Читать книгу Prillilgirl - Carolyn Wells - Страница 6

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“You see, Lamb,” Prillilgirl was saying, “it’s lovely of my husband to send me away to a farm, for the city is hot and dusty, they say, in July—”

“Yes, ma’am, it’s all that, and more—with its noise and dirt, and full of ridiculous people trailing in from hick burgs to buy stuff for their little Main Street shops.”

“Yes, I s’pose so—but—you see I’ve lived on a farm all my life, and I’d rather spend the summer on anything else.”

“I know—I know, Mrs. Thorndike—but don’t you worry—it’ll be all right—you won’t have to go—no, no—you shan’t stir a step where you don’t want to stir. You leave it to me.”

“You’re such a comfort, Lamb. But don’t you say one word to my husband about it. If he wants me to go I’ll go—even if it’s a howling wilderness in an abomination of desolation.”

“And it will be, if he sends you up to that mountain farm! I know the place. Tucked in a cranny behind the Catskills—and nothing to it but mosquitoes and hooked rugs! But don’t you worry, my angel butterfly—you won’t have to go. In the first place, His Majesty will probably never think of it again. He says a thing like that and then other matters push it out of his mind and he forgets all about it.”

“He’s a great man, Lamb.”

“He is, for sure. And a great actor. But all great men are queer—now, could anything be queerer than his taking you into this house like this and never so much as giving you an admiring glance?”

“I don’t want his admiration,” the brown eyes looked wistful, “only, Lamb, I don’t want to bother him. Help me, Lamb dear, won’t you, not to bother him? If he really wants me to, I’ll go to the Hooked Rug place, but if he forgets about it, so much the better. Me, I’d like to stay in New York all summer.”

“Then you shall—anyway, till you get enough of it—and then I’ll see about it. Leave it all to me, Honey.”

As it turned out, Thorndike did forget about the farm and indeed, forgot about Prillilgirl. He was upset about the play that he couldn’t get and that he was bent on having.

The more he learned about it from Vane, the more he was positive that no other play could ever be such a perfect medium for his talent, and also that no other living actor could do it justice.

Conceited, Guy Thorndike was, but his conceit was founded on an expert knowledge of his own merit and ability, and aside from his actor’s point of view he saw with the eyes of a shrewd and clever manager, what an enormous hit the play, in his hands, could make.

The alternative, for Dan Larkin to put on the play, would be, in Thorndike’s estimation, a disaster. As manager, Larkin was well enough but Jeffreys, the man he would star in it, was incapable of grasping the finer shades of meaning in the plot, as well as unable to play the part of principal as it should be played.

He, Guy, understood to the last degree the author’s meaning, and also had inspirations of his own regarding its rendition.

But he knew that no amount of coaxing or pleading would get the play out of Larkin’s clutches, and he must manage it in some ingenious way, the which he could not as yet map out. Mallory Vane himself was ready to sell his work to the highest bidder, quite regardless of the fact that Larkin had ordered it—or said he had.

And so, Thorndike was brooding and pondering over the matter to the exclusion of all other considerations.

And so, he forgot all about Mrs. Guy Thorndike and her troublesome presence.

But other people didn’t forget her. Especially was she remembered by Mallory Vane and Dan Larkin, and, perhaps less pleasantly, by Agatha Barr.

For that noted actress had spent all her spare time for a year or more striving to achieve the title that a big-eyed chit of a girl had suddenly snatched from her without warning.

Agatha greatly resented this. Mrs. Guy Thorndike, indeed! That silly upstart! How much better, Agatha thought, could she have graced the name—and the game!

But, as was her custom, she decided to turn the situation to her own advantage, and to this end she went to call on Mrs. Guy Thorndike.

At Webb’s announcement of the visitor, Prillilgirl made a face of wry aspect, and then, suddenly changing her demeanor, she said;

“Very well, Webb, bring her right here to me. Stand by, Lambie, will you?”

Willingly enough her devoted caretaker stood by, and sat quietly in the background, sewing, as Prillilgirl rose to greet her caller.

“What a wonderful room!” and Agatha stared in astonishment as she reached the threshold.

The boudoir had been done over to suit Prillilgirl’s taste, and was a bower of beauty in palest pink and silver. Great bowls of pink roses stood about and their perfume filled the air.

“Yes, it is pretty,” assented Mrs. Thorndike, “sit here, won’t you?” She indicated an easy chair, and herself dropped on a cushioned ottoman.

Her manner was polite but in no way cordial. Agatha sensed the strain in the situation and wondered if the chit was going to be more difficult to deal with than she had anticipated.

