“It would take days to do it!” said Mrs. Carr, with a groan.
Zelda lay back on the pillows and pressed the camphor-soaked handkerchief to her nose.
“That’s the only way out of it that I see. If Olive will trade with me, I think I can go ahead; but I can’t do the work of my own part. Gretchen is on the stage all the time. You’d better telephone Professor Schmidt at once. He can have a rehearsal with Olive; but you’d better go to see her. She’s at home to-day,—the Thanksgiving vacation has begun. If she’ll do it—and you tell her she must—I’ll try to take her part.”
“But it can’t be done,—so suddenly,—the change will throw all the rest out.”
Mrs. Carr threw up her hands helplessly.
“Please don’t make me feel any worse,” begged Zelda, piteously. “I’m ever so sorry on your account. And I’ll do the best I can,—honestly I will. And do find Olive and tell her to come over and see me. Tell her to bring her Christine dresses with her. We’ll have to trade costumes and make them suit.”
Mrs. Carr rose as one who will not bow to circumstances.
“For heaven’s sake, don’t fail me! I shall be utterly ruined if we don’t make this go some way.”
“I know,—I know,—I shall certainly be on hand, if they have to bring me in a box,”—and Zelda sighed and coughed again as though her dissolution were imminent.
Mrs. Carr brought Olive back and dropped her at the Dameron door with solemn injunctions to be sure that Zelda was produced at the Athenæum at seven o’clock; then she went with her troubles to Professor Schmidt.