“Sure,” said Carlson, shivering, “but what was you sayin’?”
“You’ll feel better by midnight,” Mr. Fitch murmured, “You’ve worried too much. This’ll be a hit. It’s been a hit in London and Paris. The critics”—the adapter smiled—“won’t dare say anything worse than that it’s immoral9. And Cora Boyle will make them laugh in the third act, so that’ll be safe.”
“Boyle? Who’s she? That black headed gal10 that plays the street walker, y’mean? She’s no good. Had her last winter in Mountain Dew. Common as dirt and no more sense than a turnip11.”
Mr. Fitch answered in his affable whisper, “Of course she’s common as dirt. That’s why I asked you to get her. Why waste time training some one to be common when the town’s full of them?”
“But that ain’t actin’, Clyde!”
“It’s quite as good. And,” Mr. Fitch declared, “she’s what the women like.”
“You always talk as if women made a show pay!”
“That happens to be just what they do, Mr. Carlson. That’s why Richard the Third doesn’t[11] make as much money as Camille or East Lynne. Women come to a play to see other women wear clothes they wouldn’t be seen in and do things they wouldn’t dream of doing. Please try to eat something.”
“You’re all wrong,” Carlson said, chewing a pepsin tablet.
Mr. Fitch shrugged12, arranged his moustaches and mentioned a dozen actresses whose success was built on the art of enchanting13 their own sex. Carlson had a respect for this playwright14’s opinion and while the two early acts of “Nicoline” played he saw from his box that Cora Boyle’s swagger carried some message to the female part of the audience. For her, women laughed loudly. They merely sniffled over the well bred woes15 of the heroine. The heroine’s antics were insupportable. The second curtain fell and Carlson descended17 to the dressing18 room of this unsatisfactory gentlewoman, gave a rasping lecture that scared her maid away. He had to help hook her gown and yelled over the powder of her advertised shoulders, “If you want that sassy Boyle gal to be the hit of the show, go on! You act like you’d lost your last cent on the races and had sand in your shoes. Now, you!” A feeling of heated blades in his stomach stopped the speech. He heard the stage manager knock on the dressing room door. The actress moved weeping past his[12] anguish19. He leaned on the table and saw his sweating face in the tilted20 mirror. The thin, remote music of the orchestra began behind the curtain. This third act was set in the rowdy café of a small French city. If it went well, the play was safe, would last out the winter, make him richer. He should go up to his box and show himself unperturbed to rival managers civilly tranquil21 in their free seats. But he leaned, looking at his wet, bald head with a sick weariness. What was the use of this trade? He wore down his years trying to teach silly women and sillier men to act. He got nothing from living but stomach trouble and money. The money would go to his sister in Stockholm when he died. He had never liked his sister, hadn’t seen her in thirty years. He pitied himself so extremely that tears wriggled22 down the spread of seams in his yellow face. Life was an iniquity23 contrived24 for his torture. Carlson deeply enjoyed his woe16 for five minutes. Then Mr. Fitch came in to urge that Cora Boyle be corrected before her present entrance.
“What’s the good, Clyde? She ain’t any sense. She’s a actress, ain’t she?”
“She’ll spoil the act if she carries on too much,” said Mr. Fitch and at once Carlson thrilled with an automatic anxiety; the act mustn’t be spoiled. He hurried up the iron stairs to the platform,[13] wiping his face. Cora Boyle was standing25 ten feet back from the canvas arch that was, for the audience, the street door of the Café Printemps. She patted the vast sleeves of her gaudy26 frock and whispered to a fellow in blue clothes. Carlson had to pull her from these occupations and gave his orders in a hiss27.
“Don’t you laugh too loud when Miss Leslie’s tellin’ about her mother or talk as loud as you’ve been doin’, neither. This ain’t a camp meetin’, hear?”
The black haired girl grinned at him, nodding. She spat28 out a fold of chewing gum and patted her pink sleeves again. She said, “All right, boss, but, say, don’t the folks like me, though?”
Fitch chuckled29 behind the manager. Carlson wouldn’t be bested by an impudent30 hussy who was paid thirty-five dollars a week and didn’t earn it. He stared at Cora Boyle, biting his lips and hunting words wherewith to blast her. She let him stare unchecked. A false diamond on its thin chain glittered and slid when she breathed into the cleft31 of her breasts. She was excellently made and highly perfumed. Her black eyes caught a vague point of red from the rim32 of a jaunty33 hat that slanted34 its flowers on the mass of her hair. She had rouged35 her chin to offset36 a wide mouth. Carlson jeered37, “Better get somebody to show you a good makeup38, sister, and quit[14] talkin’ through your nose. You sound like you’re out of New Jersey39!”