“You’re staying in town late, aren’t you?” she said, “hasn’t Guy found a place to put you yet?”

Prillilgirl was mad clear through at this. But with a canny sort of inspiration born of the necessity of the moment, she returned, sweetly, “oh, yes, he has found a delightful place, but he hasn’t put me there yet. When do you leave the city?”

“Oh, I’m not going away until my plans are settled. You know this play of Vane’s—or don’t you know anything about Guy’s work?”

“Rather!” exclaimed Mrs. Guy, with an expression of all-embracing knowledge on her face. “But my knowledge is sympathetic rather more than advisory. I daresay you can advise him. Are you playing with him next season?”

Now this was just what Agatha was longing to know. If Guy secured the Vane play he would not have her in it—he had said, and her present errand was to get Prillilgirl to plead for her.

If Dan Larkin secured the play, he might put Agatha in the cast and he might not, but he would certainly put Jeffreys, and the leading lady wanted to play the part with Thorndike.

“I hope to,” she replied, “but for some unaccountable reason Guy says the part doesn’t suit me.”

“Then it doesn’t,” Prillilgirl said, calmly. “Guy always knows.”

“No, he doesn’t. That is, he doesn’t realize my capabilities. Of course I can play the part. It isn’t difficult—only tricky. Now that’s what I came to see you about. You help me and I’ll help you.”

“But I don’t need any help. I don’t want a part in a play.”

“No, but you do want help. You need some one to introduce you to the right people and see that you get started in the right set.”

“My husband will look after all that.”

“Yes, how will he look after it? Bundle you off to a God-forsaken farmhouse and forbid you to speak to anybody!”

“How do you know?” Prillilgirl was so surprised at Agatha’s knowledge of her affairs, that she spoke out before she thought.

“Oh, we all know all about you. Guy makes no secret of his new responsibilities. And of course, you are a millstone about his neck. A very pretty millstone, to be sure, but still a drag.”

“I’m sorry to be rude, but I think if you’re going to talk in that strain, I’d rather not listen.”

“You’ve got to listen. Don’t dictate to me. I am Agatha Barr, and I won’t stand any nonsense!”

Miss Barr’s black eyes stared at her surprised-looking hostess. The actress was a very beautiful woman. Her black hair was of the lustrous sort and she wore it parted and brushed down on either side after the mode of the Mona Lisa. Her cheeks and lips were artificially reddened, but moderately and artistically done. She was tall and extremely slender, and her imperious eyes flashed at the girl she was trying to impress. And it would seem that the baby-faced young thing before her must be cowed by the other’s personality, but she was not.

“And I,” she said, “am Mrs. Guy Thorndike, and I won’t stand any nonsense, either. Now, Miss Barr, just what is it you want? Don’t offer me anything in exchange, for you can’t give me any instruction or favor or assistance that I would take. But if I can do anything for you, tell me what it is, and I will see about it.”

The dignity of the chit was impressive, and Agatha Barr grew annoyed.

“Better come off that high horse, my pretty Corinne. I may call you Corinne, I suppose.”

There was no reply to this, and the speaker went on.

“And don’t scorn my assistance. You may yet be very glad to get it. You can make your way with the men, of course, but you will not find the women so easy to deal with.”

“What women?”

“The women of your husband’s set. They all resent your sudden appearance, and they intend to make it hard for you.”

“Hard?”

“You heard me! Yes, hard. You’ll see. You little ninny, are you too innocent to know how hard women can make another woman’s lot if they choose to? Why, Mrs. Lamb, there, will agree to that.”

Not being directly addressed, Lamb made no reply to this, nor did she raise her eyes from her sewing.

“Look at me, ninny,” Agatha went on, in a half bantering threatening tone, “are you going to do what I want?”

“What do you want? I’ve already asked you to be explicit.”

“Very well, I will be. I want you to persuade your husband to get that play of Mallory Vane’s, to put it on himself, and to let me play the leading woman’s part.”

“If you can’t persuade Guy to do that, do you suppose I can?”

“Of course I suppose so. You’re his wife. He picked you up somewhere—he won’t tell where, and he fell for your china doll face. Now if you have any sense at all, you can wind him round your finger, and make him do whatever you say.”

“Oh, of course I can wind him round my finger and make him do whatever I say.” Prillilgirl told this astounding lie with a straight face. “But why should I do this thing you ask? I don’t care whether he has you in his cast or not.”

“You’re going to care!” Agatha leaned forward and her face took on a menacing look. “You—wait a minute—send that maid of yours out of the room. Go out, Lamb.”

