The part was short and simple, and Ralph, who had an excellent memory, learnt it easily enough. But when it came to rehearsing his scenes in the dreary vastness of the empty theatre amid distant sounds of hammering and scrubbing, and the perfectly audible comments of his fellow actors, he felt in despair; there was no getting inside the character, he could only feel himself Ralph Denmead, in uncomfortable circumstances, and breathing a curious atmosphere of hostility. He went home feeling nervous and miserable, but Ivy’s talk helped to amuse him, and distract his attention.
“They will like you when they get used to you,” she said, philosophically. “But some of them think you are just a wealthy amateur, and that you have paid for the chance of appearing in public. We all hate that kind of man. Some others say you are an Oxonian wanting a little amusement during the long vacation, and that you will be going back to the University next month. And Miss West thinks you are a disguised nobleman.”
“Well, then, they’re all of them wrong,” said Ralph, obliged to laugh in spite of himself. “I’m not a disguised duke, nor even a marquis, but just plain Ralph Denmead, with very few coins in his pocket, and not a single relation or rich friend to help him.”
When the evening came, Ralph found that the flatness and coldness of the morning had entirely passed; every one seemed in better spirits, and the two men who shared his dressing-room were friendly enough directly they found he was a genuine worker, not a mere dilettante.
A youngster who was neither conceited nor grasping, but was content to begin with a very small part, and a still smaller salary, was quite a phenomenon, and, as usual, Ralph’s good humour and common-sense, together with his readiness to see fun in everything, stood him in good stead.
When the last awful moment arrived, and he stood at the wings in his gorgeous livery of drab and scarlet, with powdered hair and knee-breeches, he found that the atmosphere of hostility which he had felt so oppressive at rehearsal was entirely gone.
“Good luck to you!” said the heavy man, laying a fatherly hand on his shoulder. “Never fear; you’ll do well enough.”
And with these words to hearten him, he took that first desperate plunge into the icy-cold waters of publicity.
Ivy’s face beamed upon him as he returned.
“That applause was for you,” she said, rapturously, “and they don’t generally laugh nearly as much after that blunder with the luncheon table.”