Cora Boyle giggled40. She glanced at the fellow in blue and said, “I was boardin’ at Fayettesville, New Jersey, all summer. Wasn’t I, Mark?”
The fellow bobbed his head, shuffling41 his feet. His feet were bare and by that sign Carlson knew him for the supposed peasant lad who would bring the heroine news of her dear mother’s death at the end of the act. Cora Boyle gave this unimportant creature a long, amorous42 look, then told Carlson, “I was boardin’ with Mark’s folks. He—”
“Your cue,” said Mr. Fitch and the girl, with a splendid swagger, marched into the lit scene beyond this nervous shadow. Her finery shimmered43 and directly the women outside the hedge of footlights laughed. The audience tittered at her first line and Mr. Fitch, a hand on his moustache, smiled at Carlson.
“She’s got a voice like a saw,” Carlson snapped and walked down the steps. At the bottom a roar halted him. The audience laughed in a steady bawl44. He grunted45 but the noise came in repeating volleys every time the girl’s shrill46 speech rose grinding and these bursts had an effect of surging water wonderful to hear, soothing47 his conceit48. But as he listened a spasm49 took his stomach. Fitch helped him to a cab[15] and the cab delivered Carlson trembling to his valet in 18th Street.
The attack lasted all night and did not wane50 until twilight51 of next day when Carlson could drink some drugged milk and roll a cigarette. He bade his valet bring up the morning papers and was not surprised when Fitch preceded the man into the room, walking silently on his trim feet, a flower in his blue coat and his white hands full of scribbled52 foolscap.
“I’ve been writing two scenes in the library,” he said, in his usual, even whisper, “and I’d like to read them, if you feel well enough.”
“Two scenes?”
Carlson lifted himself and slapped the counterpane. He cried, “Now, Clyde, listen here! That Boyle gal’s got enough. I expect she hit but she’s a sassy little hen. I’m not goin’ to spoil her with—”
“Nom de dieu,” said the playwright, “I didn’t say anything about the Boyle girl. No. These scenes are for young Walling. He can come on with some flowers for Nicoline in the first act and say something. Then he can bring the dogs in at the last, instead of the maid. We might dress him as a gamekeeper in the last act. Green coat, corduroy breeches—”
[16]Carlson screamed, “Cord’roy pants? Who the hell you talkin’ about? Walling? Who’s Walling?”
Mr. Fitch lit a cigar and selected a paper from the bundle the valet held. He bent53 himself over the back of a cherry velvet54 chair which turned his suit vile55 purple in the dusk and began to read genially56.... “‘Into the sordid57 and sensuous58 atmosphere of this third act there came a second of relief when the messenger brought Nicoline news of her mother’s death. We too rarely see such acting59 as Mr. Walling’s performance of this petty part. His embarrassed, sympathetic stare at Nicoline, his boyish, unaffected speech—’” The playwright laughed and took another paper, “That’s William Winter. Here’s this idiot. ‘This little episode exactly proves the soundness of Carlson’s method in rehearsing a company. I am told that Mark Walling, the young actor who plays the r?le, has been drilled by Mr. Carlson as carefully as though he were a principal’—I told him that,” Mr. Fitch explained, changing papers. “‘One of the best performances in the long list of forty was that of Mark Walling as’—”
Carlson lay back dizzy on his pillows and snarled60, “What’s it all about, for hell’s sake? This feller comes on and gives the gal the letter and says the funeral’ll be next day. Well?”
“Well,” said his ally, “I’d just put you in your[17] cab. I was out in front, standing. This boy came on. They were still laughing at Cora Boyle. The minute Walling spoke61, every one shut up. He gave his line about the funeral and some women commenced snivelling. Wiped his nose on his sleeve. Some more women cried. I thought they’d applaud for a minute. He’s in all the papers. Nice voice. It’s his looks mostly.”
“Never noticed him. Where did we get him?”
Mr. Fitch blew some smoke toward the red velvet curtains and chuckled. “We didn’t get him. He belongs to Cora Boyle. She brought him to Rothenstein at the first rehearsal and asked for a part for him. She kidnapped him down in Jersey.”
“She—what?”
“Kidnapped him.” The playwright assumed a high drawl and recited, “Cora, she was boardin’ with Mark’s folks down to Fayettesville. Mark, he used to speak pieces after supper. Cora, she thought he spoke real nice—So she kidnapped him. She mesmerized62 him—like Trilby—and brought him along. She’s got him cooped up at her boarding house. She’s married him. He says he thinks acting’s awful easy”—Mr. Fitch again drawled, “cause all you gotta do is walk out, an’ speak your piece. He’s got a brother[18] name of Joe and his mamma she’s dead and sister Sadie she’s married to Eddie something or other. I heard his whole family tree. I went to see him this morning. Some one else is likely to grab him, you know? He told me his sad story in a pair of blue drawers and one sock. He’s scared to death of Cora Boyle.”
