“Do I know Lear? I was nursed on Shakespeare. My mother knew the plays by heart, and used to recite ’em all over. Mr. Farson says he’ll get me a boy’s part in the last act. Five lines—but you’ll see how I’ll make ’em hum!”
Just then Farson came up to them out of the darkness of the auditorium, and nodded to the girl, who presently slipped off.
“So you know Miss Delacourt?” Brainard observed.
“Of course! Everybody about the place knows Louisiana. Queer little piece, isn’t she? Slangy and fresh, but she knows how to handle herself. . . . It’s pretty rotten!” he remarked cheerfully, glancing at the stage.
“Just what Louisiana said.”
“I guess she knows!”
Brainard and the secretary thereupon went out to lunch, and tried to forget their troubles.
VI
At last, amid turmoil and excitement, the opening day came. Brainard and Farson had been at the theater since early morning, doing what they could to bring order out of chaos. About lunch time MacNaughton rushed up to them, his face white with excitement.
“A telegram from Miss Leroy!” he gasped. “Doctor thinks she’s got appendicitis. She’s got Einsteinitis, all right,—that’s what is the matter with her! We can’t raise an actress in New York who knows Cordelia’s lines, let alone having rehearsed it. We’ll have to postpone the opening!”