The programme was opened by Manuela, who wore an old pink satin frock of her mother’s cut short and trimmed with a flounce of Spanish lace. Her brown shining face looked good will upon all the world as she recited “The Wreck of the Hesperus.” Then came a dialogue in which all the little participants wore white frocks and crimped hair.
Meanwhile, in the dressing-room, Rosita was limp in Patience’s arms.
“Oh, Patita!” she gasped, “I can’t! I can’t! I’m frightened to death! What shall I do?”
“Do?” cried Patience, angrily, who was so excited herself that she pumped Rosita’s arms up and down as if the unfledged Thespian had just been rescued from the bay. “Do? You must brace up. When you get there you’ll be all right. And you must not get stage fright. Rosita, you must make a success. Remember you’ve got the star part. Don’t, don’t make a fool of yourself.”
“Oh, if you could only hold my hand,” wailed Rosita.
“Well, I can’t, and that’s the end of it. Now! brace up quick.” The prompter was calling in a loud whisper,—
“Miss Thrailkill, be ready when I say, ‘Life.’”
“Ay, dios de mi alma,” almost sobbed Rosita.
Patience dragged her to the wings and held her there. When the cue was spoken she gave her a hard pinch, then a shove. Rosita gasped and disappeared.
Patience slipped round into the audience, her heart in her throat, her eyes black with excitement. If Rosita broke down she felt that she should have hysterics.