“But—can he act?”
The playwright shook his head. “No. He hasn’t any brains. Are you well enough to get dressed?”
At half past ten an usher63 came into the box office where Carlson was sitting and summoned the manager to the rear of the house. Fitch stood at the throat of an aisle64, his pallor made orange by the glow from the stage on which Cora Boyle was chaffing the sinful heroine. Amusement sped up this lustrous65, stirring slope of heads. It was the year of Violette Amère among perfumes and the scent66 rolled back to Carlson with the laughter of these ninnies who took Cora Boyle for a good comedian67. Carlson chafed68, but when the lad in blue walked into the light of the untinted globes, this laughter flickered69 down. Fitch whispered, “Hear?” and promptly70 the boy spoke in a husky, middling voice that somehow reached Carlson clearly. Close by a woman gurgled, “Sweet!” and Carlson felt the warm attention of the crowd, half understood it[19] as the few lines drawled on. The boy stood square on his brown, painted feet. His flat face was comely71. He had dull red, curling hair. As he tramped out there was a faint and scattered72 rumour73 like the birth of applause, cut by the heroine’s shriek74.
“You see?” Fitch smiled.
Carlson said, “I ain’t a fool. Tell Rothenstein to call a rehearsal for ten in the mornin’, will you.” He then went briskly to hunt down this asset. It took some minutes to locate the dressing room Mark Walling shared with five other small parts. He found Mark peeled to faded, azure75 cotton underclothes and talking happily to a tall, fair rustic76 who slouched on the wall beside the sink where Mark scrubbed paint from his feet with a sponge. Their drawls mixed and shut from them the noise of Carlson’s step, so the manager regarded his prize stealthily. Mark was a long lad, limber and burly, harmlessly good looking. His nose was short. His insteps and arms were thick with muscle. He smiled up at his rural friend who said, “But it ain’t a long trip, Bud. So I’ll get your papa to come up nex’ week.”
Mark shifted the sponge to his other hand and sighed. The sound touched Carlson who hated actors not old enough to court him cleverly. But this was a homesick peasant. He listened[20] to Mark’s answer of, “Wish you would, Eddie. I ain’t sure papa likes my bein’ here. Even if I do—”
The rustic saw Carlson and mumbled77. Mark Walling hopped78 about on one foot and gave a solemn, frightened gulp79. Carlson nodded, inquiring, “That your brother, sonny?”
“No, sir. Joe’s home. This is Eddie Bernamer. Well, he’s my brother-in-law. He’s married with Sadie.”
Eddie Bernamer gave out attenuated80 sounds, accepting the introduction. The manager asked lightly, “How many sisters have you, son?”
“Just Sadie. She’s out lookin’ at the play.”
“And you’ve married Cora Boyle?”
“Well,” said Mark, “that’s so.”
He seemed rather puzzled by the fact, suspended the sponge and said to Eddie Bernamer, “She ain’t but two years older’n me, Eddie.”
“I guess Mr. Carlson wants to talk to you, Bud,” his relative muttered, “So I’ll go on back and see some more.”
“We’ll have to catch the cars, Bud. Well, goo’ bye.”
Mark stood clutching the sponge and sighed a monstrous82, woeful exhalation after Eddie Bernamer.[21] His grey eyes filled. He was hideously83 homesick, certain that Fayettesville was a better place than this cellar that stunk84 of sweated cloth and greasy85 paint. And Cora hadn’t been strikingly pleased by the news of him in this morning’s papers. She was odd. He wiped his nose on a wrist and looked hopelessly at Carlson.
“Rather be back on the farm, wouldn’t you?” the gaunt man asked.
Mark sat down on the floor and thought. His thoughts went slowly across the track of six weeks. He plodded86. For all its demerits this red and gold theatre was thrilling. People were jolly, kind enough. The lewd87 stagehands had let him help set a scene tonight. The man who handled the lights had shown him how they were turned on and off to make stormy waverings. Cora was exciting. Winter at home was plagued by Aunt Edith who came out from Trenton to spend the cold months at the farm and who lectured Mark’s father on Methodism. And here was this easy, good job. If he worked hard it might be that Mr. Carlson—who wasn’t now the screaming beast of rehearsals—would let him run the lights instead of acting. Mark said, “Well, no. Just as soon stay here, I guess.”
“How old are you, sonny?”
“Goin’ on seventeen, sir.”
“I’ll give you forty a week to stay here,” said[22] Carlson, “Fitch tells me you think acting’s pretty easy.”
