If actors and actresses are like children in that they are readilydepressed by disaster, they have the child's compensating gift of beingeasily uplifted by good fortune. It amazed Sally that any one mortalshould have been able to spread such universal happiness as she had doneby the simple act of lending her brother Fillmore twenty thousanddollars. If the Millennium had arrived, the members of the Primrose WayCompany could not have been on better terms with themselves. Thelethargy and dispiritedness, caused by their week of inaction, fell fromthem like a cloak. The sudden elevation of that creature of the abyss,the assistant stage manager, to the dizzy height of proprietor of theshow appealed to their sense of drama. Most of them had played in pieceswhere much the same thing had happened to the persecuted heroine roundabout eleven o'clock, and the situation struck them as theatricallysound. Also, now that she had gone, the extent to which Miss Hobson hadacted as a blight was universally recognized.
A spirit of optimism reigned, and cheerful rumours became current. Thebowler-hatted Teddy had it straight from the lift-boy at his hotel thatthe ban on the theatres was to be lifted on Tuesday at the latest; whileno less an authority than the cigar-stand girl at the Pontchatrain hadinformed the man who played the butler that Toledo and Cleveland wereopening to-morrow. It was generally felt that the sun was burstingthrough the clouds and that Fate would soon despair of the hopeless taskof trying to keep good men down.
Fillmore was himself again. We all have our particular mode ofself-expression in moments of elation. Fillmore's took the shape ofbuying a new waistcoat and a hundred half-dollar cigars and being veryfussy about what he had for lunch. It may have been an optical illusion,but he appeared to Sally to put on at least six pounds in weight on thefirst day of the new regime. As a serf looking after paper-knives andother properties, he had been--for him--almost slim. As a manager heblossomed out into soft billowy curves, and when he stood on thesidewalk in front of the theatre, gloating over the new posters whichbore the legend,FILLMORE NICHOLASPRESENTSthe populace had to make a detour to get round him.
In this era of bubbling joy, it was hard that Sally, the fairy godmotherresponsible for it all, should not have been completely happy too; andit puzzled her why she was not. But whatever it was that cast the faintshadow refused obstinately to come out from the back of her mind andshow itself and be challenged. It was not till she was out driving in ahired car with Gerald one afternoon on Belle Isle that enlightenmentcame.
Gerald, since the departure of Miss Hobson, had been at his best. LikeFillmore, he was a man who responded to the sunshine of prosperity. Hismoodiness had vanished, and all his old charm had returned. And yet...
it seemed to Sally, as the car slid smoothly through the pleasant woodsand fields by the river, that there was something that jarred.
Gerald was cheerful and talkative. He, at any rate, found nothing wrongwith life. He held forth spaciously on the big things he intended to do.
"If this play get over--and it's going to--I'll show 'em!" His jaw wassquared, and his eyes glowed as they stared into the inviting future.
"One success--that's all I need--then watch me! I haven't had a chanceyet, but..."His voice rolled on, but Sally had ceased to listen. It was the time ofyear when the chill of evening follows swiftly on the mellow warmth ofafternoon. The sun had gone behind the trees, and a cold wind wasblowing up from the river. And quite suddenly, as though it was the windthat had cleared her mind, she understood what it was that had beenlurking at the back of her thoughts. For an instant it stood out nakedlywithout concealment, and the world became a forlorn place. She hadrealized the fundamental difference between man's outlook on life andwoman's.
Success! How men worshipped it, and how little of themselves they hadto spare for anything else. Ironically, it was the theme of this veryplay of Gerald's which she had saved from destruction. Of all the menshe knew, how many had any view of life except as a race which they muststrain every nerve to win, regardless of what they missed by the waysidein their haste? Fillmore--Gerald--all of them. There might be a woman ineach of their lives, but she came second--an afterthought--a thing fortheir spare time. Gerald was everything to her. His success would neverbe more than a side-issue as far as she was concerned. He himself,without any of the trappings of success, was enough for her. But she wasnot enough for him. A spasm of futile jealousy shook her. She shivered.
"Cold?" said Gerald. "I'll tell the man to drive back... I don't seeany reason why this play shouldn't run a year in New York. Everybodysays it's good... if it does get over, they'll all be after me. I..."Sally stared out into a bleak world. The sky was a leaden grey, and thewind from the river blew with a dismal chill.