Peggy read with mounting conviction and assurance.

PEGGY LANE THEATER STORIES

Peggy on the Road

By VIRGINIA HUGHES

Illustrated by Sergio Leone

GROSSET & DUNLAP Publishers
NEW YORK

© GROSSET & DUNLAP, INC., 1963
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

CONTENTS

1 [The Break of a Lifetime] 1 2 [Katherine Nelson] 16 3 [The Inner Sanctum] 30 4 [“Innocent Laughter”] 41 5 [Tryouts] 52 6 [“Why Don’t You Quit?”] 66 7 [Peggy Turns Detective] 76 8 [The Search] 86 9 [The One-Eyed Giant] 103 10 [Tom Agate] 114 11 [A Star Comes Back] 125 12 [Tom’s Tryout] 139 13 [The Ordeal] 148 14 [The Secret] 157 15 [“Curtain Going Up!”] 170

PEGGY ON THE ROAD

I
The Break of a Lifetime

With a grateful sigh Peggy Lane lowered her aching feet into the delicious warmth of a dishpan filled with hot water, bath crystals, and Epsom salts. In other rooms exactly like hers throughout the big brownstone house near New York’s Gramercy Park, half a dozen hopeful, equally tired, but determined young girls about Peggy’s age were doing the same thing.

At the Gramercy Arms, a rooming house for young actresses in the middle of Manhattan, this was a daily ritual known lightheartedly as the “cocktail hour.”

Peggy sighed a second time, wiggled her toes in the steamy water, and flopped back on the studio couch.

“What a life,” she murmured darkly.

As if in answer to her complaint, the lights of New York began coming on. One by one, they twinkled through her window, throwing a spangle of diamonds across her dressing-table mirror.

New York had been home for a year now, but the big city never failed to thrill her—especially at dusk. Without taking her feet from the water, Peggy turned to one side and gazed at a few faint tinges of red in the west where the sunset was fighting a losing battle with the fabulous illumination of the New York skyline.

Propping a meditative chin in her hand, Peggy watched the magic spectacle of Manhattan change gradually from a bustling city of towering gray buildings and concrete canyons into the jeweled finery of a million lights. It was like the shimmering moment in the fairy tale when the drab little kitchen maid turns into a beautiful princess. Or at least that was the way Peggy always thought of it.

Once, when she was still new in New York, she had made the mistake of trying to explain all this to a very serious young man who was a second-year student at a nearby college. The young man had stared at her uncomfortably for a moment, then changed the subject. But Peggy wasn’t disturbed. She was fond of her own version, even though she knew it was hopelessly romantic.

Well, why not? Half-lying on the bed with her feet stuck into what was now a lukewarm basin of water, she was convinced that she was right and he was wrong. She thought of the young man’s earnest face and broke into a grin. Despite herself she laughed out loud.

The cheerful sound filled the darkening room. Paddling her feet happily in the water, she threw her head back against the pillow and sighed a third time.

“What a life!” She breathed ecstatically. Suddenly full of vitality again, she sat up and leveled a pair of clear hazel eyes over the city, now throbbing with the muted sounds of early evening traffic. “New York,” she announced in a grave voice to the open window and empty room, “you don’t care about me right now. You’ve never even heard of me. But some day you will. You’ll see!”

It was quite a dramatic speech for her to make, but then Peggy Lane was very young and very determined to become a great actress.

Outside her window, the city took the news of Peggy’s intended conquest calmly. Somewhere a lone taxicab gave a derisive toot on its horn as it squealed to a stop to pick up a fare. Peggy mentally stuck out her tongue at the driver and settled back to make plans for tomorrow. But before she could get really comfortable, an enthusiastic spatter of applause came from the doorway.

“I declare, honey,” drawled a familiar voice, “that’s the prettiest speech I ever did hear. You always talk to yourself in the dark like that?”

Light flooded the room, and Peggy saw her friend, Amy Shelby Preston, framed in the door. Amy, a striking ash blonde and a product of Pine Hollow, North Carolina, had been pulled to New York by the same magnet that had drawn Peggy. The two girls had met on their first day in the city, liked each other on sight, and decided to room together this year.

Peggy struggled to a sitting position and blushed furiously. “I—I was just going over some lines for a play,” she explained lamely.

Amy flashed her a knowing smile as she went over to a tiny sink hidden from the rest of the room by a Japanese screen. “What’s the name of the play?” she asked. “Stage-Struck?”

Peggy bunched up a throw pillow, but Amy raised her hands in surrender. “Don’t shoot,” she pleaded. “You heave that thing at me and I’ll never get up, I’m that tired.”

Peggy hitched herself to the edge of the studio couch and began to towel her legs vigorously. “You relax,” she ordered. “I’ll fix everything.”

Amy collapsed wearily on the bed, content to watch Peggy wait on her. “Well?” Peggy demanded eagerly. Amy had just finished a job filming a television commercial for the Bob Jordan show. “Did you get to meet Bob Jordan?”

Amy threw back her head and laughed. “Bob Jordan’s already done the show in Hollywood. It’s just the commercial they’re doing in New York.”

“But doesn’t he want to see it?” Peggy asked as she poured bath crystals into Amy’s dishpan.

Amy shook her head. “Not this one. Even if he wanted to, he’d never be able to find the studio.” Studio space in New York was at a premium, and as a result, many television commercials were filmed in the most unlikely places.

Peggy laughed. “Where’d they do it?”

