Visiting set in when the plaudits ceased. People streamed out into the lobby, men came and hung over the orchestra chairs in which sat the ladies who had so afflicted little Anne.
Richard Latham’s box was besieged by acquaintances and newspaper men in search of first-hand information as to how he had come to write “The Guerdon,” what his idea was in producing a play so unlike the usual thing, what he should write next, and all the other big-little facts demanded by the public, which rightly sees biography as supremely important.
Ted Wilberforce had carried little Anne out to walk in the lobby, lifting her over the crowd.
“I’m afraid,” she said, seriously, as he set her down, “that people will not know that I was eight last month. It makes you look even less’n seven to be carried. But I thank you just the same, Mr. Wilberforce, and it’s nice to walk the kinks out, and a box is quite warm, though, of course, it sounds so.”
The curtain rose on the second act with everyone back in his seat. That alone proved how the play was taking.
This act closed on a peculiarly silent house. There were handkerchiefs fluttering against eyes which were not accustomed to moisten over sentiment so simple, so denuded of all but a direct appeal to the finest human ideals. “The Guerdon” voiced this appeal without much supplementary stage craft. The acting was perfect. This time with calls for the author came calls for the three principal actors.
“Oh, if I could see them! They speak the lines as if they were inspired!” sighed Richard, permitting himself to bemoan his blindness. But he did not respond to the calls for a speech from him.
“The third act is the test; I’ll try to say something after it, if it pleases them,” Richard told the delighted manager who made his impeded way into the poet’s box.
When the curtain fell on the third act, after a moment’s hush the applause was tempestuous, and this time there was no resisting the enthusiastic shouts of “Author! Speech! Author!”
Richard had not intended to resist his audience if it wanted him to talk after this act. He arose and patted little Anne’s shoulder in farewell.