“Oh, Nita,” cried Polly Eastman, who had just come in, rushing breathlessly up to the distracted chairman, “I’m so sorry to be late, but some people that I couldn’t refuse asked me down-town to dinner. I ate and ran, really I did. And Nita, what do you think——”
“I’m much too tired to think,” returned Nita, wearily. “What’s happened now?”
“Why, nothing has actually happened, only I was at the station this afternoon, and I asked the shoe-shine man about the monkey, and he hasn’t heard, but he told the organ-man that the play began at half-past eight, and all the trains have been horribly late to-day, so if he should plan to get in on the eight-fifteen——”
“Have him telegraph that it begins at six,” said Nita, firmly. “Go and see to it now.”
“Why, I did tell him to,” said Polly, sighing at the prospect of going out again. “Only he’s so irresponsible that I think we ought to decide——”
“Go and stand over him while he telegraphs,” said Nita with finality. “We can’t understudy a monkey. Josephine Boyd, come here and go through your long speech. I want to be sure that you get it right. It didn’t make sense the way you said it yesterday.”
“Oh, Nita.” It was Lucile Merrifield holding out a yellow envelope.
Nita clutched it frantically. “Perhaps she’s not coming. Wouldn’t I be relieved!”
“It’s not a telegram,” explained Lucile, gently, “only the proof of the programs that the printer has taken this opportune moment to send up. The boy says if you could look at it right off, why, he could wait and take it back. They want it the first thing in the morning.”
“Give it to Helen Adams,” said Nita, turning back to Josephine. “She can mark proof. Go on Josephine, I’m listening, and don’t stop again for anybody.”