“You won’t believe this,” Amy said wonderingly, “but I don’t know. I couldn’t find it again for worlds. All I know is that I had to take a subway for hours and then a bus till I got to the end of the line. Finally I had to wait for a Transcontinental Broadcasting Company car to pick me up and take me to something that looked like a converted garage way out at the end of Brooklyn.”

“I know the place,” Peggy interrupted. “That’s the Greenside Studio. I did an audition there once. It’s a converted stable.”

“It’s still a stable as far as I’m concerned,” Amy replied. She hugged her arms closer to her body. “Brrr! Was it ever cold!”

“Get into something warm,” Peggy urged. She looked at Amy critically. “Why did you wear that thin dress? You know what those television studios are like.”

“It’s the best dress I own,” Amy said as she rummaged through her closet. “I wanted to make an impression.”

Peggy shook her head and tossed over a bulky woolen bathrobe. “Here, take this,” she commanded. “It belongs to my cousin David, but I borrowed it. And hurry up! I want to hear what happened.”

“Well, that’s what I’m trying to tell you, honey,” Amy said as she struggled out of her dress. “But you just won’t give me a chance.”

Peggy sat down and tucked her legs under her. “All right, go on,” she said patiently. “I’m listening.”

“Well, first of all,” Amy said, poking a tentative foot into the dishpan on the floor, “it was only a thirty-second commercial. My, that feels good. I declare, I’m ten degrees warmer already.” She looked around vaguely. “Now where was I....”

“You were saying it was only a thirty-second spot.”

“That’s right. With General Refrigerator sponsoring the Bob Jordan show, I counted on having a couple of lines to say. Something like, ‘Oh, Edna! I’ve got the most exciting news! General Refrigerators now come in a whole sunburst of dreamy colors from pastel pink to leafy green!’” Amy dropped the rapturous look on her face and stared solemnly over at Peggy. “You know the kind of thing they make you say.”

Peggy nodded wordlessly.

“Anyway,” Amy went on, “soon as I got there, they sent me over to make-up. I got in the chair, closed my eyes, and waited for them to put cold cream over my face.”

“Never mind that,” Peggy said, “get on with the rest of it!”

“But that’s the important part!” Amy protested. “That’s when I knew it was the beginning of the end!”

“Goodness,” Peggy said. “It sounds serious. What happened when you had your eyes closed?”

“I heard somebody tell me to stick out my arm.”

“What!”

“It’s the living truth, honey. Honestly, I thought they were going to give me a vaccination or something. But then the make-up girl rubbed cream on my hand and took the polish off my fingernails. When she was through, I asked if she wasn’t going to do anything else, and she said no. She said I was ready to go on camera.”

“But only your arm was made up?”

Amy nodded emphatically. “Up to my elbow.”

“Then what was your part in the commercial?”

“A hand!” Amy wailed. She looked as though she were about to burst into tears. “I played the part of a hand on the Bob Jordan commercial. All they wanted me to do was open the refrigerator door!” Amy thumped the couch in frustration. “Here I thought they wanted an actress who could read lines and all, and all they wanted was a hand! Why, anybody with five fingers could have done it!” She paused and looked sheepishly at Peggy. “Oh, Peggy, I’m so ashamed!”

Peggy jumped up and went over to her roommate. “Whatever for?” she asked. “It was just a job.”

Amy shook her head and blinked. “You don’t understand—Oh, Peggy!”

“Come on, now,” Peggy soothed. “Tell me the whole story.”

Amy sat perfectly still for a moment, trying to fight back the tears. Suddenly both tears and story came out in a rush. “When I first heard about getting a part in the commercial”—Amy gulped—“I got all excited. I wrote home and told Mama to watch me on the Bob Jordan show.”

Suddenly Peggy understood. She knew Pine Hollow, North Carolina, was a tiny place. Amy’s mother was almost sure to tell everyone about her daughter’s big television debut. Next week at air time, half the population would be glued in front of their sets, waiting to see Amy’s face.

“Everyone will be looking for me,” Amy went on mournfully. “And all they’re going to see is my—my hand! What am I going to tell them?”

“The truth,” Peggy said simply.

Amy looked up in despair. “Oh, I couldn’t!” she breathed. “Mama would be the laughingstock of Pine Hollow.” Another thought seemed to strike her. “Oh, my goodness!” she wailed.

“What’s the matter now?”

“Daddy!” Amy cried, jumping to her feet. “What’s he going to say? You know Daddy wasn’t too keen on my coming to New York in the first place.”

Peggy smiled, remembering the endless discussions that had gone on in her own family. “Fathers are funny that way,” she observed.

Amy threw her a trapped look. “You don’t have any idea! He’s always thought my wanting to be an actress was silly. What’s he going to say now?”

An idea began working in Peggy’s mind. Grinning mischievously, she scrambled to her feet and held out her hands. “Don’t tell me,” she begged. “Let me guess.” Clasping her hands firmly behind her back, Peggy started to pace back and forth. Her usually cheerful face was lined with a severe scowl.

Amy burst into laughter at the sight and collapsed back on top of her bed. “Oh, Peggy! Daddy doesn’t look like that at all. He’s really much nicer.”

Peggy raised a hand threateningly. “Quiet!” she thundered in her best imitation of a man’s voice.

Amy subsided obediently. “Yes, sir,” she said meekly.

Peggy cleared her throat and rumbled ahead. “This is disgraceful,” she intoned. “Here my daughter has spent a year in New York. She’s gone to dramatic school and she’s been in summer stock. What does she have to show for it, eh? I ask you.” Peggy gave a fierce tug on an imaginary mustache. “One year of solid work and the best she can do is to play the part of a hand on a television commercial!” Peggy stomped down to the far end of the room. “A hand!” She snorted. “If it’s taken her a year to get her hand on a television show, how long d’you suppose it’ll take to get the rest of her on? Eh? I ask you!”

