Dorothy sank into a chair near the door. Two or three important-looking women were moving about restlessly, awaiting their turn to pass beyond the portal guarded by a stout1 youth, and face the manager in his private rooms. Others, younger and more timid, sat quite still in their chairs, as did Dorothy, and the girl could imagine that they were silently praying for success in the prospective2 interview with one who might decide their fate. Dorothy seemed beyond thinking consistently about her own circumstances; she just sat there and waited. The youth at the door of the private office looked at her sharply. Doubtless he was wondering whether she had an appointment, or whether she was one to be allowed to enter 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 the look on the faces of those waiting spoke3 louder than words.
[196]
Finally a girl in a red hat went in and came out so quickly that the others looked at her curiously4. She murmured something that showed she had been treated with scant5 ceremony. Then a very stout woman, wearing an enormous 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 woman with the excess of avoirdupois came out, the boy stepped up to Dorothy.
“Your turn,” he said kindly6. Then it occurred to Dorothy that every one so far had been kind to her. Were these people, that others had spoken of so slightingly, not all respectful and polite to any one who seemed to merit such consideration? She felt that they were not half as black as they had been painted.
The next moment the anxious girl was in the private office of the manager. It was a small room, but not gloomy in spite of the fact that it was in the midst of a darkened theatre. A fine rug was on the floor and there were a few well-chosen pictures on the walls, the electric lights showing them off to advantage.
[197]
While the manager, who sat in a big revolving7 chair, looked over some papers on his desk before turning to Dorothy, she had an opportunity to see that there hung before him what were evidently family photographs. One was of a little girl and another of a youth. Surely, she thought, a man who had time to look at his children’s pictures during business hours could 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.
“I—I came to—to ask if you—if you have on your books the name of a young lady—Miss Octavia Travers?” she managed to stammer9 out. “A young lady with the ‘Lady Rossmore’s Secret’ company, I believe.”
“Travers,” repeated the manager thoughtfully, “Travers? Seems to me I have. Is she your sister?”
“Not exactly, but I have always regarded her as such—we have been very close friends all our lives.”
[198]
“Not a very long time at that,” remarked the manager with a smile. “But what 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 yours why didn’t she send you her address? She knew where she was going to be,” and he spoke pointedly11.
Tears welled into Dorothy’s eyes, and she felt that she could not trust herself to speak. The manager looked critically at her. Then he laid aside 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 find her for you. But first you had better tell me the story. It will help greatly. You see when we engage a girl and she happens to prove satisfactory we have no excuse for dismissing her unless she might be under age—and then her parents—of course—”
“But I must keep the entire matter from her parents,” interrupted Dorothy. “I must find Tavia myself and I know when I do she will listen to me and it will be all right again.”
Dorothy was visibly trembling. The manager folded his arms and looked at her thoughtfully.
[199]
“You’re quite a young girl to undertake this,” he said finally. “But I like your spirit, and I’m going to help you. I tell you, my child, the stage is no place for a young person who has had no experience with the ways 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 is less danger. But this girl you are looking for—was she about your height?”
“Yes, with very brown hair,” replied Dorothy. “And such lovely light brown 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,” he said. “Christina Travers. That must be the girl. They rarely give the name just right.”
“Yes, she might say Christina,” admitted Dorothy. “The girls at school called 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 abbreviating12 it. It’s a light thing we put on for a filler. I’m afraid it isn’t doing any too well, which, however, may make it easier for you to induce your friend to give it up.”
[200]
“Oh, I hope I can!” and Dorothy left her seat and came to stand beside the manager’s desk. She had lost nearly all her fear and nervousness now.
“They play in Rochester to-night,” went on the manager consulting his list. “Then they go to Rockdale—”
“Only one night in Rochester?” asked Dorothy, showing some surprise and disappointment.
“Well, one night of that I fancy will be enough for any place,” was the manager’s laughing reply. “However, they may stay over to-morrow. But Rockdale is only a few miles from there. You could easily catch them at Rockdale. 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 he wished her good-bye and turned back to his desk.
Dorothy’s cheeks were flushed when she stepped up to Nat in the lobby where he was watching the men putting in place the photographs of the next week’s performers. He seemed to have forgotten all about his cousin.
