Julie lay on her bed in her darkened room, refusing all offers of aid. She did not want food. She did not want cold compresses on her head. She did not want hot compresses on her head. She wanted to be left alone—with Steve. Together the two stayed in the darkened room, and when some member of the company came to the door with offers of aid or comfort, there came into their faces a look that was strangely like one of fear, followed immediately by a look of relief.
Queenie sent Jo to the door with soup, her panacea for all ailments, whether of the flesh or the spirit. Julie made a show of eating it, but when Jo had clumped across the stage and down to his kitchen Julie motioned to Steve. He threw the contents of the bowl out of the window into the yellow waters of the Mississippi.
Doc appeared at Julie’s door for the tenth time though it was only mid-morning. “Think you can play all right, to-night, though, don’t you, Julie?”
In the semi-darkness of her shaded room Julie’s eyes glowed suddenly wide and luminous. She sat up in bed, pushing her hair back from her forehead with a gesture so wild as to startle the old trouper.
“No!” she cried, in a sort of terror. “No! I can’t play to-night. Don’t ask me.”
Blank astonishment made Doc’s face almost ludicrous. For an actress to announce ten hours before the time set for the curtain’s rising that she would not be able to go on that evening—an actress who had not suffered decapitation or an amputation—was a thing unheard of in Doc’s experience.
“God a’mighty, Julie! If you’re sick as all that, you’d better see a doctor. Steve, what say?”
The great blond giant seated at the side of Julie’s bed did not look round at his questioner. His eyes were on Julie’s face. “Julie’s funny that way. She’s set against doctors. Won’t have one, that’s all. Don’t coax her. It’ll only make her worse.”
Inured as he was to the vagaries of woman, this apparently was too much for Doc. Schultzy appeared in the doorway; peered into the dimness of the little room.
“Funny thing. I guess you must have an admirer in this town, Jule. Somebody’s stole your picture, frame and all, out of the layout in the lobby there. First I thought it might be that crazy Pete, used to be so stuck on you. . . . Now, now, Steve! Keep your shirt on! Keep your shirt on! . . . I asked him, straight, but he was surprised all right. He ain’t good enough actor to fool me. He didn’t do it. Must be some town rube all right, Julie, got stuck on your shape or something. I put up another one.” He stood a moment, thoughtfully. Elly came up behind him, hatted and gloved.