Tempest-Tost Read online

  His hearers were impressed. Hector had all the advantage of the man who speaks infrequently, and whose words carry special weight for that reason. Furthermore, his introduction of the word “box-office,” was masterly. Professional theatrical groups occasionally take a fling and perform some work, for sheer love, which they know will not make money; amateur groups never forget the insistency of the till. The notion that Mrs. Conquergood’s name might raise the takings was too much for Professor Vambrace, who gave in with an ill grace. The redness departed from Nellie’s neck; she was jubilant, though she tried to conceal it. And she looked upon Hector as an oracle of wisdom.

  Nellie’s mind, though busy, was not complex. She had never mastered the simple principle of quid pro quo which was, to Hector’s orderly intelligence, axiomatic. But she received a lesson in it half an hour later when Hector, with well-feigned casualness, said:

  “When is the casting for the play to be completed?”

  “Oh,” said Nellie, “we are going to have auditions for all the parts later this week.”

  “Surely not for all the parts? I understood some time ago that Professor Vambrace was to play Prospero, and Miss Vambrace Miranda, and that Miss Webster was to be Ariel. And I think you told me that young Tasset was to be Ferdinand. I believe that Caliban and the two funny men are also cast?”

  “Well, tentatively, but of course we are going to hold a public reading before anything is decided finally.”

  “But I think it unlikely that any of those parts will be allotted otherwise?”

  “You know how it is,” said Professor Vambrace; “the Little Theatre must give everyone a chance. Still, it is pretty plain that certain people will do certain parts better than anyone else who is likely to turn up. And, frankly, there are some debts to be paid; those who have borne the burden deserve a measure of reward.”

  This was an opening which Hector had not foreseen, but he took it with the skill of an experienced politician. The shyness which he felt when he first arrived had quite departed.

  “I had thought of that myself,” said he. “I have been treasurer of the Little Theatre for the past six years. When I took it over its books were in a mess; now they are in perfect order and we have a substantial sum in the bank. During the years when I have worked in the box office I have often wondered what it would be like to be with those of you who were enjoying the fun behind the footlights. And if there is a part which I could play in The Tempest, I should like to have it.”

  “Why not wait until next year?” said Nellie. “We’re sure to be doing something which would have a part in it for you. You know, something good. A detective, or a policeman, or something.”

  “I may not be here next autumn,” said Hector.

  “Not here?” Nellie was horrified at the thought that a new treasurer would have to be found.

  “No. I have been offered some work by the Department which would take me out of town. If I accept, it will mean beginning work at once. But of course, if I am offered a part in The Tempest I should turn down the Department’s offer for the present, and would be here next season.”

  Even Nellie could see what that meant.

  “Had you a special part in mind?” she asked.

  “It had occurred to me that I might try my hand at Gonzalo. The wise old counsellor,” said Hector, looking around for appreciation of this joke. But there was none. Professor Vambrace felt that in some way he had been finessed, and was trying to figure out where; Nellie was wondering if she had not been wrong, half an hour ago, to feel so warmly toward Hector; why, the man was nothing but a self-seeker and his obvious counting on her support seemed, in some inexplicable way, to dim the brightness of Mrs. Caesar Augustus Conquergood. Valentine Rich and Solly had made up their minds independently that it was plain that, whoever cast the play, they were not to be allowed to do it. The gathering had a somewhat stunned and inward-looking air as it ate the sticky buns and coffee which Nellie brought forth, aided by the faithful Roscoe.

  Hector ate a bun, and took one cup of coffee, and then made his departure, well pleased with his evening’s work.

  WHEN HE WAS GONE, Nellie was the first to speak.

  “Well, did you ever hear anything like that?” she cried. “He simply put a pistol to our heads; he plays Gonzalo or we can get a new treasurer.”

  “The way I look at it, it was a kind of a deal, hon,” said the artless Roscoe. “He supported you about the patrons, and then you had to support him about the part he wanted, it’s nothing to worry about; happens in business and politics every day.”

