Behind the curtain she met the manager, smiling, and rubbing his hands in evident glee.
“My dear Miss Ford,” he said, “this is indeed a triumph.”
“The house is very full,” said Helen.
“And hundreds turned away; never was such a house seen.”
“I am very glad of it,” said Helen.
“So am I; let me see, this is Tuesday evening. Friday you shall have a benefit. One third of the receipts. It is only fair, since you have drawn this immense audience.”
Helen would have declined the offer, but for a sudden thought. When she first became connected with the theatre she noticed a thin fragile girl, who danced between the plays. The exertion was evidently too great for her, for she was often seized with a violent fit of coughing after withdrawing from the stage. For a fortnight Helen had missed her. On inquiry, she learned that Alice (this was her name) was sick. “Poor girl,” added the prompter, who was her informant, “it is a great misfortune, for she has an invalid sister who is dependent upon her for support. I am afraid she won’t get along very well, for her salary was small, and now it is cut off altogether.”
It occurred to Helen that she could give the proceeds of her benefit to Alice. She accordingly thanked Mr. Bowers, and accepted his proposal.
The week was a series of triumphs. Every evening the doors of the theatre were besieged, and every evening hundreds were turned away.
Friday evening,—the evening of her benefit,—Helen found the house fuller, if possible, than before, the manager had taken the opportunity, in consequence of the great demand for seats, to raise temporarily the price of admission. As he anticipated, this did not in the least diminish the throngs who crowded for admittance.