Peggy wanted to continue, but Amy was laughing too hard. “You’re almost right.” Amy gasped between giggles. “Only he’d never come right out and say it like that.”

“Then why don’t you do it yourself?” Peggy cried gaily.

“Me?” Amy seemed astonished by the idea.

“Sure,” Peggy said eagerly. “Tell them exactly what happened, but treat the whole thing as a joke. Get them on your side.” Peggy sat down beside Amy and spoke seriously. “I really mean it, Amy,” she said. “If you laugh about it, they will too. And besides,” she added, “they’ll admire you for your determination.”

Amy looked at her hopefully. “You think so?”

“Of course,” Peggy assured her.

Amy began giggling again.

“Now what?”

“I just thought of something Daddy once said to me. He said the important thing was to get my foot in the door. Now I can tell him that maybe I haven’t got my foot in yet, but at least my hand’s there.”

The two girls laughed together. “That’s the spirit!” Peggy chuckled. “Don’t give up the ship! That’ll be our motto!”

“Rah! Rah! Rah!” Amy cheered, applauding excitedly.

“Sssh!” Peggy cautioned. “We’re making too much noise.”

“You sure are,” came a resonant voice from the door. “When does the plane leave for Hollywood?”

“Hollywood?” Amy asked blankly, whirling around to stare at the commanding figure before her.

May Berriman closed the door and advanced into the room. Years ago, May had been a successful character actress on Broadway, but when she had left the stage she had taken over the management of the Gramercy Arms. The girls who stayed at the Gramercy Arms were, for the most part, struggling young actresses like Peggy and Amy. With her wide knowledge of the theater and her vast common sense, May was more than just a landlady to “her girls.” She was almost a second mother to them, presiding over their hopes and fears, their triumphs and failures, their good times and their squabbles with an even-handed justice that combined equal doses of a sharp tongue and a soft heart.

May picked her way through the clutter of the girls’ room and sat down on Peggy’s bed. Peggy never tired of watching May’s movements. They were so unconsciously graceful, so sure and poised. They were, Peggy knew, the result of years of training and hard, disciplined work.

“Of course,” May was saying to Amy, “from the hall you two sounded like the cheering section at a football game. I couldn’t imagine what had happened. I was sure it was a Hollywood screen test at the very least.”

“Not yet.” Peggy smiled. “That’s a long way off.”

Amy looked out the window dreamily. “You never can tell,” she said hopefully. “Why, the phone could ring any minute!” She turned to May for support. “Isn’t that true?” she demanded. “A big producer can see you one day and the next day you’re out in Hollywood. It happens all the time.”

“Only in your imagination, dear,” May said dryly. “I’d advise you not to hold your breath until that phone call comes. Oh, by the way,” she added, turning to Peggy, “somebody tried to get you about an hour ago.”

Peggy straightened up. “Was there a message?” she asked.

May shook her head. “No message, but she left a name.”

“Oh. A she?”

An amused smile softened May’s face. “I hope it’s not too much of a shock. It was a girl named Pam Mundy. She said she knew you from summer stock.”

“Pam!” Peggy cried excitedly. “I had no idea she was in New York. What fun! Is she going to call back?”

“She said she’d get in touch with you this evening. Is she an actress?”

“Not really,” Peggy said. “She’s more interested in the production end. She saw some of our shows up at Lake Kenabeek last summer, and often discussed the problems with Richard Wallace, our producer.”

“A lady producer!” Amy exclaimed in surprise. “I thought all producers were men.”

“Most of them are,” May said. “But there’s no law against a girl trying it.”

“Maybe she’s doing a show,” Amy cried suddenly, “and she’s got a part in it for you.”

Before Peggy could answer, the buzzer over their door let out a squawk. “Telephone!” Amy breathed, hurling herself at the door. “Who’s it for?” she yelled down the hall. Each floor of the Gramercy Arms was serviced by a single telephone shared by all the girls on the floor.

“For Peggy!” came the answer. “It’s a man!”

“Well, at least we know it isn’t Pam Mundy,” Peggy said, as she drew on her bathrobe.

“It’s probably Randy,” Amy said.

Peggy nodded and disappeared into the corridor. Randy was Randolph Clark Brewster. Peggy had met him when she first came to New York and had been seeing him ever since. In the early days he had more or less taken her under his wing and had guided her first faltering steps in that actor’s nightmare known as “the rounds.”

Doing the rounds meant mapping out a systematic campaign of personally seeing every producer, actor’s agent, and casting director in town. It was tedious, foot-wearying work, but it was necessary. Peggy learned soon enough that you couldn’t simply send a picture and a note, and then sit back, and expect the calls to come in. You had to keep knocking on doors, reminding people of your existence, hoping that sooner or later somebody would remember you and say, “Why don’t we try that girl who was in here this morning? She might be right for the part.”

She still remembered the morning she had made her first rounds with Randy. They had agreed to meet outside the Gramercy Arms at eight-thirty. Right on the dot, she saw Randy’s tall, lanky figure swing along the sidewalk, move toward her, and stop in undisguised dismay.

In her eagerness to make a good impression, Peggy had put on a dress that was far too sophisticated for her. She had plastered make-up all over her face, complete with mascara, and covered her eyelids with a heavy film of dark green, which she fancied went well with her coloring and dark chestnut hair.

