Wild Wings

  CHAPTER XXV

  ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE

  Although Max Hempel had not openly sought out Tony Holiday he wasentirely aware of her presence in the city and in the dramatic school.Whenever she played a role in the course of the latter's program he hadhis trusted aides on the spot to watch her, gauge her progress, reporttheir finding to himself. Once or twice he had come himself, sat in adark corner and kept his eye unblinking from first to last upon the girl.

  In November it had seemed good to the school to revive The KillarneyRose, a play which ten years ago had had a phenomenal run and ended as itbegan with packed houses. It was past history now. Even the roadcompanies had lapsed, and its name was all but forgotten by the ficklepublic which must and will have ever new sensations.

  Hempel was glad the school had made this particular selection, doublyglad it had given Antoinette Holiday the title role. The play would showwhether the girl was ready for his purposes as he had about decided shewas. He would send Carol Clay to see her do the thing. Carol would know.Who better? It was she who created the original Rose.

  Tony Holiday behind the scene on that momentous evening, on beinginformed that Carol Clay--the famous Carol Clay herself--the realRose--was out there in a box, was paralyzed with fear, for the firsttime in her life, victim of genuine stage fright. She was cold. She washot. She was one tremendous shake and shiver. She was a very lump ofstone. The orchestra was already playing. In a moment her call wouldcome and she was going to fail, fail miserably. And with Carol Claythere to see.

  Some flowers and a card were brought in. The flowers were from Alan ofcourse, great crimson roses. It was dear of him to send them. Later shewould appreciate it. But just now not even Alan mattered. She glanced atthe card which had come separately, was not with the flowers. It wasDick's. Hastily she read the pencil-written scrawl. "Am covering theRose. Will be close up. See you after the show. Best o' luck and love."

  Tony could almost have cried for joy over the message. Somehow theknowledge of Dick's nearness gave her back her self-possession. She hadrefused to let Alan come. His presence in the audience always distractedher, made her nervous. But Dick was different. It was almost like havingUncle Phil himself there. She wouldn't fail now. She couldn't. It was forthe honor of the Hill.

  A moment later, still clutching Dick's comforting card, she ran in on thestage, swinging her sun-bonnet from its green ribbons with hoydenishgrace, chanting a gay little lilt of an Irish melody. Her fear had goneeven as the dew might have disappeared at the kiss of the sun upon theKillarney greensward.

  Almost at once she discovered Dick and sang a part of her song straightdown at him. A little later she dared to let her eyes stray to the boxwhere Carol Clay sat. The actress smiled and Tony smiled back and thenforgot she was Tony, was henceforth only Rose of Killarney.

  It was a winsome, old-timey sort of play, with an almost Barriesquecharm and whimsicality to it. The witching little Rose laughed and dancedand sang and flirted and wept and loved her way through it and in the endthrew herself in the right lover's arms, presumably there to dwell happyforever after.

  After the last curtain went down and she had smiled and bowed and kissedher hand to the kindly audience over and over Tony fled to the dressingroom where she could still hear the intoxicating, delightful thunder ofapplause. It had come. She could act. She could. Oh! She couldn't liveand be any happier.

  But, after all she could stand a little more joy without coming to anuntimely end, for there suddenly smiling at her from the threshold wasCarol Clay congratulating her and telling her what a pleasure to-night'sRose had been to the Rose of yesterday. And before Tony could get herbreath to do more than utter a rather shy and gasping word of gratitude,the actress had invited her to take tea with her on the next day and shehad accepted and Carol Clay was gone.

  It was in a wonderful world of dreams that Tony Holiday dwelt as sheremoved a little of her makeup, gave orders to have all her flowers sentto a near-by hospital, except Alan's, which she gathered up in her armsand drawing her velvet cloak around her, stepped out into thewaiting-room.

  But it was a world of rather alarming realities that she went into. Therewas Dick Carson waiting as she had bidden him to wait in the message shehad sent him. And there was Alan Massey, unbidden and unexpected. Andboth these males with whom she had flirted unconscionably for weeks pastwere ominously belligerent of manner and countenance. She would havegiven anything to have had a wand to wave the two away, keep them fromspoiling her perfect evening. But it was too late. The hour of reckoningwhich comes even to queens was here.