Mrs. Lamb gave Agatha a mutinous glance and sat still. The two were not unacquainted for Lora Lamb had played many years before her retirement to look after Thorndike’s household, and had frequently met Miss Barr.

“Take your work into the dressing room, Lamb, and close the door,” said Prillilgirl, quietly, and the woman went.

“Now, Miss Barr, proceed with your arguments.”

Agatha waxed furious at the sight of the mocking little smile, and almost shouted:

“Don’t you dare stand up to me like that, ninny! Don’t you know I can make you or break you!”

“You’ve implied that before. Just what do you mean by it?”

“I mean that in our crowd, what I say goes. I’m the leading lady off the stage as well as on. Not even your husband can combat my decisions. And if I say you are to be ostracized, you will be. And that will not only be pretty unpleasant for you, but will react against Guy Thorndike in more ways than you can realize or understand. Now, ninny, do you propose to stick to your high and mighty attitude?”

“First, don’t think I mind your calling me ninny,—I think it’s rather engaging.”

“Oh, you do! Well, then answer my questions.”

“Forget what they were,” and Prillilgirl drummed on the arm of her chair with a disinterested gaze out of the window.

“I’ll repeat. Are you going to persuade your husband to let me play in Vane’s piece?”

“By no means. Positively not. No. Are you answered?”

“Why not?”

“Because if he wants you in it, he’ll have you without my advice. And if he doesn’t—I don’t either.”

“Then you refuse?”

“I do. Positively. Absolutely. Entirely. Are you answered?”

“Yes. And you’ll regret this. Do you realize you’re making an enemy of me instead of a friend? Do you know what it means to have me for an enemy?”

“It would seem I stand a fair chance of finding out.”

Prillilgirl refused to be intimidated. She looked at Agatha with a half quizzical, half mocking smile that infuriated the elder woman. She had expected to find the chit frightened, or, at least, embarrassed, and this cool amused demeanor drove her frantic.

“You do indeed!” she cried. “You and your husband both. He’ll suffer more than you will.”

Prillilgirl flared up.

“Don’t you dare do anything that will annoy my husband!” she said, in a low, tense tone. “But you couldn’t anyway. You are only jealous and envious of me and him.”

“Jealous of you!” and Agatha gave a short laugh. “Never! Why after a month or so, he won’t look at you. You’re the type that men tire of soonest! You’ve eyes and a skin—but you’ve none of the qualities that hold a man.”

“Have you?” asked Prillilgirl, with a pretense of deep interest. “What are they?”

“Brains, talent, charm, temperament, magnetism—”

“Ah—no, I can never hope to acquire those things. The best I can do is to pretend to have them. I can do that pretty well.”

“Yes, but it doesn’t last if it isn’t the real thing.”

“How horrible! And when my husband finds out I’m merely pretending, what will he do? Divorce me?”

“Probably. They often do. But don’t be stubborn. Just grant my request, and I’ll be your friend, and I’ll see to it that you have the best times a woman can have.”

“See here, Miss Barr, as you have all this charm and talent and all, why can’t you manage Guy yourself? Why come to me for help?”

“Because, for the moment, you’re his new toy. He adores you—I suppose—”

“What makes you suppose that?”

“Because I know Guy. Whenever he takes a new fancy, all else is forgotten for the time being. He must be crazy about you or why did he marry you?”

“Grant his craziness about me,” Mrs. Thorndike smiled a wifely little smile, “that doesn’t prove that he is so blind to his own interest—to his own life work, as to change his stage plans at my request. And, too, I’ve no reason to ask him to do so. I know that he does not think you’re suited to the part in Mr. Vane’s play, and I wouldn’t dream of asking him to put you in it.”

“Then take the consequences!” and Agatha rose in wrath, and her beautiful face fairly scowled with anger. “I tell you, I can make your life a burden—I can make you wish you’d never been born! And I can do these things so quietly and so cleverly that no one will see my hand in them.”

“Sounds like a magician!” and the big dark eyes looked at her with mock admiration and wonder. “But you see—and I know it surprises you, I’m not afraid of you.”

“You will be. You’re defiant because you are ignorant. You’ll sing another tune before long. I know some things about you, and I shall find out more. You expect to have the world at your feet. You’ll find the world turning a cold shoulder instead.”

“You mean to spread lies about me?”

“I don’t propose to take you into my confidence as to my plans. But I warn you I mean to make you miserable. And what I mean to do, I always accomplish. Think over that, ninny! But it isn’t too late to change your mind. Why don’t you, Corinne? Why don’t you take me for a friend, and let me help you, and then you help me? It would be so much nicer all round. And so much better for Guy.”

