“Is Rand giving you as much trouble as that every day?”
“Trouble? My dear man, you’ve never rehearsed a woman star who had ideas about her art! Rand’s merely rather annoying, not troublesome. He’s got no brains so his idea is to imitate the man who played the part in London. And he’s never learned how to show all his looks, either. But very few Americans know how.”
Gurdy liked the director and spent several afternoons at the rehearsals. Cosmo Rand fretted him. The slight man was obdurate. He raced about the stage until Russell checked him. His legs, sheathed always in grey tweed, seemed fluid. The leading woman had an attack of tonsilitis and halted proceedings. It was during this lapse that Gurdy encountered Cosmo Rand in a hotel lounge and nodded. The actor stopped him, deferentially, “I say, I’m afraid poor Russell’s sick to death of me. I’m giving him a bit of trouble.” Gurdy found no answer. The actor fooled with his grey hat, rubbed his vivid nails on a cuff, corrected his moustache and said, “The fact is—I do most sincerely think that Russell’s wrong to drop all the English stage directions. Couldn’t you—suggest that Mr. Walling drop in to watch sometime when Miss Marryatt’s better and we’re rehearsing again?”
His soft, round bronze eyes were anxious. He spoke timidly, the rosy fingernails in a row on his lower lip. He was something frail and graceful, a figure from a journal of fashions. Gurdy wondered whether Cora Boyle ever assaulted her poor mate and smiled.
“Mr. Walling has a good deal of confidence in Russell’s judgment, Mr. Rand. But I’ll speak to him if you like.”
“I’d be most awf’ly grateful if you would, Mr. Bernamer. The play’s such a jolly thing and one would like to see it do well. Ronny Dufford’s rather a dear friend and—so very broke, you know?”
The rosy, trim creature seemed truly worried. Meeting Russell at the 45th Street office the next day, Gurdy told him that Rand’s heart was breaking. The director grimaced, patting his bald forehead.
“The little tyke’s worrying for fear he won’t get good notices. And if this rubbish should fluke into a success he’ll be made into a star. Have you ever observed the passion of the American public for second rate acting? Especially if it happens to have a slight foreign accent? Modjeska, Bandmann, Nazimova?—Well, Miss Marryatt’s all right again. We’ll rehearse some more tomorrow. Come and look on.”
Mark had gone to Fayettesville for a few days. Gurdy attended the morning rehearsal of “Todgers Intrudes.” Cosmo Rand trotted about the stage determinedly and Russell turned on Gurdy with a groan of, “This is beyond me. I’m getting ready to do murder. He’s throwing the whole thing out of key. I shall have to get your uncle to squash him.”
“I’m beginning to see why Mr. Carlson loathes actors so,” Gurdy whispered.