The act continued, and admiration grew apace. When at length the act reached its close there was a faint but spontaneous outburst of applause from the almost empty theater.
"Well, what do you think of Madge?" asked Mrs. Scharndorst, waylaying the coach on his progress down the aisle.
"Oh, she'll do! There's a lot there to improve, though.—Strike for the second act—drinking scene!" This last uttered in a shout as he rushed on down to the stage. Not very fulsome praise, to be sure, but Mrs. Scharndorst knows her man, and is satisfied. Indeed, she respects him the more for not being fulsome.
So do the other members of the cast and chorus; at least, if they do respect him, it cannot be for the enthusiasm of his approval. His demeanor, as he stands there on a chair in the orchestra pit, shouting directions to his minions, is not indicative of very profound satisfaction with the progress of the rehearsal.
"Thompson! If you're going to use your spot on Polly's entrance, for Heaven's sake keep it on her face and not on her feet! I didn't see a thing but her shoes then ... No, you there, that table way down front—so, and oh, Mrs. Smith! is that Tilman's idea of a costume for an old woman, middle class?... I thought so ... no, I'm afraid not! That train might be quite suitable for a duchess, but it won't do for a robber's wife. You see Miss Banks about it, will you please?... Mr. Barnaby! I want to get you and Miss Elliston to go through the business of that Pretty Polly song once again—you're both as stiff as pokers still.... No, just the motions. No, stand on both feet and keep your chest out while you're singing your part, and when she comes in, 'Fondly, fondly,' you half turn round, so—so that when she falls back on your arm she'll have a chance to show more than her chin to the audience.... No, I think I'll have you wait till the encore before you kiss her—it looks flat if you do it too often, and by the bye, Mr. Barnaby, will you make an appointment with Mrs. Adams for to-morrow to get up a dance for that prison scene—'How happy could I be with either'.... Four o'clock—all right.... What song?"
This last is in answer to an inquiry from Miss Elliston.
"Oh, of course—'Can love be controlled by advice'.... Come down here and we'll talk it over. Careful, step in the middle of that chair and you'll be all right ... there!" And Miss Elliston and the great man sit down companionably in the places belonging respectively to the oboe and the trombone, just as though they had been friends from earliest youth.
If there is one thing we despise, it is transparent roguishness on the part of an author. Let us hasten to admit, then, that the coach is none other than our friend Harry; a Harry not changed a particle, really, from his undergraduate days, though a Harry, to be sure, in whom the passage of five years has effected certain important developments. Such, for instance, as having become able to coach an amateur production of a musical show. These will be described and accounted for, all in good time. The story cannot be everywhere at once.
"About that song ... I know nothing about music, of course, but it struck me to-night that that was rather a good tune—one of the best in the show.... It may have been the singing, of course."
"Not a bit of it—it's a ripping tune!—Let's see what the trombone part for it looks like.... There isn't any—just those little thingumbobs. Oh, the accompaniment is all on the strings, of course; I forgot."