Nor were her troubles confined to Claire. Rosetta Muriel who had been offered an unexacting part in the cast, confided to Peggy her intentions in regard to costume. “I’m going to have an apple-green silk. The skirt’ll be scant, of course, and draped a little right here. And which do you think would be stylisher, a square neck or–”
Peggy had by now recovered herself sufficiently to interrupt. “Why, you’re cast for a parlor-maid.”
“I know it,” said Rosetta Muriel, indifferently.
“You can’t dress in apple-green silk. You ought to have a plain black dress and a little white apron.”
Rosetta Muriel flushed and tossed her head.
“I don’t know what difference that makes. If you’re going on the stage you want to look as nice as you can, I should think.”
“One can look very nice in a black dress and a white apron. I’m going to be a frumpy old woman, with the worst rig you ever saw. But of course,” concluded Peggy firmly, perceiving that Rosetta Muriel was inclined to argue the point, “If you’d rather not take the part, I can probably find some one else. But whoever takes it, will have to be dressed suitably.”
That argument was as effective with Rosetta Muriel as it had been with Claire. She yielded as the other girl had done, and as ungraciously. “It’s easy enough to see through that,” she told herself angrily. “Those city girls want to be the whole thing. They’re afraid to let me dress up nice, for fear folks will look at somebody else.” And it argues well for the strength of Rosetta Muriel’s vanity that for the moment she actually believed her preposterous charge.
Plans for the play absorbed the leisure of the cottagers. Little else was talked of. To Jerry Morton had been assigned the responsibility of organizing an orchestra of local talent, and he came twice a day or oftener, to report progress or ask counsel. The tan shoes, whose excessively pointed toes betrayed that probably they were as old, if not older than Jerry himself, but which in Jerry’s estimation were synonymous with unpretentious elegance, appeared so frequently that the razor-like tips began to look somewhat scarred and battered, as if they might perhaps retire from active service in ten years’ time, or so. But the tan shoes were not Jerry’s only concession to the social amenities. An unwonted attention was given to grimy knuckles and finger-nails. More than once he made his appearance with his usually frowsy hair as sleek as the coat of a water rat, and dripping, in further likeness to the animal mentioned. Peggy, whose original interest in Jerry had been intensified by the favorable impression he had made on Graham, hailed these signs of awakening with satisfaction, and laid plans to bring about still more startling changes.
The little comedy did not require much in the way of scenery. But to present even a simple home scene on the schoolhouse platform, necessitated considerable planning, to say nothing of hard work. Arrangements were made for extra benches to put back of the battered desks, for the Weekly Arena had exhibited a noble determination to earn the two complimentary tickets, and Peggy felt sure of a full house. Farmer Cole had agreed to lend Joe for the important day, and it looked as if the hired man would not find his post a sinecure.