Randy took one look and shook his head. “No, Peggy. That won’t do at all,” he had said gently.

“Why not?” Peggy had replied. “You said the important thing was for them to notice me.”

Randy tried to cover up a grin by rubbing a hand over his jaw. “They’ll notice you all right,” he said. “In fact, they’ll never forget you.” He took her hand and led her up the steep steps of the brownstone house. “Let’s go inside and sit down awhile,” he suggested.

Peggy followed him obediently to the tiny sitting room off the entrance hall. She listened carefully as Randy told her how important it was to let her fresh young beauty speak for itself. He explained that she was not yet ready to play sophisticated, older women, and that it was useless to try. He got her to go upstairs, rub off the make-up, and change into a simpler dress. At first Peggy had been furious, but later she learned that he was right.

Now Peggy hurried eagerly down the corridor. It would be good to talk to Randy again. She picked up the telephone. “Hello.”

A man’s voice came from the other end. It wasn’t Randy. “Hello. Is this Miss Peggy Lane?”

“Speaking.”

“My name is Peter Grey. I’m with the Oscar Stalkey office. Miss Pam Mundy suggested I give you a ring.”

Peggy caught her breath. Oscar Stalkey was one of the biggest producers in New York. His new play, Innocent Laughter, had opened to rave reviews a few weeks earlier. Already it was impossible to get tickets. Everyone in New York wanted to see it.

“Yes?” Peggy answered in a shaking voice.

“Well, it’s quite simple, really.” The voice went on in a matter-of-fact tone. “We’re getting ready to cast the road companies of Innocent Laughter, and Miss Mundy suggested you for a general understudy. There’d also be a small speaking part. It’s a national tour and you’d be expected to sign for a minimum of six months. Will you be available?”

For a moment Peggy couldn’t speak. She just sat and stared helplessly at the telephone two inches from her nose.

“Hello, hello?” came the voice from the other end. “Are you still there?”

“Yes,” Peggy said in a voice she didn’t recognize.

“We’re trying out a number of people tomorrow. Can you be at the Stalkey office at ten?”

“At ten,” Peggy repeated mechanically.

“Yes. Then we can expect you?”

“Oh, yes,” Peggy said. “I’ll—I’ll be there.”

“Thanks. Good-by.”

The phone went dead in her hand. It took Peggy several seconds to lift the receiver back into its cradle.

“Innocent Laughter!” she murmured to herself. “Me, in Innocent Laughter!” Suddenly she couldn’t stand it another minute. She raced back to her room at the far end of the hall, laughing as she ran. If she could land the part, it was the break of a lifetime!

II
Katherine Nelson

It took a touch of May’s common sense to bring Peggy back to reality. “You don’t have the part yet,” she cautioned. “So don’t count on it.”

“Oh, but, May,” Amy protested, “why else would they call her? I’m sure Peggy’s got it.”

“Did he come right out and make you an offer?” May asked.

“No,” Peggy admitted. “He said they were interviewing a number of girls tomorrow. That’s all.”

“Well, then,” May said. “You see?”

“I don’t care,” Amy declared stoutly. “This it still the biggest break either one of us has had in a year.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t,” May said. “I’m just trying to get Peggy to realize what she’s up against. Nobody’s going to hand her that part on a silver platter. She’s got to go in there tomorrow and earn it.”

Peggy moved nervously to the window and pulled back the curtain. “If only I knew a little more about the play,” she murmured. “I don’t even know what kind of a part I’m supposed to try out for.” She walked over to her bed and sat down despairingly. “I should have asked when I had the chance, but I guess I was too excited. I didn’t even think!”

“Now, now,” May said soothingly. “Don’t work yourself up into a fit. How much do you know about Innocent Laughter?”

“Nothing,” Peggy said dispiritedly. “Absolutely nothing except that it’s the biggest hit of the season.”

“What time is it?” Amy cried suddenly. “Maybe we could see it tonight!”

“Not a chance,” May said emphatically. “You wouldn’t be able to get tickets.”

“Standing room?” Amy suggested hopefully.

May looked at her watch and shook her head. “Too late.”

“Oh dear!” Peggy started to get up, but May pushed her firmly back down on the studio couch.

“You sit down, young lady,” she ordered. “There’s no point in worrying about something you can’t help. Besides, I think I can give you some idea of the play.”

“You can?” Peggy cried eagerly. “Oh, May, you’re an angel!”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” May said. “Just sit back and listen.” Peggy and Amy settled down obediently and waited.

“First of all,” May began, “Innocent Laughter has only four parts for women.” She ticked them off one by one. “There’s the lead, a brilliantly successful career woman living in New York, who decides one day to try to recapture her youth. Then there’s a wonderful part—the woman’s mother, a shrewd old gal who’s made a fortune in real estate out West, and who hasn’t seen her daughter in years. The third big part is the career woman’s daughter. She’s a young girl who’s been sent to finishing school in Europe, and hasn’t seen her mother in years, except for brief vacations.” May looked around inquiringly. “All clear so far?”

“You mean there are three generations—the grandmother, the mother, and the daughter?” Amy asked.

May nodded. “You’ve got the picture.”

“What happened to all the men?” Peggy asked.

“Ah, now we’re getting to it,” May said. “The grandfather—that’s the old gal’s husband—disappeared years ago. He left home because he said he couldn’t stand his wife’s domineering ways. The mother’s husband is dead, and the daughter, of course, doesn’t have any husband yet.”

“How about the story?” Amy demanded. “What’s that all about?”