  “This isn’t business or politics, Roscoe. We’ve got our audiences to think about. For anything I know, this man has never acted before. Val, why didn’t you step in and veto it? You could. You’re director.”

  “Really, Nell, the casting seems to be so much in the hands of the local committee that I saw no reason to interfere.”

  “But he’s so obviously unsuitable.”

  “We don’t know that yet. We can always change in the early rehearsals if he’s too bad.”

  “Val, this isn’t professional theatre. You can’t kick people out like that. So the only possible thing is to keep unsuitable ones from getting in.”

  “When once particular personal interests begin to be consulted, artistic integrity flies out at the window,” said Professor Vambrace darkly.

  “If that is meant to have any bearing on the arrangement of the patrons’ list, I want to say here and now that I am acting only for the good of the Little Theatre.” Nellie confronted him, bravely but with tears in her eyes.

  The Professor lolled his large, bushy head about on the back of his chair, and made gestures with his heavy eyebrows. “In that case, there is nothing more to be said about the matter,” replied he.

  “Yes, there is,” said Nellie, shaken with emotion; “we’ve got to have some fairly good-sized parts to allot among all those people who are coming to the try-out reading on Thursday night. I was counting on Gonzalo as a nice little plum for somebody—something that would stop everybody saying that the casting of all the good parts is done by the committee beforehand—and now that man has just grabbed it. It’s awful!”

  “I still don’t see what’s so awful about it, hon,” said Roscoe, pacifically. “What makes you think he’ll be so much worse than the others?”

  This crass comment caused Professor Vambrace to close his eyes.

  “That’s a very good question,” said Solly.

  “Oh it’s all very well for you all to sit around and sneer,” wailed Nellie, and burst into tears. Roscoe took her hand and patted it. “Take it easy, hon,” said he; “it’ll all be the same in a hundred years.”

  There was some embarrassment, but not very much, at Nellie’s breakdown; most of the people present had seen her weep before, for reasons less easily understandable. But it seemed to put a period to a dull and exasperating evening, and they took their departure.

  Professor Vambrace quickly swung away into the night; he was a man who genuinely liked walking, and his feet and the heavy ash walking stick which he carried seemed to spurn the ground. Valentine and Solly climbed into Griselda’s car.

  “Shall we drive for a while?” asked Griselda.

  “I should like that more than anything,” said Valentine Rich.

  IT WAS NOT UNTIL they had left the city and were driving by the river that Solly spoke.

  “I can’t imagine what Nellie was making such a fuss about,” said he.

  “You were very naughty about Mrs. Conquergood,” said Griselda.

  “Well, damn it, I squirm at that kind of thing. Why is it that a supposedly democratic country is so eaten up with snobbery of one sort and another?”

  “Everybody has their own kind of snobbery. I suspect you of being an intellectual snob, Solly.”

  “Well, what about you? You’re rich—so rich, if you want to know, that I didn’t dare call you a few nights ago because I didn’t think I could entertain you suitably—and everybo
dy that wants to know you and doesn’t is sure that you’re a shrieking snob.”

  “I am the humblest of God’s little ones,” said Griselda, passing another car a shade too closely.

  “Anyhow, Nellie’s fantod had nothing to do with me or Old Ma Conquergood. She was angry because Mackilwraith suddenly wanted to act. I don’t see why he shouldn’t. He’s done a good job as treasurer, and I suppose he wants some of the glory of acting. He wants to be one of the gaudy folk of the theatre, weaving a tissue of enchantment for Mrs. Caesar Augustus Conquergood and your father. Poor old cow, he’s stage-struck. And at his age, too!”

  “I rather liked him,” said Valentine. “I thought it was sweet the way he came in pretending that he was passing by, and then popping out his bid for a part so neatly. I have a soft spot for people who are stage-struck. Next autumn I shall have been in the professional theatre for eighteen years, and I’m still stage-struck.”

  “Heavens,” said Griselda, “you must have started just when I was born. I’m sorry, that sounded rude.”

