It was probably through her that the accounts of their ability were noised abroad, and on the night of the play there was a great rush for seats. The president herself was there and many of the faculty. Professor Green had a front balcony seat looking straight down on the stage.
“Goodness, but I’m scared!” exclaimed Molly, peeping through the hole in the curtain at the large assembly.
“Heaven help us all,” groaned Nance, dressed as an attendant of the Duke.
“Don’t talk like that,” Judy admonished them. “We must make it go off all right. Molly, don’t you forget and be too solemn. Your part calls for much merriment, as the notes in the book said.”
“Don’t you be so dictatorial,” said Nance, under her breath, hoping instantly that Judy, in a high state of nerves and excitement, had not heard her.
When the seniors began thumping on the floor with their heels and the sophomores commenced clapping, Molly’s mind became a vacuum. Not even the first line of her part could she recall.
At last the curtain went up and the play began. She had no idea how Judy had conducted herself. A girl near her said:
“She certainly had an awful case of stage fright, but she’ll be all right in the next act.”
The words had no meaning to Molly, and she sat like a frozen image in the wings until Nance touched her on the shoulder and whispered:
“Hurry up.”