  "Hello, you two," she greeted, putting on a brave front for all hersinking heart. She laid down the roses and gave a hand impartially toeach. "Awfully glad to see you, Dicky. Alan, I thought I told you not tocome. Were you here all the same?"

  "I was. I told you so in my note. Didn't you get it? I sent it in withthe roses." He nodded at the flowers she had just surrendered.

  Dick's eyes shadowed. Massey had scored there. He had not thought offlowers. Indeed there had been no time to get any he had gotten theassignment so late. There had been quantities of other flowers, he knew.The usher had carried up tons of them it seemed to the popular Rose, butshe carried only Alan Massey's home with her.

  "I am sorry, Alan. I didn't see it. Maybe it was there; I didn't halflook at the flowers. Your message did me so much good, Dicky. I wasscared to death because they had just said Miss Clay was outside. Andsomehow when I knew you were there I felt all right again. I carried yourcard all through the first act and I know it was your wishing me the besto' luck that brought it."

  She smiled at Dick and it was Alan's turn to glower. She had not lookedat his roses, had not cared to look for his message; but she carried theother man's card, used it as a talisman. And she was glad. The other wasthere, but she had forbidden himself--Alan Massey--to come, had evenreproached him for coming.

  A group of actors passed through the reception room, calling gaygoodnights and congratulations to Tony as they went and shooting glancesof friendly curiosity at the two, tall frowning men between whom thevivacious Rose stood.

  "Tony Holiday doesn't keep all her lovers on the stage," laughed thenear-heroine as she was out of hearing. "Did you ever see two gentlementhat hated each other more cordially?"

  "She is an arrant little flirt, isn't she, Micky?" The speaker challengedthe Irish lover of the play who had had the luck to win the sweet, thornylittle Killarney Rose in the end and to get a real, albeit a play kissfrom the pretty little heroine, who as Tony Holiday as well as Rose wasprone to make mischief in susceptible male hearts.

  "She can have me any minute, on the stage or off," answered Mickypromptly. "She's a winner. Got me going all right. Most forgot my linesshe was so darned pretty."

  Dick took advantage of the confusion of the interruption to get in hisword.

  "Will you come out with me for a bite somewhere, Tony. I won't keep youlate, but there are some things I want to talk over with you."

  Tony hesitated. She had caught the ominous flash of Alan's eyes. She wasdesperately afraid there would be a scene if she said yes to Dick now inAlan's hearing. The latter strode over to her instantly, and laid hishand with a proprietorial air on her arm. From this point of vantage hefaced Dick insolently.

  "Miss Holiday is going out with me," he asserted. "You--clear out."

  The tone and manner even more than the words were deliberate insult.Dick's face went white. His mouth set tight. There was almost as ugly alook in his eyes as there was in Alan's. Tony had never seen him looklike that and was frightened.

  "I'll clear out when Miss Holiday asks me to and not before," he said ina significantly quiet voice. "Don't go too far, Mr. Massey. I have takena good deal from you. There's a limit. Tony, I repeat my question. Willyou go out with me to-night?"

  Before Tony could speak Alan Massey's long right arm shot out in Dick'sdirection. Dick dodged the blow coolly.

  "Hold on, Massey," he said. "I'm perfectly willing to
smash your head anytime it is convenient. Nothing would afford me greater pleasure in fact.But you will kindly keep from making trouble here. You can't get awoman's name mixed up with a cheap brawl such as you are trying to start.You know, it won't do."

  Alan Massey's white face turned a shade whiter. His arm fell. He turnedback to Tony, real anguish in his fire-shot eyes.

  "I beg your pardon, Tony dearest," he bent over to say. "Carson is right.We'll fight it out elsewhere when you are not present. May I take you tothe taxi? I have one waiting outside."

