Then there was a bit of commotion before it was actually faded—one of the supporting actors had been trained in Russian methods and thought he could improvise the rest of the play, about twelve minutes, so there were one or two odd lines spoken by him in this attempt before the scene jerkily faded to blackness. A short documentary film about tarpon fishing was put on to fill out the balance of the hour.
The only explanation was that the actress had been struck by insanity; but even so, front-office temper ran high.
On the following Sunday, the production, Tomorrow’s Light, took an unexpected turn while the leading actor, in the role of an amiable old physician, was in the midst of an emergency operation. His brow was knit in concern and high purpose, as the young nurse opposite watched his face intently for a sign.
“Dr. Lawrence,” she said, “do you ... do you think you can save Dr. Chester’s son?”
Without relaxing his features, the doctor smiled, a bit grimly it seemed, before raising his serious brown eyes to her own.
“I’m afraid it isn’t a question of saving him, Miss Nurse—I only wish it were—it’s a question of saving my dinner.”
The nurse evidenced a questioning look, just concealing the panic beneath it (for he had missed his cue!), so, laying aside his instruments, he continued, as in explanation:
“Yes, you see, I really think if I speak one more line of this drivel I’ll lose my dinner.” He nodded gravely at the table, “... vomit right into that incision I’ve made.” He slowly drew off his rubber gloves, regarding the astonished nurse as he did so with mild indignation.
“Perhaps that would be your idea of a pleasant Sunday evening, Miss Nurse,” he said reproachfully. “Sorry, it isn’t mine!” And he turned and strode off the set.
The third time something like this happened, the producer and sponsor were very nearly out of their minds. Of course they suspected that a rival company was tampering with the productions, bribing the actors and so on. Security measures were taken. Directors were fired right and left. Rehearsals were held behind locked doors, and there was an attempt to keep the actors under constant surveillance, but ... Grand always seemed to get in there somehow, with the old convincer.