“I suppose they’re going this morning,” said Miss Pinnegar.
CHAPTER IX
ALVINA BECOMES ALLAYE
Alvina wept when the Natchas had gone. She loved them so much, she wanted to be with them. Even Ciccio she regarded as only one of the Natchas. She looked forward to his coming as to a visit from the troupe.
How dull the theatre was without them! She was tired of the Endeavour. She wished it did not exist. The rehearsal on the Monday morning bored her terribly. Her father was nervous and irritable. The previous week had tried him sorely. He had worked himself into a state of nervous apprehension such as nothing would have justified, unless perhaps, if the wooden walls of the Endeavour had burnt to the ground, with James inside victimized like another Samson. He had developed a nervous horror of all artistes. He did not feel safe for one single moment whilst he depended on a single one of them.
“We shall have to convert into all pictures,” he said in a nervous fever to Mr. May. “Don’t make any more engagements after the end of next month.”
“Really!” said Mr. May. “Really! Have you quite decided?”
“Yes quite! Yes quite!” James fluttered. “I have written about a new machine, and the supply of films from Chanticlers.”
“Really!” said Mr. May. “Oh well then, in that case—” But he was filled with dismay and chagrin.
“Of cauce,” he said later to Alvina, “I can’t possibly stop on if we are nothing but a picture show!” And he arched his blanched and dismal eyelids with ghastly finality.
“Why?” cried Alvina.