V
He was in the wings, on the prompt side. Close by stood the prompter,an untidy youth with imperfections of teeth, clutching hard at thered-scored manuscript of "The Orient Pearl." Sundry players, ofvarying stellar degrees, were posed around in the opulent costumesdesigned by Saracen Givington, A.R.A. Miss Lindop was in thebackground, ecstatically happy, her cheeks a race-course of tears.Afar off, in the centre of the stage, alone, stood Rose Euclid,gorgeous in green and silver, bowing and bowing and bowing--bowingbefore the storm of approval and acclamation that swept from theauditorium across the footlights. With a sound like that of tearingsilk, or of a gigantic contralto mosquito, the curtain swished down,and swished up, and swished down again. Bouquets flew on to the stagefrom the auditorium (a custom newly imported from the United Statesby Miss Euclid, and encouraged by her, though contrary to the loftycanons of London taste). The actress already held one huge trophy,shaped as a crown, to her breast. She hesitated, and then ran to thewings, and caught Edward Henry by the wrist impulsively, madly. Theyshook hands in an ecstasy.
It was as though they recognized in one another a fundamental andglorious worth; it was as though no words could ever express the depthof appreciation, affection and admiration which each intenselyfelt for the other; it was as though this moment were the finalconsecration of twin-lives whose long, loyal comradeship had neverbeen clouded by the faintest breath of mutual suspicion. Rose Euclidwas still the unparalleled star, the image of grace and beauty anddominance upon the stage. And yet quite clearly Edward Henry saw closeto his the wrinkled, damaged, daubed face and thin neck of an oldwoman; and it made no difference.
"Rose!" cried a strained voice, and Rose Euclid wrenched herself fromhim and tumbled with half a sob into the clasping arms of Elsie April.
"You've saved the intellectual theatah for London, my boy! That's whatyou've done!" Marrier now was gripping his hand. And Edward Henry wasconvinced that he had.
The strident vigour of the applause showed no diminution. And throughthe thick, heavy rain of it could be heard the monotonous, insistentdetonations of one syllable:
"'Thor! 'Thor! 'Thor! 'Thor! 'Thor!"
And then another syllable was added:
"Speech! Speech! Speech! Speech!"
Mechanically Edward Henry lit a cigarette. He had no consciousness ofdoing so.
"Where is Trent?" people were asking.
Carlo Trent appeared up a staircase at the back of the stage.
"You've got to go on," said Marrier. "Now, pull yourself together. TheGreat Beast is calling for you. Say a few wahds."
Carlo Trent in his turn seized the hand of Edward Henry, and itwas for all the world as though he were seizing the hand of anintellectual and poetic equal, and wrung it.
"Come now!" Mr. Marrier, beaming, admonished him, and then pushed.
"What must I say?" stammered Carlo.
"Whatever comes into your head."
"All right! I'll say something."
A man in a dirty white apron drew back the heavy mass of the curtainabout eighteen inches, and Carlo Trent stepping forward, the glareof the footlights suddenly lit his white face. The applause, nowmultiplied fivefold and become deafening, seemed to beat him backagainst the curtain. His lips worked. He did not bow.
"Cam back, you fool!" whispered Marrier.
And Carlo Trent stepped back into safe shelter.
"Why didn't you say something?"
"I c-couldn't," murmured weakly the greatest dramatic poet in theworld, and began to cry.
"Speech! Speech! Speech! Speech!"
"Here!" said Edward Henry, gruffly. "Get out of my way! I'll settle'em! Get out of my way!" And he riddled Carlo Trent with a fusilladeof savagely scornful glances.
The man in the apron obediently drew back the curtain again, and thenext second Edward Henry was facing an auditorium crowded with hispatrons. Everybody was standing up, chiefly in the aisles and crowdedat the entrances, and quite half the people were waving, and quite aquarter of them were shouting. He bowed several times. An age elapsed.His ears were stunned. But it seemed to him that his brain was workingwith marvellous perfection. He perceived that he had been utterlywrong about "The Orient Pearl." And that all his advisers had beensplendidly right. He had failed to catch its charm and to feel itspower. But this audience--this magnificent representative audiencedrawn from London in the brilliant height of the season--had notfailed.
It occurred to him to raise his hand. And as he raised his hand itoccurred to him that his hand held a lighted cigarette. A magic hushfell upon the magnificent audience, which owned all that endless lineof automobiles outside. Edward Henry, in the hush, took a pull at hiscigarette.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, pitching his voice well--formunicipal politics had made him a practised public speaker, "Icongratulate you. This evening you--have succeeded!"
There was a roar, confused, mirthful, humorously protesting. Hedistinctly heard a man in the front row of the stalls say: "Well, forsheer nerve--!" And then go off into a peal of laughter.
He smiled and retired.
Marrier took charge of him.
"You merit the entire confectioner's shop!" exclaimed Marrier, aghast,admiring, triumphant.
Now Edward Henry had had no intention of meriting cake. He had merelyfollowed in speech the secret train of his thought. But he saw thathe had treated a West End audience as a West End audience had neverbefore been treated, and that his audacity had conquered. Hence hedetermined not to refuse the cake.
"Didn't I tell you I'd settle 'em?" said he.
The band played "God Save the King."