  Another group of people passed through the vestibule, said goodnight andwent on out to the street exit. It made Tony sick to think of what theywould have seen if Dick had lost his self control as Alan had. Shethought she had never liked Dick as she did that moment, never despisedAlan Massey so utterly. Dick was a man. Alan was a spoiled child, aweakling, the slave of his passions. It was no thanks to him that hername was not already bandied about on people's lips, the name of a girl,about whom men came to fist blows like a Bowery movie scene. She washumiliated all over, enraged with Alan, enraged with herself forstooping to care for a man like that. She waited until they wereabsolutely alone again and then said what she had to say. She turned toface Alan directly.

  "You may take me nowhere," she said. "I don't want to see you again aslong as I live."

  For an instant Alan stared at her, dazed, unable to grasp the force ofwhat she was saying, the significance of her tone. As a matter of factthe artist in him had leaped to the surface, banished all otherconsiderations. He had never seen Tony Holiday really angry before. Shewas magnificent with those flashing eyes and scarlet cheeks--a gloriouslittle Fury--a Valkyrie. He would paint her like that. She wasstupendous, the most vividly alive thing he had ever seen, like flameitself, in her flaming anger. Then it came over him what she had said.

  "But, Tony," he pleaded, "my belovedest--"

  He put out both hands in supplication, but Tony whirled away from them.She snatched the great bunch of red roses from the table, ran to thewindow, flung up the sash, hurled them out into the night. Then sheturned back to Alan.

  "Now go," she commanded, pointing with a small, inexorable hand to thedoor.

  Alan Massey went.

  Tony dropped in a chair, spent and trembling, all but in tears. Thedisagreeable scene, the piled up complex of emotions coming on top of thestress and strain of the play were almost too much for her. She was aquivering bundle of nerves and misery at the moment.

  Dick came to her.

  "Forgive me, Tony. I shouldn't have forced the issue maybe. But Icouldn't stand any more from that cad."

  "I am glad you did exactly what you did do, Dick, and I am more gratefulthan I can ever tell you for not letting Alan get you into a fight herein this place with all these people coming and going. I would never havegotten over it if anything like that had happened. It would have beenterrible. I couldn't ever have looked any of them in the face again."She shivered and put her two hands over her eyes ashamed to the quick atthe thought.

  Dick sat down on the arm of her chair, one hand resting gently on thegirl's shoulder.

  "Don't cry, Tony," he begged. "I can't stand it. You needn't haveworried. There wasn't any danger of anything like that happening. I caretoo much to let you in for anything of that sort. So does he for thatmatter. He saw it in a minute. He really wouldn't want to do you any harmanyway, Tony. Even I know that, and you must know it better than I."

  Tony put down her hands, looked at Dick. "I suppose that is true," shesighed. "He does love me, Dick."

  "He does, Tony. I wish he didn't. And I wish with all my heart I weresure you didn't love him."

  Tony sighed again and her eyes fell.

  "I wish--I were sure, too," she faltered.

  Dick winced at that. He had no answer. What was there to say?

  "I don't see why I should care. I don't see how I can care afterto-night. He is horrid in lots of ways--a cad--just as you called him. Iknow Larry would feel just as you do and hate to have him come near me.Larry and I have almost quarreled about it now. He thinks Uncle Phil isall wrong not to forbid my seeing Alan at all. But Uncle Phil is toowise. He doesn't want to have me marry Alan any more than the rest of youdo but he knows if he fights it it would put me on the other side in aminute and I'd do it, maybe, in spite of everybody."

  "Tony, you aren't engaged to him?"

  She shook her head.

  "Not exactly. I am afraid I might as well be though. I said I didn'tever want to see him again, but I didn't mean it. I shall want to see himagain by to-morrow. I always do no matter what he does. I always shall Iam afraid. It is like that with me. I'm sorry, Dicky. I ought to havetold you that before. I've been horrid not to, I know. Take me home now,please. I'm tired--awfully tired."

  Going home in the cab neither spoke until just as they were within a fewblocks of the Hostelry when Dick broke the silence.