  “I am thirty-six,” said Valentine; “I was your age when I got my first job.”

  “Did you have an awful struggle?” asked Griselda; “I mean with your family, and getting a job, and all that.”

  “No, I didn’t. When I told my grandfather I wanted to be an actress he was most kind and sympathetic. And in those days there were some good stock companies, and I was able to get a job in one of them. And I’ve never really had much difficulty about jobs since, which is lucky, because it’s chancy work. But I’ve always been willing to go outside New York, you see, and that makes a difference. And I’ve done some directing, which is helpful. So it has really been a very busy eighteen years. No, oddly enough, the only people who were discouraging were my friends. Nellie, for instance, was sure I’d never manage to get along.”

  “If you don’t mind saying,” said Solly, “how did you get sucked in for directing The Tempest here? I mean, you probably don’t look on it as the crown of your career. What made you say yes?”

  “Well you see, I’m at that funny point in my life where I’m important enough to be asked to do favours, but not important enough to be able to refuse them without giving offence. When Nell found out that I was coming back to Salterton this summer, she wrote at once.”

  “And you couldn’t refuse an old friend?”

  “I couldn’t refuse someone whom I had once known, very easily. Of course, I hadn’t seen her for ten or twelve years.”

  “Really? I rather gathered from what she said that she might have given you your start.”

  “No no; we were friends as girls, though never very close.”

  “That’s very interesting, in the light of what we have heard.”

  “It’s fantastic to think of you and Mrs. Forrester being about the same age,” said Griselda.

  “We are, none the less. In fact, she is a few months younger.”

  “I suppose the responsibility of the Salterton Little Theatre is what has worn her down,” said Solly.

  “Don’t be horrid,” said Griselda.

  “Why not? You implied that Nellie looks years older than Miss Rich.”

  “I know, but it’s different, coming from a man.”

  “What has got into you, Griselda?” said Solly. “You’ve gone all mealy-mouthed and hypocritical.”

  “I’m blossoming into womanhood,” said Griselda, “and I have to be very careful about what I say. Daddy was mentioning it just a day or two ago. He said that people would take it amiss if I said what I really thought; he said a woman had to be at least forty-five before she dared risk an honest expression of opinion.”

  WHEN THEY HAD DROPPED VALENTINE at her hotel, Griselda said to Solly: “Would you like to come home? What about something more to eat or drink?”

  “You should never ask anyone to have anything more,” said Solly, “for it implies that they have had perceptible refreshment already, which is rude. If you are going to make such a hullabaloo about your womanhood, you must be careful of these niceties.”

  “Thank you for telling me,” said Griselda. “I haven’t really had a very good upbringing. You know what boarding-schools are. If some of the rough speech of the lacrosse field and the prefects’ room still clings to me, I should be obliged if you would mention it.”

  “What is going to happen to you?”

  “Daddy hasn’t made up his mind yet. There is talk of a finishing-school, but I’d like to go to Europe and be a student.”

  “What of?”

  “Oh, anything. It would be quite enough just to be a student. They seem to have such good times. Riots, and political action. Do you know that there is a university town in Italy where the police have not been permitted even to speak rudely to the students in centuries?”

  “Don’t be deceived. The university undoubtedly maintains a force of some kind which keeps the students under. Your idea of a student is about a hundred and fifty years out of date. Students today are a pretty solemn lot. One of the really notable achievements of the twentieth century has been to make the young old before their time.”

  They had reached the front door of St. Agnes’ and Griselda opened it with her key. “Don’t tiptoe, Solly,” said she; “it’s only half-past eleven.”

  “Sorry,” said he; “I always tiptoe at home.”

  They went into the library, which was dark, smoky and smelly. Mr. Webster sat in a corner, reading the Colnett Journals.

  “You know Solly Bridgetower, don’t you, Daddy?”

  “No,” said Mr. Webster, “who is he?”

  “He’s right here.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t see you in the shadow. What did you say your name was?”

