  Craig Claiborne was slumped deep in the easy chair in Oscar Stalkey’s office. A look of troubled guilt was stamped across his face. “I apologized later,” he was saying to the producer, who for once was not pacing. He was sitting across from his director, chewing nervously on the stump of a cold cigar, looking haggard and careworn. “What did he say?” Stalkey asked. “He mumbled something about its all being his fault and shuffled out.” “Where did he go?” “How the devil should I know? I’m not his nurse.” Claiborne passed a weary hand over his forehead. “I’m sorry, Oscar. I didn’t mean to snap at you. But this thing’s got us all to the breaking point.” He paused and looked at the producer steadily. “Have you thought of asking for Katherine Nelson’s resignation?” Stalkey removed the cigar from his mouth. “On what grounds?” he shot back. “Yes, I’ve hinted at it,” he added morosely. “But she laughed at me. She said she’d never resign.” “Did you threaten to fire her?” “I didn’t have to. She told me that if I tried to get rid of her she’d raise such a fuss the show would never open.” “But that’s all bluff.” Stalkey sighed. “Maybe. But she threatened to sue me and drag the whole thing into court.” “But—I don’t understand her attitude.” “Neither do I!” Stalkey said. “I don’t know what she hopes to accomplish. It won’t do her any good to have the play flop.” The producer changed the subject abruptly. “What about Tom? Do you think he’ll be back?” Claiborne shook his head. “We’ll see.” It was nearly a quarter of three and Tom Agate still hadn’t appeared. Their nerves frayed and their tempers short, the rest of the cast went through some scenes where Tom wasn’t needed. Finally, just a few minutes before the hour, the back doors of the theater opened and Tom came striding purposefully down the aisle. On stage, the cast members greeted his arrival with smiles of relief. All except Katherine Nelson. She drew in her breath sharply, marched over to a chair, and sat down forbiddingly. “Sorry I’m late,” Tom apologized. “But the train broke down.” “That’s no excuse,” came a cold, hard voice. “You’ve kept us waiting for nearly an hour. If you don’t have more of a sense of responsibility than that, you should get out!” In the silence that followed, Tom went up to Katherine Nelson and looked down at her. An expression of sorrow, mingled with pity, crossed his face. “It won’t work, Katherine,” he said softly. “I’m in this to the finish.” He turned away abruptly and signaled Craig Claiborne. “I’m ready whenever you are.” “All right,” Craig announced. “We’ll do the scene between the grandfather and the daughter. Marcy! Let’s go!” Peggy, who had come to look upon this scene almost as her private property, stood in the wings and watched it unfold. She had seen it so many times before, knew every line of dialogue and every movement, but she still loved it. As soon as Tom came on stage, it was evident that he had regained the confidence that he had lost yesterday. His rich, deep voice colored the empty theater, making it glow with warmth and life. Peggy smiled to herself and settled down to watch. It soon became clear that this was the finest performance Tom had given yet. It was almost as if he wanted to make up for the day before. Everyone in the theater stood engrossed as the two actors went through their scene. Halfway through the scene, Peggy suddenly realized she wasn’t alone. Standing a few feet away from her, half hidden by the backstage gloom, was Katherine Nelson. Her eyes never left Tom Agate, and as Peggy watched, the older actress’s face softened in an infinitely sad and tender half-smile. Peggy had never seen her look like that before. She was almost in tears. Then, abruptly, Katherine Nelson turned and moved quickly out of sight to her dressing room. Peggy thought she heard a stifled sob. The young girl stared after her with a puzzled frown. “Now what,” she murmured to herself, “do you suppose that means?” “I went to see Tommy today,” Tom was saying to Peggy later that afternoon. They were standing in the little alley behind the theater, taking a quick breath of fresh air before going back to rehearsal. “Tommy?” Peggy asked, trying to place the name. “You remember,” Tom said. “Tommy Stanton. Out on Tidewater Road. You were the one who told me that he wanted to see me again.” Peggy brightened. “Oh, Tommy! Of course. Was he glad you came?” Tom Agate smiled, obviously pleased by what had happened. “Yes, I think he was. He played me some of our old songs on the banjo, and I gave him another lesson.” “He must have been surprised.” “That’s a funny thing. He wasn’t. He was certain I’d be out soon, because you had promised it. He said he never gave up knowing that I’d be back.” Tom shook his head in wonder. “That little boy taught me an important lesson. You know, I was ready to give up yesterday. I wanted to quit the company.” When Peggy didn’t say anything, Tom went on. “Yes, I thought there wasn’t any use in going on. What was the point? But Tommy gave me back