  "I am sorry all this had to happen to-night," he said. "Because, well, Iam going away tomorrow."

  "Going away! Dick! Where?" It was horribly selfish of her, Tony knew;but it didn't seem as if she could bear to have Dick go. It seemed as ifthe only thing that was stable in her reeling life would be gone if hewent. If he went she would belong to Alan more and more. There would benothing to hold her back. She was afraid. She clung to Dick. He alone ofthe whole city full of human beings was a symbol of Holiday Hill. Withhim gone it seemed to her as if she would be hopelessly adrift onperilous seas.

  "To Mexico--Vera Cruz, I believe," he answered her question.

  "Vera Cruz! Dick, you mustn't! It is awful down there now. Everybody saysso." He smiled a little at that.

  "It is because it is more or less awful that they are sending me," hesaid. "Journalism isn't much interested in placidity. A newspaper man hasto be where things are happening fast and plenty. If things are hot downthere so much the better. They will sizzle more in the copy."

  "Dick! I can't have you go. I can't bear it." Tony's hand crept intohis. "Something dreadful might happen to you," she wailed.

  He pressed her hand, grateful for her real trouble about him and forher caring.

  "Oh no, dear. Nothing dreadful will happen to me. You mustn't worry,"he soothed.

  "But I do. I shall. How can I help it? It is just as if Larry or Ted weregoing. It scares me."

  Dick drew away his hand suddenly.

  "For heaven's sake, Tony, please don't tell me again that I'm just likeLarry and Ted to you. It is bad enough to know it without your rubbing itin all the time. I can't stand it--not to-night."

  "Dick!" Tony was startled, taken aback by his tone. Dick rarely lethimself go like that.

  In a moment he was all contrition.

  "Forgive me, Tony. I'm sorry I said that. I ought to be thankful you carethat much, and I am. It is dear of you and I do appreciate it."

  "Oh me!" sighed Tony. "Everything I do or say is wrong. I wish I did carethe other way for you, Dicky dear. Truly I do. It would be so much nicerand simpler than caring for Alan," she added naively.

  "Life isn't fixed nice and simple, Tony. At least it never hasbeen for me."

  "Oh, Dick! Everything has been horribly hard for you always, and I'mmaking it harder. I don't want to, Dicky dear. You know I don't. It isjust that I can't help it."

  "I know, Tony. You mustn't bother about me. I'm all right. Will you tellme just one thing though? If you hadn't cared for Massey--no I won't putit like that. If you had cared for me would my not having any name havemade any difference?"

  "Of course it wouldn't have made any difference, Dicky. What does a namematter? You are you and that is what I would care for--do care for. Therest doesn't matter. Besides, you are making a name for yourself."

  "I am doing it under your name--the one you gave me."

  "I am proud to have it used that way. Why wouldn't I be? It is honored.You have not only lived up to it as you promised Uncle Phil. You havemade it stand for something fine. Your stories are splendid. You aregoing to be famous an
d I--Why, Dicky, just think, it will be my name youwill take on up to the stars. Oh, we're here," as the cab jolted to ahalt in front of the Hostelry.

  The cabby flung open the door. Tony and Dick stepped out, went up thesteps. In a moment they were alone in the dimly lit hall.

  "Tony, would you mind letting me kiss you just once as you would Larry orTed if one of them were going off on a long journey away from you?"

  Dick's voice was humble, pleading. It touched Tony deeply, and sent thequick tears welling up into her eyes as she raised her face to his.

  For a moment he held her close, kissed her on the cheek and thenreleased her.

  "Good-by, Tony. Thank you and God bless you," he said a little huskily ashe let her go.

  "Good-by, Dick." And then impulsively Tony put up her lips and kissedhim, the first time he ever remembered a woman's lips touching his.

  A second later the door closed upon him, shutting him out in the night.He dismissed the cab driver and walked blindly off, not knowing or caringin what direction he went. It was hours before he let himself into hislodging house. It seemed as if he could have girdled the earth on thestrength of Tony Holiday's kiss. The next morning he was off for Mexico.