“The situation is simple,” May explained. “The three generations meet in New York. The grandmother wants a last fling. She’s after good times and plenty of them. The mother, as I’ve said, is trying to find romance again.”

“And the young daughter?” Amy asked.

May shrugged. “The daughter isn’t sure what she wants. She’s in a sort of experimental mood about life. Very young, very sweet, and full of vitality.”

“What happens after they all get together?” Amy asked.

“Oh, they make a mess of everything,” May said. “Things go from bad to worse until suddenly, out of the blue, who should turn up but the grandfather!”

“The one who disappeared years ago!” Amy said.

“Right,” said May.

“What’s he been doing all those years?”

“Oh, this and that,” May replied airily. “He’s been knocking around the world a good deal and making a lot of money. Anyway, he walks in on the three women and takes over. He straightens out the mother’s life, saves the young daughter from marrying a dull man, and makes his wife fall in love with him all over again.”

“It sounds like a great part,” Peggy remarked.

“Doesn’t it?” May agreed. “Anyway, that’s about all there is to it. Not a second Hamlet, I’ll admit, but a good, solid comedy.”

“Wait a minute,” Amy interrupted. “You’ve only mentioned three women. Who’s the fourth?”

“A tiny part,” May said. “A schoolgirl friend of the young daughter. She appears in one scene in the first act.”

“And that’s Peggy?” Amy asked.

May nodded. “Probably. That and understudying the daughter.”

Amy sighed. “Oh my,” she said. “Wouldn’t you just love to play the daughter?”

“Stop dreaming,” May counseled. “Oscar Stalkey couldn’t afford to take a chance with an unknown in a part like that.” May turned and walked over to Peggy. “Now look, Peggy,” she said in a quiet, reassuring voice, “when you walk into that office tomorrow, don’t try to pretend you’re an experienced actress. Oscar Stalkey’s been around a long time and he’d be able to see right through your pose.”

The older woman sat down and folded her hand over Peggy’s. “Do you remember that time when Randy told you to be yourself and not try to act as if you were ten years older?”

Peggy smiled and nodded.

“It was the best advice you could get,” May went on. “If you follow it tomorrow, the rest will take care of itself. You’re a good actress, Peggy. You have a lot of promise. He’ll be able to see that.” May got up slowly and drifted over to the window. “I used to know Oscar Stalkey pretty well,” she said. “He’s a strange mixture of a hard-boiled Broadway producer and a sentimental little boy. He’s been in show business over thirty years, and he still thinks the theater is the most wonderful thing in the world.”

“So do I!” Peggy breathed.

May turned and smiled. “Good. Then you two ought to get along beautifully. Now,” she said, moving to the door in a brisk, businesslike manner, “have you had dinner yet?”

“Oh, no, May!” Peggy pleaded. “I’m too excited. I couldn’t eat a bite.”

May’s smile vanished. She pointed to the door commandingly. “Out you go,” she said. “We can’t have you meeting Oscar Stalkey looking pale and haggard. The program for the rest of the evening includes a good dinner, a long hot bath, and early to bed.” May paused and advanced a step toward Peggy. “And try not to worry too much.”

Peggy smiled and nodded. “All right,” she said. “I’ll try.”

“Good. When you push open the door of Oscar Stalkey’s office tomorrow, I want you to look like a million dollars—rested and confident you’re going to get the part.”

At precisely ten o’clock the following morning, Peggy Lane stood before the plain frosted-glass door of Oscar Stalkey’s office, feeling rested, alert—but not at all sure of herself. In fact, what she felt was dread. It was exactly like the time when she was seven years old, and had to appear in the school Christmas pageant as one of the angels who led the shepherds to the manger. She still remembered her two lines: “This is the place. See how the roof is bathed by the light of yonder star.” Chattering with the cold, her throat all lumpy with fear, and lonelier than she had ever been in her life, she had waited in the wings for the words that would bring her out on the stage. She had been sure she would forget everything. Now she remembered what it had been like when at last she had stepped into the brilliant warmth of the stage, sensing the audience out front and the magic of the set behind her. She had read her lines beautifully, and only regretted that she didn’t have more of them. At that moment, Peggy had decided to become an actress. That was a long time ago. Smiling at the memory, she took a final breath and pushed against the door.

She stopped on the threshold in numbed surprise.

Dozens of eyes swiveled around at her entrance. On all sides, the tiny reception room was lined with young girls. There were tall, beautiful girls with sleek hairdos and shiny patent leather hatboxes by their sides. There were heavily made up girls whose eyes glittered coldly as they surveyed the newcomer. There were a few girls she recognized. Nobody was happy to see her.

Peggy knew that this was the fierce competition of the theater. It was part of the price you had to pay if you wanted to come to New York. Tilting her chin defiantly, Peggy closed the door and went over to a peroxide blonde who sat listlessly behind a desk. The blonde reached out a hand for a sheet of paper.

“Name?” she inquired in a bored voice. “Mr. Stalkey’s interviewing by appointment only.”

“Lane,” Peggy replied in a clear voice. “Peggy Lane.”

The blonde ran a bright red fingernail down a list of names and stopped about halfway. “Who sentcha?” she drawled with quick suspicion.

Peggy frowned. “I don’t ... what do you mean?” she stammered.

The blonde pursed her mouth in disapproval. “What I’m trying to find out, dearie,” she said in a voice edged with the patient annoyance of someone talking to a retarded child, “is how come you’re here. Who made the appointment for you?”

Light dawned. “Oh! Mr. Grey. Mr. Peter Grey.”

