When the last notes died away, Balcomb stepped out at the director’s nod and began the answering song. Balcomb usually amused Morris; but the fellow struck upon him discordantly now. Zelda was laughing at Balcomb’s antics as he began to sing with fervor and a real sense of the dramatic requirements. As he neared the end, where Zelda and he sang together the duet that ended the first half of the opera, Zelda put up her hands, and he took them, gazing into her eyes with a fine lover-like air. Their voices soared into the climax without a break, while the director threw himself into strange contortions as he struck the last bars leading to the high note which they gained and held perfectly.
The dress rehearsal was fixed for the next night.
“It simply can’t fail!” declared Mrs. Carr to Leighton. “Miss Dameron could carry it alone if every one else should break down.”
“That is altogether true,” said Morris. He was glaring at Balcomb, whose joy in being a member of the cast was hard to bear.
Copeland, the lawyer who never practised, joined Leighton and twitted him for appearing so gloomy. Copeland and his wife were on the committee that had Deceivers Ever in charge.
“I’ll give you anything I own, if you will tell me how I came to be on this committee,” said Copeland.
“It wouldn’t be right to take the money. It’s too easy. You’re in because Mrs. Carr asked you to be in,” replied Morris.
“Yes; and that damned Ogden boy has got typhoid fever, and I’m going to sing the raging father’s part. I’m an awful ass, Leighton. If there’s a larger or more industrious, hard-working ass anywhere than I am—” At this point Jack Balcomb made himself conspicuous by laughing out in a harsh discordant tone at something Herr Schmidt had said. “I take it all back,” said Copeland, sadly. “I’ll admit myself,—regretfully, but still I’ll admit,—that J. Arthur Balcomb can give me a big handicap and still beat me. At the risk of appearing unduly humble I’ll say that I never started in his class.”
CHAPTER XIV
AN ATTACK OF SORE THROAT
On the morning of the day set for the Dramatic Club’s most ambitious entertainment, Zelda Dameron lay in bed with blankets piled high about her and a piece of red flannel wrapped ostentatiously around her throat. For the first time since she came home she had failed to appear at the breakfast-table, and Polly climbed to her room and surveyed her critically.