1.
The rehearsals of a musical comedy--a term which embraces "musicalfantasies"--generally begin in a desultory sort of way at thatcurious building, Bryant Hall, on Sixth Avenue just off Forty-secondStreet. There, in a dusty, uncarpeted room, simply furnished with afew wooden chairs and some long wooden benches, the chorus--or, inthe case of "The Rose of America," the ensemble--sit round a pianoand endeavor, with the assistance of the musical director, to get thewords and melodies of the first-act numbers into their heads. Thisdone, they are ready for the dance director to instil into them thesteps, the groupings, and the business for the encores, of which thatincurable optimist always seems to expect there will be at least six.
Later, the principals are injected into the numbers. And finally,leaving Bryant Hall and dodging about from one unoccupied theatre toanother, principals and chorus rehearse together, running through theentire piece over and over again till the opening night of thepreliminary road tour.
To Jill, in the early stages, rehearsing was just like being back atschool. She could remember her first school-mistress, whom themusical director somewhat resembled in manner and appearance,hammering out hymns on a piano and leading in a weak soprano aneager, baying pack of children, each anxious from motives of pride toout-bawl her nearest neighbor.
The proceedings began on the first morning with the entrance of MrSaltzburg, the musical director, a brisk, busy little man withbenevolent eyes behind big spectacles, who bustled over to the piano,sat down, and played a loud chord, designed to act as a sort of bugleblast, rallying the ladies Of the ensemble from the corners wherethey sat in groups, chatting. For the process of making one another'sacquaintance had begun some ten minutes before with mutualrecognitions between those who knew each other from having beentogether in previous productions. There followed rapid introductionsof friends. Nelly Bryant had been welcomed warmly by a pretty girlwith red hair, whom she introduced to Jill as Babe: Babe had awillowy blonde friend, named Lois: and the four of them had seatedthemselves on one of the benches and opened a conversation; theirnumbers being added to a moment later by a dark girl with a Southernaccent and another blonde. Elsewhere other groups had formed, and theroom was filled with a noise like the chattering of starlings. In abody by themselves, rather forlorn and neglected, half a dozen solemnand immaculately dressed young men were propping themselves upagainst the wall and looking on, like men in a ball-room who do notdance.
Jill listened to the conversation without taking any great part in itherself. She felt as she had done on her first day at school, alittle shy and desirous of effacing herself. The talk dealt withclothes, men, and the show business, in that order of importance.
Presently one of the young men sauntered diffidently across the roomand added himself to the group with the remark that it was a fineday. He was received a little grudgingly, Jill thought, but bydegrees succeeded in assimilating himself. A second young man driftedup; reminded the willowy girl that they had worked together in thewestern company of "You're the One"; was recognized and introduced;and justified his admission to the circle by a creditable imitationof a cat-fight. Five minutes later he was addressing the Southerngirl as "honey," and had informed Jill that he had only joined thisshow to fill in before opening on the three-a-day with the swellestlittle song-and-dance act which he and a little girl who worked inthe cabaret at Geisenheimer's had fixed up.
On this scene of harmony and good-fellowship Mr Saltzburg's chordintruded jarringly. There was a general movement, and chairs andbenches were dragged to the piano. Mr Saltzburg causing a momentarydelay by opening a large brown music-bag and digging in it like aterrier at a rat-hole, conversation broke out again.
Mr Saltzburg emerged from the bag, with his hands full of papers,protesting.
"Childrun! Chil-_drun!_ If you please, less noise and attend to me!"He distributed sheets of paper. "Act One, Opening Chorus. I will playthe melody three--four times. Follow attentively. Then we will singit la-la-la, and after that we will sing the words. So!"He struck the yellow-keyed piano a vicious blow, producing a tinnyand complaining sound. Bending forward with his spectacles almosttouching the music, he plodded determinedly through the tune, thenencored himself, and after that encored himself again. When he haddone this, he removed his spectacles and wiped them. There was apause.
