"Not a bit of it ... we're running along converging lines. The stage is the mart for the prettiest and most magnetic of women. A pretty woman may be moral, but the chances are against it. Every man looks upon her as so much legitimate loot. They differ only in their methods of getting away with it. Sometimes they effect a legitimate sale: this is what our social system calls marriage. More often the rate of exchange is usurious on the part of the man. It varies from a bottle of wine and a few pretty clothes to a diamond necklace and equally brilliant promises.... Now here's where our lines converge. The stage is a good place to show goods. Our eternal chase bids us go in and look 'em over--and--if you are in a mood to trade--to say nothing of having the price--you'll find a bevy of ambitious beauties with a keen eye to business."
"You infer, then, that the society lady sins for love only--and that the actress bestows her affection for purely mercenary motives?"
"I don't make any such broad distinction as that--but I believe the actress has always an eye on the main chance and that she wouldn't let a little thing like love interfere with business.... The society woman, on the other hand, usually goes wrong because she's unhappily married and tries to make up for what's missing by stealing a little happiness on the side."
"Then I am to believe that the stories one reads about lovers who present other men's wives with bejewelled gold purses and other little feminine gew-gaws are wholly fictitious; pure emanations from the brain of newspaper reporters--or the French dramatist ... and from the divorce records?"
The doctor threw back his head and roared like a lion....
"Perhaps you'll be good enough to tell me under what head you classified me--being neither a love-lorn society lady nor an ambitious actress with an eye to the main chance...."
The doctor sobered to the point of anger. "I have told you that I am sorry.... I have apologized.... After all, what are we rowing about?
You've proved an alibi--you're not like the rest--so let's forget it."
"I _can't_ forget it.... You are judging a whole class by a few individuals who share your perverted ideas ... individuals who would be immoral in a nunnery.... Would any of the women of your set--name any one of them--would she--_could_ she be less moral on the stage?
Impossible! I don't believe you when you say none of them would 'go the limit!' Women who drink as much as they do; women whose tongues are furred with vulgar stories; women who proclaim they are '_on_ to their husbands' and that their husbands are _on_ to them and still continue to live under the same roof, occupy the same beds; women who write other women's husbands love letters and arrange places of assignation ... do you mean you do not _know_ these women 'go the limit'?" ... My indignation and resentment had swept me like a storm and left me weak and bedraggled. The doctor made no response.... I felt that he was watching me. After a while I proceeded more quietly....
"The trouble with you, doctor, is that you form your opinions from the newspapers. The man who writes the head-lines believes it is his bounden duty to accentuate any and everything pertaining to the stage. The most obscure chorus girl is 'an actress.' Every divorcee whose antics have emblazoned the hall of ill-fame expects to become an actress and the newspapers record her aspiration in large type. A police court magistrate in New York once told me that three-fourths of the women arrested on the streets for accosting men gave their occupations on the police blotter as 'actress.' Do you think any yellow sheet ever let an opportunity like that go by?... If all the petty affairs of your clients or your friends and casual acquaintances, both scandalous and innocuous, were printed from week to week, do you think there would be an appreciable difference between the standard of morality of the doctors, the dentists, the butchers and bakers and that of the actor?... I don't think you take into consideration that the actor's life is public property. He is denied the right of privacy in all matters. Nothing is too trivial, too delicately personal, to be shared with the public."
"And who's to blame for that, my lady, but the player himself? Publicity is his stock in trade. He's got to advertise, or drop out.... If ever I want a divorce, I'll dig up an actor as co-respondent: not because there may not be others, but because the actor would appreciate the advertisement." ... The doctor leaned toward me to better enjoy my discomfiture, then laughed tormentingly.
I rose to my feet; he accepted his conge lingeringly.
"Well, at any rate I've done you good; your face has got back its colour." ... He stood contemplating me for a second.