The answer seemed to satisfy. “Okay.” The receptionist dismissed Peggy with a wave. “Find a seat.” She returned to the magazine she had been reading.

Still feeling ill at ease, Peggy backed away from the desk and looked around for a place to sit down. The chairs along one wall were all filled. Opposite them there was a bench with just enough room if one of the girls would move over. Nobody budged an inch. The silence was oppressive.

Suddenly making up her mind she was not going to stand around awkwardly, Peggy moved over to the bench and planted herself in front of the small space.

“Excuse me,” she said in her sweetest voice, “would you mind moving over?”

The girl who filled the spot Peggy wanted drew herself up in an exaggerated shrug and slowly opened a space.

“Thank you,” Peggy said as she sat down. Her neighbor didn’t even bother to glance in her direction.

The silence continued.

Suddenly from behind the closed door that led into what Peggy assumed was Stalkey’s private office, she could hear voices. There was a high-pitched burst, then a deeper rumbling answer. A woman and a man arguing, Peggy thought. A third voice cut in, a resonant baritone. Two men and a woman.

There was a scream from the other room, followed by a crash, and the woman’s voice shouting, “No! No! No!”

“None of that now,” thundered the first man’s voice. “I’m sick and tired of your childish temper tantrums.”

“Temper tantrums!” came a screech. “How else can I act when you simply refuse to listen to reason?”

“Oh, come off it, Katherine!” the second man said. “Act your age.”

There was a stunned silence during which Peggy had a chance to look around. Every girl in the reception room had her eyes glued to the door. An air of excited expectancy hung over the office. Even the blond receptionist had put aside her magazine in favor of the real-life drama going on in the next room.

Peggy heard the door bang open, and turning, saw before her one of the great figures of the American stage. Katherine Nelson, a portrait of elegance, stood framed in the doorway.

Katherine Nelson had been world famous for many years.

Katherine Nelson. Everyone knew of Katherine Nelson. She had been world-famous for many years, at the very top of her profession. But suddenly, about five years ago—nobody knew why—she had begun to slip. For some reason, she chose her plays badly, and where once she had known nothing but success, she had had to face the humiliation of failure. It had been a long time since she had been on a stage in New York, or anywhere else for that matter. She still had her great name, of course. Katherine Nelson would always be a magnet, but there was no denying that as a star she was fading. Other, younger actresses were moving up to take the roles that would automatically have been hers a few years ago.

It was well known that Katherine Nelson did not wear her years gracefully. References to age sent her into towering rages that were the delight of all gossip columnists, and the despair of those who had to work with her. She stood now, not ten feet from Peggy, her magnificent eyes flashing daggers. At first, Peggy felt a thrill at being so near a famous person, but surprisingly that passed almost at once. Instead of staring at her face, Peggy caught herself looking at Katherine Nelson’s hands as they gripped the door.

They were like claws, Peggy thought. They were the hands of an old woman. With a start, Peggy realized that despite her youthful figure and carefully made-up face, Katherine Nelson could no longer play romantic parts.

All this passed through Peggy’s mind in a flash, before her train of thought was evaporated by a throaty voice that rolled out in accents of anger.

“You’ll remember whom you’re talking to, Oscar Stalkey! There’s only one Katherine Nelson in the theater, and if you’re not aware of it, there are hundreds and thousands of people who are. People who are prepared to stand in line all night, if necessary, to get tickets to my plays. When you’ve thought that over and are willing to discuss matters more intelligently, you may call me!”

Shrugging into a magnificent silk-and-fur coat, Katherine Nelson swept down between the two lines of awed young girls, exactly as if she were making a grand exit from a stage. As a matter of fact, this was just what she was doing. It would have been effective, too, except for one thing. Katherine Nelson had a toy poodle on a leash, and the little dog took a sudden playful liking to Peggy.

As his mistress passed Peggy, the tiny poodle wagged his tail and trotted over. The unexpected shift in course forced Katherine Nelson to stop. Frowning with annoyance, she yanked at the dog’s leash. But instead of following obediently, the poodle gave a couple of shrill yips and scrambled up on Peggy’s lap.

Blushing with embarrassment, Peggy tried to get up and dislodge the animal. “Down, boy,” Peggy commanded, making a wild grab for her purse which was slipping to the floor.

The next instant, leash, purse, Peggy, and the poodle were hopelessly entangled. Peggy sensed a commanding figure hovering nearby. Katherine Nelson was staring down at her in blazing fury.

Peggy attempted an apologetic laugh as she tried desperately to straighten out the mess at her feet. Finally she got everything sorted out and handed over the friendly poodle.

“I’m sorry,” Peggy said with a smile, offering the dog. “We sort of got mixed up.”

Katherine Nelson jerked the poodle out of Peggy’s hands rudely. “Clumsy idiot!” she muttered. Spots of dull red showed in her face.

Peggy felt herself coloring too, but for a different reason. “I really didn’t—” she stammered. “I’m awfully—”

“Will you get out of my way?” Katherine Nelson blazed.

Peggy backed away hastily, catching her heel against the side of the bench as she moved. She flailed the air clumsily to keep from falling, then sat down heavily. Her purse slipped to the floor again.

Katherine Nelson threw her a disdainful look, swept on through the reception room, and out the door.

Peggy had never been so embarrassed in her life. She knew that every girl in the room was laughing at her predicament. She only hoped that Oscar Stalkey hadn’t noticed. But when she stole a quick, shy glance at the door, she saw a short, bald man staring at her owlishly through heavy, horn-rimmed glasses. A cold cigar was clenched between his teeth. Peggy recognized him at once from his pictures. It was Oscar Stalkey. With a sinking heart, she realized numbly that she was ruined before she even started. She had made a perfect fool of herself, and there wasn’t any point in staying.

