Jaffer was saying as they rolled in: “There’s no telling in advance what Chicago’s going to do to us. New York stood for this rotten show for a whole season; Chicago may be too wise for us. I hope so. It’s a ghastly town. The Lake winds are death to a delicate throat. I always lose my voice control in Chicago.”
With Jaffer the success he was in was always a proof of the stupidity of the public. In his unending reminiscences, which he ran serially in the smoking-room like another Arabian Nights, the various failures he had met were variously described. Those in which he had had a good part were “over the heads of the swine”; those in which he had shone dimly were “absolutely the worst plays ever concocted, my boy—hopeless from the start. How even a manager could fail to see it in the script I can’t for the life of me imagine.”
Old Jim Crumb said: “Chicago is a far better judge of a play than New York is. Chicago’s got a mind of her own. She’s the real metropolis. The critics have got a heart; they appreciate honest effort. If they don’t like you they say so fairly, without any of the brutality of New York.” Crumb’s last appearance in Chicago had been in a highly successful play.
Tuell stopped groaning long enough to growl: “Don’t you believe it! Chicago’s jealous of New York, and the critics have got their axes out for anything that bears the New York stamp. If they don’t like you, they lynch you—that’s all, they just lynch you.” Tuell’s last appearance there had been with a failure.
Eldon felt little interest in the matter one way or another. He had been snubbed in his romance. The other rôle he played would never be dignified even by a tap of the critical bludgeon. He was tired of the stage.
And then the opportunity he had prayed for fell at his feet, after he had ceased to pray for it.
The play opened on a Sunday night. It was Eldon’s first performance of a play on the Sabbath. He rather expected something to come through the roof. But the play went without a mishap. The applause was liberal, and the next morning’s notices were enthusiastic.
Sheila was picked out for especial praise. The leading woman, Miss Zelma Griffen, was slighted. She was very snappy to Sheila, which added the final touch to Sheila’s rapture.
Old Jaffer was complimented and remembered, and now he was loud in the praises of the town, the inspiring, bracing ozone from the Lake, and his splendid hotel. Jim Crumb’s bit as a farmer was mentioned, and his previous appearance recalled with “regret that he had not more opportunity to reveal his remarkable gifts of characterization.”