“Marvelous!” Alison Lord exclaimed ironically. “Just wonderful! And I guess we’re just supposed to sit here and take it!”
“No, why should we?” Peggy rushed in with a sudden thought. “Why can’t we stop the case before it even gets to court?”
“Right!” Richard smiled at her. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do, Peggy. I’m flying up to Albany tonight to see the commissioner of education. But,” he said earnestly, “his decision may go against us, and you’ll all have to be prepared for that. That’s really why I’m here. If we can’t play in the school, we can’t play at all this year. I want to know if you’re willing to go on rehearsing on the slight chance that we’ll be able to open. I’ll probably be gone for several days, and you may be working for nothing. It’s up to you.”
A determined chorus of voices responded.
“Of course, we’ll work.”
“I want to go on.”
“We’ll open or else—”
“I’d like to meet this Max Slade—”
Mary Hopkins’ little voice trailed on after everyone else’s, “... and besides all the boxes of crackerjack, I see that the script calls for dozens of bunches of lilacs. I may be able to make them for you”—she faltered, a little embarrassed—“I—I’m kind of good with my hands.”
Everyone applauded, and Aunt Hetty came over to give her a hug. “Good girl, Mary. You sound like the other professionals.” She beamed at the cast, displaying an unexpected warmth, and then, as if remembering a role, barked gruffly, “Back to work, then!”