Staring straight ahead, Peggy got to her feet and headed for the door. The walk seemed endless. She was about halfway there when a deep voice growled out.

“Hey! Where are you going?”

Peggy stopped and turned slowly, her eyes widening in surprise.

Oscar Stalkey was still standing in the doorway, but now he was pointing a finger in her direction. “Come in here,” he said. “I want to talk to you.”

There were gasps of surprise from the other girls. Peggy swallowed once and pointed to herself. “Me?” she asked in a voice that cracked.

“Well, who’d you think I meant?” came the gruff answer. “Come in. I haven’t got all day.” He stepped aside and motioned her to hurry.

Still unable to believe what was happening, Peggy followed Oscar Stalkey blindly into his office.

III
The Inner Sanctum

Four people were grouped in the office. There was Stalkey himself, heavy-set and dynamic, hovering impatiently by the door. Behind him in a corner lounged a rather disheveled man in his mid-forties who looked vaguely familiar. A young man in his twenties, with a collegiate crew cut, stood by the window. Beside him, behind the largest desk Peggy had ever seen, sat Pam Mundy—the girl she had met during the summer.

Pam seemed even more surprised than Peggy. Her eyebrows shot up in twin crescents of astonishment at the sight of her friend coming through the door. But she quickly regained her composure and threw Peggy a reassuring smile and wink.

Anyone seeing Pam perched behind the massive desk would have thought she was the most important person in the room. Actually, she was Oscar Stalkey’s secretary, using his desk because the veteran producer seldom sat in a chair if he could avoid it. All his business was conducted on the run, in a restless course of constant pacing that was a little hard to get accustomed to. The only reason he tolerated the desk at all was because his wife had given it to him as a surprise years ago, and he could never bring himself to get rid of it. But at the time, Peggy didn’t know this. She advanced into the room and looked around uncertainly.

The untidy man in the corner unwound his long legs from one side of his lounge chair, and stared at Peggy with undisguised interest. The young man by the window straightened up and greeted her with a pleasant smile.

“Well, sit down, sit down,” came the gravelly voice of Stalkey. “What’s your name?”

“Peggy Lane.” Peggy sat down on the edge of a chair near the desk.

“Had much experience?” Stalkey was prowling along a row of bookcases that lined the far wall of his office.

There was a pause. Finally Peggy decided to be straightforward. “No, Mr. Stalkey,” she replied with a smile. “I’m afraid not much. A year of dramatic school, a season of summer stock, a good off-Broadway role, and a few walk-on parts.”

“That’s all?”

Peggy nodded. The rumpled man in the corner looked at her with surprise. Stalkey merely grunted. “How’d you get on our list for an appointment?”

Peggy glanced over at Pam. “I’m not sure,” she said. “I got a phone call last night from a Mr. Grey.”

The young man at the window nodded. “I’m Peter Grey,” he announced. “I got in touch with her, Oscar.”

“Why?”

“Pam Mundy suggested it.”

All attention was now focused on the girl behind the desk. Pam took the stares in stride. “I saw Peggy in stock last summer,” she explained. “I’ve seen what she can do, and I thought she might be right for the understudy.”

Oscar Stalkey grunted a second time and padded over to the figure in the chair. “What do you think, Craig?” he asked suddenly.

Craig Claiborne! Peggy finally recognized him. He was the director of Innocent Laughter and would probably perform a similar job for the road company productions.

Claiborne shrugged noncommittally. “You were the one who asked her to come in,” he said. “What do you think?”

“Well, at least she’s honest,” Stalkey grumbled as he shuffled off to continue his endless pacing. He stopped and glared accusingly at Peggy. “You’ve no idea,” he said mournfully, “how many girls try to tell me they’ve had years of experience.” He threw up his hands in exasperation. “They have the nerve—some of them—to stand up and tell me they’ve been acting for twenty years when I know perfectly well they can’t be more than eighteen years old. Oh, well—” He broke off abruptly and moved over to a position in front of Peggy. “The reason I asked you to step in here,” he said, “was because you looked like the most human person out there.” He gestured to the reception room in disgust. “That’s the biggest collection of artificial people I’ve seen in months. Where do the casting agents dig them up?” He sighed and went on. “There was something about your embarrassment when you had that run-in with Katherine—”

Craig Claiborne interrupted with a chuckle. “Don’t tell me she tangled with Katherine the Great?” he asked.

“Tangled is the word,” Stalkey said happily. “Peggy here ruined Katherine’s exit.”

Claiborne shook his head in mock dismay. “Oh, oh.”

“That’s right.” Stalkey nodded. He turned back to Peggy. “Tell me frankly. You didn’t know what to do when that happened, now did you?”

Peggy smiled. “No, I didn’t. I was a little frightened and terribly embarrassed.”

“And a little awed, too?” Stalkey asked, almost eagerly.

“Yes,” Peggy admitted. “I guess I was.”

The producer rubbed his hands together with pleasure. “And that,” he said exuberantly, “is exactly the quality we want for the young schoolgirl friend in Innocent Laughter. The only question is, are you good enough to play the daughter—even as an understudy?” Stalkey looked at Peggy searchingly, almost as if a careful examination of her face could reveal the extent of her talent.

It was an impossible question to answer. Peggy was saved from trying by a telephone that jangled suddenly.

