There was something else to it, too, Peggy thought, smiling secretly. Something that almost nobody outside of the theater knew. And it wasn’t such a bad idea to keep audiences in ignorance about it—otherwise their enjoyment might be lessened. The secret was that in many ways it was really easier to play a dramatic part than a comedy role. Comedy was the hardest thing of all.
Peggy suddenly saw Mr. Bladen, who was popping about on stage like a sprightly old bird, nodding with satisfaction at the set. The friendly woman Peggy had met on the street that morning had come with her husband, and they were speaking with Richard Wallace. She noticed Peggy and smiled, beckoning her to come and join their group.
“I’d like you to meet Mr. and Mrs. Cook, Peggy,” Richard said. “They’re interested in our theater and in some of the furniture we’re using this week.”
“Oh,” Peggy exclaimed. “Well, I met part of the family this morning.” She smiled at Mrs. Cook. “And if you’re interested in the pieces on stage, you might speak to Mr. Bladen. He’s here somewhere—”
“I noticed in the program that he loaned the couch,” Mr. Cook said. “We think it’s such a beautiful piece that we’d be very interested in buying it.”
“Well, wait a minute, and I’ll find him for you.” Peggy beamed and hurried away. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if the theater could be of assistance to Mr. Bladen, too! She found him behind a flat, looking curiously at a prop table and, pinned above it, the list of scenes in which the things were used.
“Neat. Very neat,” Mr. Bladen said. “Haven’t been backstage since I was a boy. It smells wonderful!”
Peggy laughed. She knew exactly what he meant. There was a very special aroma about backstage. It had a hint of glue, paint, make-up, and even the peculiar, musty odor of ropes and pulleys.
“I think you’ve sold your chaise longue,” Peggy told him happily. “That is, if you’re interested in selling it!” She brought him back to meet the Cooks, and soon all were engrossed in a discussion of antiques. Peggy saw that it might indeed be a fruitful night for Mr. Bladen. When the boys returned the props and furniture after Angel Street was over, maybe they would be willing to clean up Mr. Bladen’s shop a bit. It was little enough to do in return for the things he had lent them. Peggy made a mental note to remind Michael and his friends.
The audiences for the rest of the week were uniformly small. Either people were going to the movie instead of the play, as Max Slade had hoped, or his comments about the company were having their effect. The absence of anything in the paper except their own advertisements was keeping people away, too. If only Ford Birmingham would break down and come to the theater, Peggy thought!