  “My name is Solomon Bridgetower, sir.”

  “Well, well. I dare say you are some relative of Professor Solomon Bridgetower, who died a few years ago.”

  “I am his son, sir.”

  “I knew your father slightly. Were you aware that your father was perhaps the finest geologist this country ever produced?”

  “I have heard many people say so.”

  “Yes. Wasted, teaching. But he did some splendid work in his vacations.”

  “Very good of you to say so, sir.”

  “Mother still living?”

  “She was very ill two months ago. I came home to look after things until she recovered.”

  “I remember her as a girl. She was very interested in Oriental things at that time.”

  “The Yellow Peril?”

  “Yes, that was it. She still keeping up with it?”

  “From hour to hour, sir.”

  “Well, well; it is our hobbies that keep us young. Do you want anything to eat or drink?”

  “We thought we’d see what there was, Daddy.”

  “There isn’t much of anything, I’m afraid. They left a few sandwiches but I ate them half an hour ago. It’s a funny thing; there never seems to be enough food in this house. You could get Freddy up; she knows how to make sandwiches.”

  “Oh, no, please don’t do that,” said Solly.

  “Or some breakfast food. I know for a fact that there is quite a lot of breakfast food in the pantry; several kinds. Would you like a bowl of breakfast food, Bridgetower?”

  “No, really, sir.”

  “What we’d really like, Daddy, is a drink, and you have a big tray of things right here.”

  “Oh, certainly. Help yourself, Bridgetower. The ice has all melted, I’m afraid.”

  “I like it at room temperature, sir.”

  “Really? An English taste. Healthier, I suppose.”

  “Shall I pour anything for you, Griselda?” asked Solly.

  “No. I never drink anything. I don’t think it becoming in one of my years. I expect when I’m old and hardened I’ll soak. Freddy drinks.”

  “What? Freddy drink? Nonsense!” said Mr. Webster.

  “Oh nothing serious, Daddy. She’s what I’d call a nipper. A nip here and a nip there. Like heal
th salts; as much as will lie on a ten-cent piece.”

  “Rubbish. She’s going through a religious spell. She can’t have both a religious spell and a nipping spell at the same time.”

  “Oh Daddy, don’t be provincial. It’s only evangelicals who can’t mix drink and religion. Freddy’s madly Anglo-Cat; they swig and pray like anything.”

  Griselda went on chattering to Solly, and Mr. Webster reflected, as he had done so many times, how wretchedly he missed his wife. She would have known what to say to young men that Griselda brought home. She would have dealt with Freddy’s religious nonsense. She would have gone at once to the heart of the matter about Freddy drinking. But what can a father do? Can he confront a girl of fourteen and say, Do you drink? He cannot beat her, and he most certainly cannot reason with her. Why didn’t those schoolmistresses do their job? He wished, sometimes, that as fate had decided to make him a widower, fate had done the job properly and made him a childless widower. He was very fond of Griselda and Freddy, but he confessed to himself that he really had no firm idea of how they should be brought up. If they had been boys, now—. But girls were such unpredictable creatures. He came of a generation to which any girl, before she is married, is a kind of unexploded bomb.

  “I’d better go now,” said Solly, when he had finished his drink. “My mother worries until I am home, and I don’t want to distress her.”

  “I hope we’ll see you often, Bridgetower,” said Mr. Webster.

  “You will, sir.”

  “Solly’s helping with the play,” explained Griselda.

  “Oh God,” said her father; “do you know, for the last two or three days I have quite forgotten about that play?”

  “I hope you won’t find it too dreadful, sir.”

  “Daddy’s terribly jealous of his garden.”

  “I know it sounds ridiculous, but when I am at home I can’t bear the thought of strangers trampling about just outside the house. It fusses me. But it’s unreasonable, of course. I recognize that. So if you see me glowering out of windows at you, pay no attention, will you?”

  “I know how you feel, sir,” said Solly, and went with Griselda out of the little pool of light through the dark corridor to the door.