“Never you mind the money, Joe,” said Mr. Robbins. “That girl’s speech was wuth it. She’s a corker.” He chuckled admiringly. “The way she can get ’round folks and make ’em do as she says beats the Dutch. If she was a boy now, it’s dollars to doughnuts that she’d get to be president.” He went on his way, still chuckling, and at the door encountered the second delegation from Cherry Creek.
It was doubtless due to the earlier excitements of the evening that Peggy came so near disaster later. They had reached the second act most successfully, and the audience had laughed at every suggestion of a joke, and when the curtain was drawn, had joined in tumultuous applause, piercing cat-calls blending euphoniously with the clapping of hands, and the stamping of feet. And then Peggy, who knew the entire comedy from beginning to end, and could have taken any part at five minutes’ notice, stumbled in her lines, and to her horror, found her mind a blank.
She looked toward Aunt Abigail, but unluckily the prompter had been so carried away by her enjoyment of the presentation, that she was listening delightedly, quite unmindful of her professional duties. As she met Peggy’s appealing gaze, she started violently, and an excited flutter of leaves conveyed to Peggy the unwelcome information that Aunt Abigail had lost her place.
Oddly enough, it was Elaine who came to the rescue. In playing her part, practically without rehearsals, Elaine had found it necessary to familiarize herself with the general dialogue of the little comedy. While the other girls stood stricken dumb by the realization that Peggy had forgotten, the opening sentence of the deferred speech flashed into Elaine’s mind. “‘But I demand the proof,’” she said in a sharp whisper.
Instantly Peggy was herself again. “But I demand the proof,” she cried, and swept commandingly toward the centre of the stage. The pause, which had seemed such a long hiatus to the little group on the platform, was hardly noticed by the audience. Aunt Abigail glued her eyes to the page and did not look away again till the next intermission. Peggy gave herself a mental shaking and her fellow actors took a long breath, while the audience laughed delightedly, quite unaware of the little by-play.
Not till the second act was finished, and Jerry’s orchestra was rendering a spirited Spanish fandango, a score of feet beating time, did Peggy find opportunity to express her sense of obligation.
“You darling!” She caught Elaine in her arms, and hugged her mightily. “That’s twice you’ve pulled us out of a hole. If the audience knew all that we do, they’d pick Adelaide for the star of this performance.” And indeed, considering the disadvantages under which Elaine had labored, Peggy’s generous tribute was hardly exaggerated.
The play was repeated on the second evening to an equally crowded and appreciative house. Indeed, the audience which had obligingly retired in favor of the visitors from a distance, reaped the reward of its generosity, for the second performance was distinctly better than the first. Lucy and Rosetta Muriel, who had gained confidence from one public appearance, spoke their few lines in distinct, audible voices, which was as much as the parts required. Elaine had had one more day to study her part, and was able to do it better justice than on the preceding evening. As for Peggy, since her thoughts were not distracted by the necessity of making a speech, she was in as little danger of forgetting her lines, as of forgetting her name.
On the whole, they had every reason to congratulate one another, and when the audience had dispersed, the performers lingered with a few outsiders especially interested, to say again and again, how well everything had gone off, and how pleased every one had seemed. And Joe added convincing testimony to the correctness of the verdict.
“When folks pay more than they’ve got to pay for a thing, it comes pretty near being a success. Why, there was a half a dozen said to me they didn’t care for no change, and two of ’em were Cherry Creekers. What do you think of that? And Deacon Bliss, he paid three admissions with a five-dollar bill, and said it was all right.”