“I don’t see any trick to acting,” Mark mused88, absorbing the offer of forty dollars a week, “There ain’t nothin’ to it but speakin’ out loud.... Yes, I’d like to stay here.” He wanted to show himself useful and got up, pointing to the bulbs clustered on the ceiling in a bed of tin, “I should think you’d ought to save money if you had them down here by the lookin’ glasses instead of this gas, y’see? The fellers don’t get any good of the electric light while they’re puttin’ paint on, and—”
“Rehearsal at ten in the morning,” said Carlson, “Good-night.”
Marked gaped89 at the black and empty door. Then his homesickness swelled90 up and he sighed, squeezing the sponge. His body trembled drearily91. He lowered his head as does a lonesome calf92 turned into strange pastures.
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1
rehearsal
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| n.排练，排演；练习 | |
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rehearsals
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| n.练习( rehearsal的名词复数 )；排练；复述；重复 | |
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digestion
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| n.消化，吸收 | |
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interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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celebrities
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| n.（尤指娱乐界的）名人( celebrity的名词复数 )；名流；名声；名誉 | |
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orchid
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| n.兰花，淡紫色 | |
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sipping
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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immoral
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| adj.不道德的，淫荡的，荒淫的，有伤风化的 | |
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gal
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| n.姑娘，少女 | |
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turnip
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| n.萝卜，芜菁 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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playwright
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| n.剧作家，编写剧本的人 | |
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woes
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| 困境( woe的名词复数 )； 悲伤； 我好苦哇； 某人就要倒霉 | |
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woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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wriggled
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的过去式和过去分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等） | |
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iniquity
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| n.邪恶；不公正 | |
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contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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gaudy
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| adj.华而不实的；俗丽的 | |
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hiss
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| v.发出嘶嘶声；发嘘声表示不满 | |
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spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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cleft
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| n.裂缝；adj.裂开的 | |
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rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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jaunty
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| adj．愉快的，满足的；adv.心满意足地，洋洋得意地；n.心满意足；洋洋得意 | |
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slanted
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| 有偏见的； 倾斜的 | |
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rouged
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| 胭脂，口红( rouge的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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offset
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| n.分支，补偿；v.抵消，补偿 | |
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jeered
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| v.嘲笑( jeer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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makeup
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| n.组织；性格；化装品 | |
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jersey
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| n.运动衫 | |
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giggled
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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42
amorous
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| adj.多情的；有关爱情的 | |
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shimmered
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| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bawl
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| v.大喊大叫，大声地喊，咆哮 | |
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45
grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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46
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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47
soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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conceit
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| n.自负，自高自大 | |
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spasm
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| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
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50
wane
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| n.衰微，亏缺，变弱；v.变小，亏缺，呈下弦 | |
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51
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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52
scribbled
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| v.潦草的书写( scribble的过去式和过去分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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53
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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genially
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| adv.亲切地，和蔼地；快活地 | |
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sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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sensuous
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| adj.激发美感的；感官的，感觉上的 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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snarled
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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62
mesmerized
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| v.使入迷( mesmerize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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usher
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| n.带位员，招待员；vt.引导，护送；vi.做招待，担任引座员 | |
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aisle
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| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
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lustrous
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| adj.有光泽的；光辉的 | |
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66
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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comedian
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| n.喜剧演员；滑稽演员 | |
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68
chafed
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| v.擦热（尤指皮肤）( chafe的过去式 )；擦痛；发怒；惹怒 | |
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flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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comely
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| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
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72
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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74
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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75
azure
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| adj.天蓝色的，蔚蓝色的 | |
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76
rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hopped
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| 跳上[下]( hop的过去式和过去分词 )； 单足蹦跳； 齐足（或双足）跳行； 摘葎草花 | |
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gulp
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| vt.吞咽，大口地吸（气）；vi.哽住；n.吞咽 | |
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attenuated
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| v.（使）变细( attenuate的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）变薄；（使）变小；减弱 | |
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81
wailed
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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82
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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83
hideously
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| adv.可怕地，非常讨厌地 | |
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84
stunk
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| v.散发出恶臭( stink的过去分词 )；发臭味；名声臭；糟透 | |
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greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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86
plodded
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| v.沉重缓慢地走（路）( plod的过去式和过去分词 )；努力从事；沉闷地苦干；缓慢进行（尤指艰难枯燥的工作） | |
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lewd
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| adj.淫荡的 | |
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88
mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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89
gaped
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| v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的过去式和过去分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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90
swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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drearily
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| 沉寂地，厌倦地，可怕地 | |
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calf
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| n.小牛，犊，幼仔，小牛皮 | |
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