"Izzy," observed the willowy young lady chattily, leaning across Jilland addressing the Southern girl's blonde friend, "has promised me asunburst!"A general stir of interest and a coming close together of heads.
"What! Izzy!""Sure, Izzy.""Well!""He's just landed the hat-check privilege at the St Aurea!""You don't say!""He told me so last night and promised me the sunburst. He was,"admitted the willowy girl regretfully, "a good bit tanked at thetime, but I guess he'll make good." She mused awhile, a ratheranxious expression clouding her perfect profile. She looked like ameditative Greek Goddess. "If he doesn't," she added with maidenlydignity, "it's the las' time _I_ go out with the big stiff. I'd tie acan to him quicker'n look at him!"A murmur of approval greeted this admirable sentiment.
"Childrun!" protested Mr Saltzburg. "Chil-drun! Less noise andchatter of conversation. We are here to work! We must not waste time!
So! Act One, Opening Chorus. Now, all together. La-la-la . . .""La-la-la . . .""Tum-tum-tumty-tumty . . .""Tum-tum-tumty . . ."Mr Saltzburg pressed his hands to his ears in a spasm of pain.
"No, no, no! Sour! Sour! Sour! . . . Once again. La-la-la . . ."A round-faced girl with golden hair and the face of a wonderingcherub interrupted, speaking with a lisp.
"Mithter Thalzburg.""Now what is it, Miss Trevor?""What sort of a show is this?""A musical show," said Mr Saltzburg severely, "and this is arehearsal of it, not a conversazione. Once more, please . . ."The cherub was not to be rebuffed.
"Is the music good, Mithter Thalzburg?""When you have rehearsed it, you shall judge for yourself. Come, now. . .""Is there anything in it as good as that waltz of yours you played uswhen we were rehearthing 'Mind How You Go?' You remember. The onethat went . . ."A tall and stately girl, with sleepy brown eyes and the air of aduchess in the servants' hall, bent forward and took a kindlyinterest in the conversation.
"Oh, have you composed a varlse, Mr Saltzburg?" she asked withpleasant condescension. "How interesting, really! Won't you play itfor us?"The sentiment of the meeting seemed to be unanimous in favor ofshelving work and listening to Mr Saltzburg's waltz.
"Oh, Mr Saltzburg, do!""Please!""Some one told me it was a pipterino!""I cert'nly do love waltzes!""Please, Mr Saltzburg!"Mr Saltzburg obviously weakened. His fingers touched the keysirresolutely.
"But, childrun!""I am sure it would be a great pleasure to all of us," said theduchess graciously, "if you would play it. There is nothing I enjoymore than a good varlse."Mr Saltzburg capitulated. Like all musical directors he had in hisleisure moments composed the complete score of a musical play andspent much of his time waylaying librettists on the Rialto and tryingto lure them to his apartment to listen to it, with a view tobusiness. The eternal tragedy of a musical director's life iscomparable only to that of the waiter who, himself fasting, has toassist others to eat, Mr Saltzburg had lofty ideas on music, and hissoul revolted at being compelled perpetually to rehearse and directthe inferior compositions of other men. Far less persuasion than hehad received today was usually required to induce him to play thewhole of his score.
"You wish it?" he said. "Well, then! This waltz, you will understand,is the theme of a musical romance which I have composed. It will besung once in the first act by the heroine, then in the second act asa duet for heroine and hero. I weave it into the finale of the secondact, and we have an echo of it, sung off stage, in the third act.
What I play you now is the second-act duet. The verse is longer. So!
The male voice begins."A pleasant time was had by all for ten minutes.
"Ah, but this is not rehearsing, childrun!" cried Mr Saltzburgremorsefully at the end of that period. "This is not business. Comenow, the opening chorus of act one, and please this time keep on thekey. Before, it was sour, sour. Come! La-la-la . . .""Mr Thalzburg!""Miss Trevor?""There was an awfully thweet fox-trot you used to play us. I do wish. . .""Some other time, some other time! Now we must work. Come! La-la-la. . .""I wish you could have heard it, girls," said the cherub regretfully.