“May I ask Guy about this? May I put the question up to him?”

“No, you may not! This is between us two. If you tell Guy about it, I shall deny all I’ve said, and I have reason to think that he will take my word against yours.”

“I have reason to think the opposite.”

“What is your reason?”

“That I have never lied to him—and I feel sure you have.”

Agatha’s face turned a dull red.

“You are insulting,” she said.

“You have insulted me. I think, honors are about even. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to ask you to go—because, surely it can give neither of us pleasure or profit to continue this interview.”

At that moment, Webb appeared to announce that Mr. Vane was calling.

“I’ll see him with you,” said Agatha, eagerly. “Let us go down together.”

Prillilgirl stared at this sudden change of attitude, but, seeing no way out of it, she went down stairs to the drawing room, followed by her guest.

Mallory Vane greeted them both with his usual courtly manner, and though he had hoped for a tête-á-tête with Mrs. Thorndike, he showed no disappointment.

“You’re just the man we want to see,” Agatha exclaimed, “We’re so glad you happened in. Mrs. Thorndike and I are hoping you will let Guy have your play, and that he can be persuaded that I can play the heroine’s part in it. Can’t you rewrite some of her lines so that they will suit me a little better? As they are she is a less high-spirited woman than I should want to make her.”

“Sorry, Miss Barr, but I can’t change that character one bit. She is an inherent part of the play, and all the work of the star hinges on the question of the temperament of the heroine. I don’t think it is the part for you, and yet, I do think you could play it if you were willing to sink your own personality in the type I have portrayed. But Mr. Thorndike doesn’t think you can.”

“Is he to have your play?” Agatha asked, quickly.

“It isn’t decided yet. Dan Larkin says he’ll sue me if I let any one have it but him. However, I don’t think he would have a case against me. He ordered it, to be sure, but there was nothing paid, and no contract signed. So, I hold that I have a legal right to sell it to the highest bidder, and Mr. Thorndike is that, so far. What does he say to you about it, Mrs. Thorndike?”

“He’s certain he’ll get it,” Prillilgirl said, glibly. Not for worlds would she have these people know that Guy had never spoken to her of the play—or, indeed, of little else.

“I want him to have it—” Vane went on, “and yet, if Larkin insists it’s his, I don’t know just what to do. If Larkin gets it, Agatha, of course the part will be yours.”

“Of course. But I don’t want to play it with Jeffreys—I want Guy.”

“Oh, Guy’s the only one for it. Jeffreys would be lumberly. It’s Guy’s own field—he’d make a whale of a hit. The best thing to do would be to coax Larkin off. There’s no use fighting him—he only gets more obstinate. But I think Guy’s friendship with him ought to count for something. Yet Guy wouldn’t stoop to ask him a favor. Larkin would grant that, when he won’t concede the thing otherwise. So it’s a deadlock, for Guy will never give in.”

“Could anybody except Guy coax Mr. Larkin to give up?” Prillilgirl asked, her big brown eyes eager and anxious.

“You could,” and Mallory Vane stared at her without apology. “I doubt if any one could refuse your coaxing.”

“How can I manage it?” and Prillilgirl looked very serious.

“You come on around to my place now—” Vane said, “around to my studio, and I’ll call Larkin over,—Miss Barr will come along, too—won’t you, Agatha? And I’ll get Dan in a good humor, and then you smile on him and flatter him up a bit, and then spring your request. If he doesn’t say the play is yours and the world is yours, for that matter, I miss my one best bet! Come along, girls.”

Prillilgirl ran for a hat and coat, and soon they were flying along in Vane’s car to Vane’s studio.

“Where do I come in?” said Agatha. “If Guy takes the play, where am I?”

“Up to you to manage Guy,” Vane returned, “or get Mrs. Thorndike to help you, too.”

“I think she will,” Agatha said. “She seems to be the god in the machine for all of us. You’ll be a good sport, won’t you, Corinne?”

But Prillilgirl only smiled and looked about as communicative as the sphinx.

“We’ll see,” she said, “after we get the play away from Mr. Larkin.”

Now, it was no part of Agatha’s plan to be at this coming conference. There was no rôle in it in which she could shine. If they succeeded in getting the play for Thorndike she hoped she could then persuade him to let her play in it. But it would do no good for her to antagonize Larkin, which might after all, be the result. So she asked to be set down at her own home and promised to rejoin them at the studio a little later. And nothing loth, Vane agreed.