the faith I’d lost. I don’t know where he gets so much courage. He doesn’t have a very happy life.” “I didn’t know that,” Peggy said. “What’s wrong?” “He’s alone so much of the time,” Tom explained. “The family’s terribly poor, and both his mother and father go out to work all day. They don’t want him out on the street and there isn’t much to do alone in the house. That’s why he loves the banjo so much. It gives him an interest.” Tom laughed. “You know, he wanted to come away with me. He said he was going to visit me sometime and see all the kings and queens. He was especially eager to meet the one-eyed giant.” “I’m sure he was.” Peggy laughed. “What did you say?” “I told him it was a long way off and not to try. But he said he didn’t care. He knew where it was.” “I wonder what he meant by that?” “I don’t know. When we said good-by, he told me not to be lonely. Imagine! Him telling that to me. He said he’d see me soon—after he learned the new song I’d taught him.” The two of them stood quietly in the dingy alleyway, wrapped in their private thoughts. Peggy drew her coat up around her neck. Fall had turned to winter, and there was just a hint of snow in the air. Emily Burckhardt resigned the next afternoon. Surprisingly, Oscar Stalkey accepted her decision without protest. “I can’t blame you, Emily,” he told her. “That woman is just impossible,” Emily said. She stated it as a fact, simply and without rancor. “If you don’t get her out of the play, you might as well not bother sending it out on tour.” Oscar Stalkey nodded. “I know. But I’m going to give her another two days. Things might work themselves out by that time.” Emily Burckhardt looked doubtful but kept silent. “Have you any thoughts about my replacement?” she asked. “Yes, I am considering Enid Partridge. She’s free and I think she’d do a nice job.” Emily nodded in agreement. “Good choice.” She extended her hand. “Again, let me tell you how sorry I am about leaving, but you know how it is.” “Just a minute, Emily. Do you like the part of the grandmother? I mean if it wasn’t for the other thing....” “I love it,” Emily said with a shrug. “I would have enjoyed playing it.” Stalkey smiled. “Well then, it’s not all bad news, anyway.” “I don’t know what you mean.” “The present company—the one that’s in New York now—has been booked to open in London. Paula Howard doesn’t want to leave the country. She’s doing a fine job as the grandmother here, but doesn’t think she’s up to making the trip. She wants to resign the part.” Emily brightened considerably. “And you want me to take her place?” she asked. Stalkey nodded. “What about it?” Emily nodded her head emphatically. “When do we leave?” “Not for another six months. Although Paula wants out right away. Do you think you could take over in two weeks, say?” “I could take over right now,” Emily declared. Oscar Stalkey sighed. “Good. At least that’s one thing off my mind.” “Tell me something, Oscar,” Emily asked curiously. “The New York company is scheduled to go to London in six months. How are you planning to replace them here?” “I had thought of bringing in the Chicago road company. But now”—Oscar Stalkey shook his head darkly—“I don’t know. We’ll cross that bridge later.” “There’s one more thing you ought to know,” Emily said. “Marcy Hubbard is thinking of quitting.” Oscar Stalkey drew a deep breath. “Did she tell you that?” Emily nodded. “She thinks it would be bad for her career to open in a play that’s as bad as this.” “Oh, she does, does she?” the producer said grimly. “Don’t blame her, Oscar,” Emily urged. “Besides, she’s had a very attractive offer from Hollywood.” Oscar Stalkey sighed. “Let her go, if she wants to. That’s one problem I’m not worried about. I know who’ll take her part.” “Who?” “Peggy Lane.” Stalkey made the announcement of Emily Burckhardt’s resignation late that afternoon. The cast was shocked by the news and sat in numbed surprise. After that, Craig Claiborne excused them and posted a notice for ten o’clock the following morning. Slowly, everyone left the theater, struggling into heavy coats as they prepared to face a swirling snowstorm that had struck New York about noon that day. Peggy didn’t leave the theater at once. She hunched in one of the seats of the auditorium, thinking about the past three and a half weeks. It seemed impossible that they would be opening in ten days. Half her life she had been looking forward to the day when she would be rehearsing a play with a professional company. She had imagined the fun of working together, the excitement of the big night approaching. But instead of what her imagination had led her to expect, she was left with an empty feeling of hopeless frustration. She realized with sudden clarity that she didn’t care when the play opened. It all seemed so pointless. She sighed, struggled wearily to her feet, and walked aimlessly down the aisle and on up to the stage. There was no sense in staying here. She’d go home and talk to May. She turned the corner to go backstage, then stopped