"Honetht, it wath a lalapalootha!"The pack broke into full cry.
"Oh, Mr Saltzburg!""Please, Mr Saltzburg!""Do play the fox-trot, Mr Saltzburg!""If it is as good as the varlse," said the duchess, stooping oncemore to the common level, "I am sure it must be very good indeed."She powdered her nose. "And one so rarely hears musicianly musicnowadays, does one?""Which fox-trot?" asked Mr Saltzburg weakly.
"Play 'em all!" decided a voice on the left.
"Yes, play 'em all," bayed the pack.
"I am sure that that would be charming," agreed the duchess,replacing her powder-puff.
Mr Saltzburg played 'em all. This man by now seemed entirely lost toshame. The precious minutes that belonged to his employers and shouldhave been earmarked for "The Rose of America" flitted by. The ladiesand gentlemen of the ensemble, who should have been absorbing andlearning to deliver the melodies of Roland Trevis and the lyrics ofOtis Pilkington, lolled back in their seats. The yellow-keyed pianorocked beneath an unprecedented onslaught. The proceedings had begunto resemble not so much a rehearsal as a home evening, and gratefulglances were cast at the complacent cherub. She had, it was felt,shown tact and discretion.
Pleasant conversation began again.
". . . And I walked a couple of blocks, and there was exactly the samemodel in Schwartz and Gulderstein's window at twenty-six fifty . . ."". . . He got on at Forty-second Street, and he was kinda fresh fromthe start. I could see he was carrying a package. At Sixty-sixth hecame sasshaying right down the car and said 'Hello, patootie!' Well,I drew myself up . . ."". . . 'Even if you are my sister's husband,' I said to him. Oh, Isuppose I got a temper. It takes a lot to arouse it, y'know, but Ic'n get pretty mad . . ."". . . You don't know the half of it, dearie, you don't know the halfof it! A one-piece bathing suit! Well, you could call it that, butthe cop on the beach said it was more like a baby's sock. And when . . ."". . . So I said 'Listen, Izzy, that'll be about all from you! Myfather was a gentleman, though I don't suppose you know what thatmeans, and I'm not accustomed . . .'""Hey!"A voice from the neighborhood of the door had cut into the babblelike a knife into butter; a rough, rasping voice, loud andcompelling, which caused the conversation of the members of theensemble to cease on the instant. Only Mr Saltzburg, now in a perfectfrenzy of musicianly fervor, continued to assault the decrepit piano,unwitting of an unsympathetic addition to his audience.
"What I play you now is the laughing trio from my second act. It is abuilding number. It is sung by tenor, principal comedian, andsoubrette. On the second refrain four girls will come out and twoboys. The girls will dance with the two men, the boys with thesoubrette. So! On the encore, four more girls and two more boys.
Third encore, solo-dance for specialty dancer, all on stage beatingtime by clapping their hands. On repeat, all sing refrain once more,and off-encore, the three principals and specialty dancer dance thedance with entire chorus. It is a great building number, youunderstand. It is enough to make the success of any musical play, butcan I get a hearing? No! If I ask managers to listen to my music,they are busy! If I beg them to give me a libretto to set, theylaugh--ha! ha!" Mr Saltzburg gave a spirited and lifelikerepresentation of a manager laughing ha-ha when begged to disgorge alibretto. "Now I play it once more!""Like hell you do!" said the voice. "Say, what is this, anyway? Aconcert?"Mr Saltzburg swung round on the music-stool, a startled andapprehensive man, and nearly fell off it. The divine afflatus lefthim like air oozing from a punctured toy-balloon, and, like such aballoon, he seemed to grow suddenly limp and flat. He stared withfallen jaw at the new arrival.