Pam swooped down on it. “Yes?” she said crisply. “Who’s calling?” She listened for a moment, then covered the mouthpiece with one hand. “It’s Max Borden from Talent Incorporated,” she said. “Do you want to speak to him?”

Stalkey nodded wordlessly, and lunged for the phone. “Hello,” he rasped, “Max?” He began to move agitatedly back and forth across the room, cradling the telephone in his left hand. “Did you get him?” he asked eagerly.

There was a pause, and a look of frustration crossed Stalkey’s face. “Well, can’t he get out of his contract?” he said. “Yeah, well, I’m sorry too.” Another pause. Stalkey used it to shift his cigar over to the other side of his mouth. “Yeah,” he grunted. “Yeah, I know. No, I don’t have the faintest idea. Think about it and call me back. If we get any brain waves here at our end we’ll let you know. G’by.” He hung up the receiver and stared moodily at the telephone as if it had done him some personal injury.

“Charlie Forsythe can’t play the part,” he announced. “He’s tied up with a movie contract.”

Charles Forsythe, Peggy knew, was one of the outstanding character actors in America. Stalkey must have been trying to get him for the role of the grandfather in Innocent Laughter. For the first time, she realized it wasn’t always too easy to cast a play.

Oscar Stalkey apparently had forgotten Peggy’s existence. “Any ideas?” he rapped out. “We’ve got to settle this in the next few days.”

“What about Eddie Jarmin?” Craig Claiborne suggested. “I remember he did something similar in Bed of Roses a couple of years back.”

“Yeah,” Stalkey said unenthusiastically. “He sure did and was he terrible! No, thanks!”

“There’s always James Donohue,” Claiborne said.

“Yes, there is,” Stalkey admitted. “When he remembers to show up for rehearsal.” He trotted over to the other side of the room in a burst of agitation.

“Why is it,” he said to no one in particular, “that good, dependable character actors are so hard to come by? I can reach out and put my hand on half a hundred leading men and a thousand juveniles. But a character actor!” He shook his head helplessly. “Oh, well....”

Over by the window Peter Grey stirred restlessly. “You know,” he said with an almost apologetic laugh, “you may think I’m crazy, but I’ve got an idea.”

“Let’s have it,” Stalkey shot back.

Peter advanced toward the center of the room, speaking with mounting excitement. “What we want,” he said, “is a man with a sure sense of comedy. Somebody with a breezy style and a good ear for laugh lines. But even more than that, he’s got to be able to move the audience. There’s that big scene with the daughter, for instance. That’s got to be done beautifully, with a great deal of tenderness.”

Stalkey snapped his fingers impatiently. “Sure, sure,” he said. “We know all that. But I’ll settle for someone who can get us the laughs.”

“Why not get somebody who can do both?”

Stalkey snorted. “Stop dreaming,” he said. “They don’t make them like that any more.”

“There’s one person who just might be able to do it,” Peter said slowly. “If we can get him.”

“Who?”

Peter grinned. “This is the crazy part,” he said. He paused as the others waited expectantly. “Tom Agate,” he finally blurted out.

“Tom Agate!” Craig Claiborne said in a puzzled voice. “Isn’t he dead?”

Peter scratched the back of his head. “I don’t think so,” he said. “The last I heard he was still living here.”

“Tom Agate,” Oscar Stalkey murmured slowly. “Tom Agate.” He spoke the name a second time as if relishing the sound, then looked up at Peter sharply. “How do you know about Tom Agate?” he demanded. “I thought only us old-timers remembered him.”

Peter laughed. “Oh, I used to be crazy about him. My father took me to see Tom Agate every time he played a USO show anywhere near where my father was stationed during World War II.”

“Who,” Pam asked almost shyly, “is Tom Agate?”

Oscar Stalkey waved a hand in Pam’s direction. “You see?” he demanded with a wry smile. “There’s fame for you, Tom Agate,” he said, turning to Pam, “was just about the most famous song-and-dance man in vaudeville. You’ve heard stories about the good old days in the theater—about the grand troupers who always went on to give a performance no matter how they were feeling—”

Peter put his hand over his heart melodramatically. “Even if they were crying inside.”

Stalkey nodded. “Yeah, that’s it. It sounds real corny today, but they actually did it, and Tom Agate was one of the greatest.” As he walked back and forth, from one corner of the room to the other, his eyes shining with excitement, Peggy suddenly saw what May Berriman meant when she said that Oscar Stalkey had all the enthusiasm of a little boy. He was in love with the theater, after thirty years still as stage-struck as a newcomer.

“Tom Agate,” Oscar Stalkey was saying. “Why, I’ve seen that man hold an entire audience in the palm of his hand for more than an hour.”

“What did he do?” Pam asked.

“Do?” Stalkey frowned. “He was a performer. He sang songs, danced a little.”

“Actually, he danced badly,” Peter Grey said with a smile.

Stalkey was forced to agree. “Yes, I guess he did. But that didn’t make any difference. He was a personality and the audience loved him.” Stalkey made another tour of his office. “That was his secret,” he said. “He understood people. He knew what made them laugh, and he knew how to move them.” Stalkey stopped abruptly as if struck by a thought. He cocked his head to one side as if trying to recall something. “What was the name of that song he always sang—it was his theme song, an Irish ballad, I think—ah, yes, ‘Kathleen Aroon’ it was. He used to play the banjo along with it.”

“Yes, but Oscar,” Craig Claiborne objected, “he was just a song-and-dance man. Even the movies he did were just filming his vaudeville routines. He’s never had any acting experience.”