abruptly. There was a light on in Katherine Nelson’s dressing room. The door was ajar, and from where Peggy stood she could see the star sitting in front of her make-up table, her head buried in her hands. As Peggy watched, Katherine Nelson drew her hands from her face and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Peggy saw that she had been crying. It was an embarrassing moment. Peggy didn’t know whether to make her presence known or remain hidden in the shadows of the darkened stage. As she hesitated in momentary indecision, the heavy iron stage door leading to the street banged open, and for a second or two winter roared into the theater. The door clanged shut and footsteps shuffled up the passageway. In her dressing room, Katherine Nelson jumped to her feet and came out into the backstage area. “Who’s there?” she cried sharply. “It’s all right, miss,” came a voice. The next instant Peggy saw a large, craggy policeman step into the circle of light. With one hand he brushed away the snow clinging to his uniform. His other hand clutched a small boy, who seemed to be staring around in expectant wonder. Peggy recognized the little boy at once. It was Tommy Stanton. “Excuse me, ma’am,” the policeman said, touching his hat. “But where would I find a Mr. Armour?” With one hand, the policeman clutched a small boy. “Mr. Armour?” Katherine Nelson answered vacantly. “Nobody by that name here.” The policeman bent down and addressed his charge. “You see, son?” he asked kindly. “You must have made a mistake.” “No, sir,” the boy said in a clear, emphatic voice, “I know him.” He looked at Katherine Nelson curiously. “Are you one of the queens?” he asked. Katherine Nelson frowned. “Queens? What’s this all about?” The policeman shifted his weight uncomfortably. “Well, it’s this way, ma’am. I found this little fellow wandering around Times Square all alone. He told me he lives all the way out on Long Island, and I can’t imagine how he got here by himself. Anyway, he did, and I was going to take him over to the stationhouse, but he won’t tell me his name until he sees this friend of his.” The policeman fished in his pocket and came up with a ragged newspaper clipping. “Do you know who this is?” He showed her the scrap of paper. “The boy seems to know him as Mr. Armour, even though the name under the picture is Tom Agate.” Peggy saw Katherine Nelson start. She looked down at Tommy Stanton and then back at the photograph. “What made you come here?” she asked the officer. “The piece in the paper here,” he said, pointing it out with a stubby finger. “It said that Mr. Agate—or Mr. Armour or whatever his name is—is rehearsing at the Elgin Theater. The boy is full of some kind of story about a secret place with one-eyed giants. I couldn’t make any sense out of that, so I decided to give the theater a try since it wasn’t much out of our way.” Katherine Nelson took the newspaper clipping from the policeman and leaned down beside Tommy. “Will you tell me your name?” she asked. “Tommy,” came the prompt reply. “Well, Tommy, you see this picture here?” She showed him the picture. “Where did you get it?” “I tore it out of the paper. Can I see him, please?” “What do you want to see him about?” “I learned the piece he taught me the other day,” Tommy said simply. Then, for the first time, Peggy realized he was carrying the banjo that Tom had given him. The little boy held it out proudly. “Would you like me to play it for you?” When Katherine Nelson saw the instrument, she gasped and stepped back a pace. The policeman threw out a hand to support her. “Are you all right, ma’am?” he asked anxiously. “Yes,” the actress assured him. “I’m all right.” She returned to Tommy. “Do you like Mr. Armour?” she asked. The look on the boy’s face was all the answer she needed. “He’s—” Tommy struggled to express himself. “He’s my very best friend in the world.” Unexpectedly, his face began to cloud. “Couldn’t I please see him now?” he begged. “Please?” “He’s had a hard day, ma’am,” the policeman murmured. “I expect he’s pretty cold and hungry. If this Mr. Armour isn’t here, I think I’d better get the boy to the station house and start checking with Missing Persons.” “No, don’t!” Katherine Nelson cried sharply. “I know where he is. I’ll take the boy to him.” “I’m afraid I can’t just leave him with you, ma’am,” the policeman explained apologetically. “I don’t even know who you are.” The actress stepped closer to the policeman. “Don’t you recognize me?” she said. “I’m Katherine Nelson.” The policeman’s eyes widened. “Oh, beggin’ your pardon, ma’am.” Katherine Nelson reached out gently for Tommy’s hand. “He’s come to the right place,” she said, a soft smile stealing over her face. “I’ll take him to Mr. Armour, and I’ll assume responsibility.” The policeman seemed relieved. “Then you know Mr. Armour?” “Oh, yes—” Katherine Nelson paused, and then said, in a voice that was barely audible to Peggy, “You see, Mr.—Armour is—is my husband.” |
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