Two men had entered the room. One was the long Mr Pilkington. Theother, who looked shorter and stouter than he really was beside hisgiraffe-like companion, was a thickset, fleshy man in the earlythirties with a blond, clean-shaven, double-chinned face. He hadsmooth yellow hair, an unwholesome complexion, and light green eyes,set close together. From the edge of the semi-circle about the piano,he glared menacingly over the heads of the chorus at the unfortunateMr Saltzburg,"Why aren't these girls working?"Mr Saltzburg, who had risen nervously from his stool, backed awayapprehensively from his gaze, and, stumbling over the stool, sat downabruptly on the piano, producing a curious noise like Futurist music.
"I--We--Why, Mr Goble . . ."Mr Goble turned his green gaze on the concert audience, and spreaddiscomfort as if it were something liquid which he was sprayingthrough a hose. The girls who were nearest looked down flutteringlyat their shoes: those further away concealed themselves behind theirneighbors. Even the duchess, who prided herself on being thepossessor of a stare of unrivalled haughtiness, before which thefresh quailed and those who made breaks subsided in confusion, wasunable to meet his eyes: and the willowy friend of Izzy, for all hervictories over that monarch of the hat-checks, bowed before it like aslim tree before a blizzard.
Only Jill returned the manager's gaze. She was seated on the outerrim of the semi-circle, and she stared frankly at Mr Goble. She hadnever seen anything like him before, and he fascinated her. Thisbehavior on her part singled her out from the throng, and Mr Gobleconcentrated his attention on her.
For some seconds he stood looking at her; then, raising a stubbyfinger, he let his eye travel over the company, and seemed to beengrossed in some sort of mathematical calculation.
"Thirteen," he said at length. "I make it thirteen." He rounded on MrPilkington. "I told you we were going to have a chorus of twelve."Mr Pilkington blushed and stumbled over his feet.
"Ah, yes . . . yes," he murmured vaguely. "Yes!""Well, there are thirteen here. Count 'em for yourself." He whippedround on Jill. "What's _your_ name? Who engaged you?"A croaking sound from the neighborhood of the ceiling indicated theclearing of Mr Pilkington's throat.
"I--er--_I_ engaged Miss Mariner, Mr Goble.""Oh, _you_ engaged her?"He stared again at Jill. The inspection was long and lingering, andaffected Jill with a sense of being inadequately clothed. Shereturned the gaze as defiantly as she could, but her heart wasbeating fast. She had never yet beer frightened of any man, but therewas something reptilian about this fat, yellow-haired individualwhich disquieted her; much as cockroaches had done in her childhood.
A momentary thought flashed through her mind that it would behorrible to be touched by him. He looked soft and glutinous.
"All right," said Mr Goble at last, after what seemed to Jill manyminutes. He nodded to Mr Saltzburg. "Get on with it! And try workinga little this time! I don't hire you to give musical entertainments.""Yes, Mr Goble, yes. I mean no, Mr Goble!""You can have the Gotham stage this afternoon," said Mr Goble. "Callthe rehearsal for two sharp."Outside the door, he turned to Mr Pilkington.
"That was a fool trick of yours, hiring that girl. Thirteen! I'd assoon walk under a ladder on a Friday as open in New York with achorus of thirteen. Well, it don't matter. We can fire one of 'emafter we've opened on the road." He mused for a moment. "Darnedpretty girl, that!" he went on meditatively. "Where did you gether?""She--ah--came into the office, when you were out. She struck me asbeing essentially the type we required for our ensemble, soI--er--engaged her. She--" Mr Pilkington gulped. "She is a charming,refined girl!""She's darned pretty," admitted Mr Goble, and went on his way wrappedin thought, Mr Pilkington following timorously. It was episodes likethe one that had just concluded which made Otis Pilkington wish thathe possessed a little more assertion. He regretted wistfully that hewas not one of those men who can put their hat on the side of theirheads and shoot out their chins and say to the world "Well, whatabout it!" He was bearing the financial burden of this production. Ifit should be a failure, his would be the loss. Yet somehow thiscoarse, rough person in front of him never seemed to allow him a wordin the executive policy of the piece. He treated him as a child. Hedomineered and he shouted, and ............