“Oh, is that you?” he asked, and he looked like some one suddenly awakened13 from a dream. “I do believe if I stood here much longer I’d be put into a frame by mistake. How did you make out?”
[201]
“You mustn’t ask,” answered Dorothy pleasantly. “You see I can’t quite report 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 must be content with that. I can only tell you that I am perfectly14 satisfied with 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. But you see, Doro, you are such a romancer that you sometimes make stories out of dreams. But I must say you do look ten years younger. That manager must have been a nice fellow.”
“He was,” answered Dorothy, glad that Nat, as usual, had jumped to a conclusion and decided15 the matter of the interview for himself, leaving her free to go on without contradicting or making any explanations. It was so much better under the circumstances, she thought, that not even Nat should know the truth.
[202]
But just how she was going to carry out the remainder of her task secretly she could not quite determine. However, she had now become accustomed to doing each part as it presented itself, without planning further into the future, and, in that manner, she hoped to be able to proceed until the last link in the chain of her search had been completed.
“We must get the souvenir cards,” Nat reminded her, as they came to a store with the pretty-pictured varieties in the window. “I’ll just buy a pack of mixed ones—it will save time.”
But Dorothy was not thinking of souvenir cards. Thoughts came to her of the play at Rochester, with Tavia as one of the characters—Tavia who must be timid amid her new and unaccustomed surroundings in spite of her apparent recklessness—yes, Tavia would be much frightened at what she had done, Dorothy was sure of it, when the girl, so far away from home and friends found herself before a critical audience in a theatre.
“If I could only reach her before another night,” Dorothy thought, “but how can it be managed?”
The boys would start for home to-morrow, and of course Dorothy would have to go with them. Something would surely happen—must surely happen before then to help her, Dorothy thought, with a confidence which great emergencies sometimes inspire.
[203]
“Now I suppose,” remarked Nat, as he made his way out of the post-card store, “if you were to send one of these particularly bright red ones to Tavia at Dalton she would send one back on the next mail, wishing you a merry Christmas, for all your trouble. What do you suppose she would say if she knew of the merry chase that had been going on after her, and all the places you have been looking for her? And all the while she was as safe 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 saucy16 little thing,” he added facetiously17, “not to answer our nice long letters. She ought to be slapped.”
Dorothy laughed at her cousin’s good humor. It was better that he should take 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 the hotel.
“Now there’s one,” pointed10 out Nat, “that would just suit the circumstances. A girl doing a song and a smile—that’s the ‘turn’ Tavia has been doing to you, Doro. We must save that one for her.”
[204]
“Yes,” answered Dorothy abstractedly, taking the card in her hand. It was the picture of a girl in chorus costume, and was enscribed with an appropriate verse.
“Don’t you see,” explained Nat, “they’ve got everything down to a post-card basis now. That one is intended to be used in place of making a party call when a gentleman has blown a girl to a theatrical18 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 those in the post-card clientele it’s a cinch, as the poet says. I tell you after a while we will be able to carry on all our business correspondence with picture postals and not be under the necessity of writing a word. Great scheme, Nat (patting himself on the left shoulder with his right hand), get a patent on your new post-card.”
They had now reached the hotel. The veranda19 was deserted20 as the hour for dinner was almost at hand and the guests were dressing21. Nat left Dorothy at the elevator, with a warning to be ready early in the morning. Then he hurried to where he and Ned were staying.
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2
prospective
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| adj.预期的，未来的，前瞻性的 | |
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3
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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4
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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5
scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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6
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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7
revolving
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| adj.旋转的，轮转式的；循环的v.（使）旋转( revolve的现在分词 )；细想 | |
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8
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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9
stammer
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| n.结巴，口吃；v.结结巴巴地说 | |
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10
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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11
pointedly
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| adv.尖地，明显地 | |
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12
abbreviating
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| 使简短( abbreviate的现在分词 )； 缩简； 缩略； 使用缩写词 | |
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13
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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14
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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15
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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16
saucy
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| adj.无礼的；俊俏的；活泼的 | |
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17
facetiously
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| adv.爱开玩笑地；滑稽地，爱开玩笑地 | |
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18
theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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19
veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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20
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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21
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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