The itinerary of the day included a change of trains and an eventual arrival at no less—and no more—a place than Sheboygan.
There they found a county fair in progress and the hotels packed. Decent rooms were not to be had at any price. It took much beseeching even to secure a shelter in a sample-room filled with long tables for drummers to display their wares on. They waited like mendicants for luncheon in an overcrowded dining-room where over-driven waitresses cowed the timorous guests. Sheila had not time to finish her luncheon before she must hurry away to a rehearsal. Bret left his and went with her, racing along the streets and growling:
“Why is Reben such a fool as to play in towns like this?”
“He has to play somewhere, honey, to whip the play into shape,” Sheila panted.
“Well, he’s whipping you out of shape.”
“I don’t mind, dearest. It’s fun to me. It’s all part of the business.”
“Well, I want you to get out of the business. It’s unfit for a decent woman.”
“Oh—honey!”
It was a feeble little wail from a great hurt. Plainly Bret would never comprehend the majestic qualities of her art, or realize that its inconveniences were no more than the minor hardships of an army on a great campaign.