Sheila was late at the rehearsal the next morning, and so dejected that she hardly felt regret at hearing Vickery tell her how many of her favorite scenes had to be omitted because they were not essential. Vickery held command of the company with the plucky misery of a Napoleon retreating from his Moscow.
When this rehearsal was over the director told Sheila that she need not stay to rehearse the next week’s bill, since Reben had asked him to release her from further work. He had telegraphed to New York for a woman who had played the same part with great success, and received answer that she would be able to step in without inconvenience. Sheila was dolefully relieved. She felt that she could never have learned another rôle. She felt almost grateful to Reben. “My brain has stopped,” she told Pennock; “just stopped.”
The Tuesday afternoon matinée was always the worst of the week. The heat was like a persecution. The actors played havoc with cues and lines, and the suffocated audience was too indifferent to know or care.
After the performance Vickery was so lost to hope that he grew sardonic. He said with a tormented smile:
“It’s a pity Reben didn’t stay over. If he had seen how badly this performance went he would have sworn that the play would run a year on his dear damned Broadway. I’m going to telegraph him so.”
Tuesday night the house was again poor, though better than at the matinée. The company settled down into harness like draught-horses beginning a long pull. The laughter was feeble and not focused. It was indeed so scattered that the voice of one man was audible above the rest.
Out of the silences or the low murmurs of laughter resounded the gigantic roars of this single voice. People in the audience twisted about to see who it was. The people on the stage were confused at first, and later amused. They also made more or less concealed efforts to place the fellow.
By and by the audience began to catch the contagion of his mirth. It laughed first at his laughter, and then at the play. During the third act the piece was going so well that it was impossible to pick out any individual noise.
After the last curtain a number of townspeople went back on the stage to tell Sheila how much they liked the play, and especially her work. They had read the glowing criticisms in the morning and evening papers. They had not heard what Reben had said of what Broadway would say. They would not have cared. Broadway was suspect in Clinton.
These bouquets had the savor of artificial flowers to Sheila, but she enacted the rôle of gratitude to the best of her ability. Back of the knot surrounding her she saw Vickery standing with a towering big fellow evidently waiting to be presented. Then she saw Eldon shaking hands with the stranger.