, and everybody relaxed after a bit. Mr.Faucitt made a speech and I made a speech and cried, and...oh, it wasall very festive. It only needed you."

  "I wish I could have come. I had to go to that dinner, though. Sally..."Gerald paused, and Sally saw that he was electric with suppressedexcitement. "Sally, the play's going to be put on!"

  Sally gave a little gasp. She had lived this moment in anticipation forweeks. She had always known that sooner or later this would happen. Shehad read his plays over and over again, and was convinced that they werewonderful. Of course, hers was a biased view, but then Elsa Doland alsoadmired them; and Elsa's opinion was one that carried weight. Elsa wasanother of those people who were bound to succeed suddenly. Even old Mr.Faucitt, who was a stern judge of acting and rather inclined to considerthat nowadays there was no such thing, believed that she was a girl witha future who would do something big directly she got her chance.

  "Jerry!" She gave his arm a hug. "How simply terrific! Then Goble andKohn have changed their minds after all and want it? I knew they would."

  A slight cloud seemed to dim the sunniness of the author's mood.

  "No, not that one," he said reluctantly. "No hope there, I'm afraid. Isaw Goble this morning about that, and he said it didn't add up right.The one that's going to be put on is 'The Primrose Way.' You remember?It's got a big part for a girl in it."

  "Of course! The one Elsa liked so much. Well, that's just as good. Who'sgoing to do it? I thought you hadn't sent it out again."

  "Well, it happens..." Gerald hesitated once more. "It seems that thisman I was dining with to-night--a man named Cracknell..."

  "Cracknell? Not the Cracknell?"

  "The Cracknell?"

  "The one people are always talking about. The man they call theMillionaire Kid."

  "Yes. Why, do you know him?"

  "He was at Harvard with Fillmore. I never saw him, but he must be rathera painful person."

  "Oh, he's all right. Not much brains, of course, but--well, he's allright. And, anyway, he wants to put the play on."

  "Well, that's splendid," said Sally: but she could not get the rightring of enthusiasm into her voice. She had had ideals for Gerald. Shehad dreamed of him invading Broadway triumphantly under the banner ofone of the big managers whose name carried a prestige, and there seemedsomething unworthy in this association with a man whose chief claim toeminence lay in the fact that he was credited by metropolitan gossipwith possessing the largest private stock of alcohol in existence.

  "I thought you would be pleased," said Gerald.

  "Oh, I am," said Sally.

  With the buoyant optimism which never deserted her for long, she hadalready begun to cast off her momentary depression. After all, didit matter who financed a play so long as it obtained a production? Amanager was simply a piece of machinery for paying the bills; and ifhe had money for that purpose, why demand asceticism and the finersensibilities from him? The real thing that mattered was the questionof who was going to play the leading part, that deftly drawn characterwhich had so excited the admiration of Elsa Doland. She soughtinformation on this point.

  "Who will play Ruth?" she asked. "You must have somebody wonderful. Itneeds a tremendously clever woman. Did Mr. Cracknell say anything aboutthat?"

  "Oh, yes, we discussed that, of course."

  "Well?"

  "Well, it seems..." Again Sally noticed that odd, almost stealthyembarrassment. Gerald appeared unable to begin a sentence to-nightwithout feeling his way into it like a man creeping cautiously down adark alley. She noticed it the more because it was so different fromhis usual direct method. Gerald, as a rule, was not one of those whoapologize for themselves. He was forthright and masterful and inclinedto talk to her from a height. To-night he seemed different.

  He broke off, was silent for a moment, and began again with a question.

  "Do you know Mabel Hobson?"

  "Mabel Hobson? I've seen her in the 'Follies,' of course."

  Sally started. A suspicion had stung her, so monstrous that itsabsurdity became manifest the moment it had formed. And yet wasit absurd? Most Broadway gossip filtered eventually into theboarding-house, chiefly through the medium of that seasoned sport, themild young man who thought so highly of the redoubtable Benny Whistler,and she was aware that the name of Reginald Cracknell, which was alwaysgetting itself linked with somebody, had been coupled with that of MissHobson. It seemed likely that in this instance rumour spoke truth,for the lady was of that compellingly blonde beauty which attracts theCracknells of this world. But even so...

  "It seems that Cracknell..." said Gerald. "Apparently this manCracknell..." He was finding Sally's bright, horrified gaze somewhattrying. "Well, the fact is Cracknell believes in Mabel Hobson...and...well, he thinks this part would suit her."

  "Oh, Jerry!"

  Could infatuation go to such a length? Could even the spacious heart ofa Reginald Cracknell so dominate that gentleman's small size in heads asto make him entrust a part like Ruth in "The Primrose Way" to one who,when desired by the producer of her last revue to carry a bowl of rosesacross the stage and place it on a table, had rebelled on the plea thatshe had not been engaged as a dancer? Surely even lovelorn Reginaldcould perceive that this was not the stuff of which great emotionalactresses are made.

  "Oh, Jerry!" she said again.

  There was an uncomfortable silence. They turned and walked back in thedirection of the boarding-house. Somehow Gerald's arm had managed to getitself detached from Sally's. She was conscious of a curious dull achethat was almost like a physical pain.

  "Jerry! Is it worth it?" she burst out vehemently.

  The question seemed to sting the young man into something like his usualdecisive speech.

  "Worth it? Of course it's worth it. It's a Broadway production. That'sall that matters. Good heavens! I've been trying long enough to get aplay on Broadway, and it isn't likely that I'm going to chuck away mychance when it comes along just because one might do better in the wayof casting."

  "But, Jerry! Mabel Hobson! It's... it's murder! Murder in the firstdegree."

  "Nonsense. She'll be all right. The part will play itself. Besides,she has a personality and a following, and Cracknell will spend all themoney in th
e world to make the thing a success. And it will be a start,whatever happens. Of course, it's worth it."

  Fillmore would have been impressed by this speech. He would haverecognized and respected in it the unmistakable ring which characterizeseven the lightest utterances of those who get there. On Sally it had notimmediately that effect. Nevertheless, her habit of making the best ofthings, working together with that primary article of her creed thatthe man she loved could do no wrong, succeeded finally in raising herspirits. Of course Jerry was right. It would have been foolish to refusea contract because all its clauses were not ideal.

  "You old darling," she said affectionately attaching herself to thevacant arm once more and giving it a penitent squeeze, "you're quiteright. Of course you are. I can see it now. I was only a little startledat first. Everything's going to be wonderful. Let's get all our chickensout and count 'em. How are you going to spend the money?"

  "I know how I'm going to spend a dollar of it," said Gerald completelyrestored.

  "I mean the big money. What's a dollar?"

  "It pays for a marriage-licence."

  Sally gave his arm another squeeze.

  "Ladies and gentlemen," she said. "Look at this man. Observe him. Mypartner!"

  CHAPTER II. ENTER GINGER

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