"You know ... you've got a good deal of think works under that dusky head--only don't think too much.... It's bad business for a woman of your temperament." He turned to pick up his coat. Boy had fallen asleep upon it, nestling close to the warm fur. "What a shame to disturb him--don't do it. I can do without the coat until I get home." I lifted Boy gently and carried him still asleep to the bedroom beyond. The doctor followed to the alcove and stood watching while I covered the child. Then he picked up his coat and threw it over his arm.
"I guess you're equal to holding Handsome Bill by the leading strings, all right.... Hartley's a fine chap; one of the nicest actors I ever knew, and I'm downright fond of him." ...
I could not repress a sneer in the safety of the twilight. It was not lost on the doctor.
"I know what you are thinking about," he said quietly, "but you know as well as I that where there's a woman in the case there's about as much honour among men as there is among thieves." ... He stretched out his hand. "Good-bye, little girl.... I'm glad to have had this talk with you; it's better than dodging each other and arousing suspicion. Aren't you going to shake hands?... O, well if you look at it in that light ...
just the same, I'm yours to command whenever you feel the need of me."
... Exit doctor.
CHAPTER XII
Toward the end of the engagement in Chicago it became expedient that I undergo a minor operation. Will suggested I enter a private hospital near at hand, that he might be in daily communication with me. I preferred, however, to return to New York, and place myself under the care of our family physician. Our apartment being still occupied, I decided on one of the smaller hotels, which abound on the cross streets between Twenty-fourth and Forty-fifth. Will's company was booked for a week in Cleveland following the Chicago engagement.
I received daily letters from Will telling me how lonely he was without Boy and me, and every other day he wired me some nice little greeting.
The operation was simple and, as Experience was permitted to bring Boy to visit me during given hours of the afternoon, the time passed quickly.
By the end of the week I was able to leave the hospital and I had apprised Will of my intention. Consequently I was not surprised to find a telegram awaiting me at the hotel. Experience said it had probably been delivered while she was on the way to fetch me. I waited until I had made myself comfy in a big arm chair which Experience had ready for me, and while she made a cup of tea over our alcohol lamp I settled back to enjoy Will's message. It was a long one, I saw at a glance.
Experience turned enquiringly at my ejaculation. The telegram had been sent from Cincinnati, where Will was now playing, following Cleveland.
It read: "Come at once if you are able to travel. Not ill, but need your presence. Have wired money to bank. Best train Big Four Limited leaving at six-thirty p.m. New York Central. Telegraph on departure. Love, Will."
I read and reread the message. My perturbation grew. What did Will mean by "need your presence"? He forestalled any alarm about his health by saying he was not ill, but had he told the truth? Perhaps he had met with an accident, a terrible disfiguring--surely I was letting my nerves run away with me.... But why did he urge me to come to Cincinnati when we had planned to meet the following week in St. Louis, his home city, and where there was to be a kind of reunion of the family relatives? It was obvious that he expected me, as he had taken the care to look up trains and had telegraphed the money.
There was something very much the matter.... I glanced at the clock. It lacked a few minutes of five, and the train left at half after six....
The bank was closed, but I could get a check cashed. Whatever had happened it was my duty to be with Will. I jumped to my feet, forgetful of my convalescence. The weakness had vanished. I felt strangely well.
"Experience ... never mind the tea.... We leave for Cincinnati at once...."
Experience set down the kettle and looked at me with her hand on her hips.... I made no explanation, but began to don the clothes I had only a moment since removed. The necessity for immediate action finally seeped into Experience's brain. "Then I guess I'll have to fly at packin' up.... Law-zee, if this ain't seein' the country!..."
Will met us at the station. The first glimpse of him through the iron grill relieved my suspense concerning his health. He was not ill, and appeared to be whole and undamaged. He was solicitous about my condition. I _did_ look a bit of a wreck. After the excitement of getting off had subsided and there was nothing to do but listen to the monotonous clickety-click of the speeding train, I had collapsed. The reaction was too great. It was not until we were in sight of our destination that I dragged myself to my feet and steeled myself to meet whatever emergency confronted me.... Naturally I asked no questions during the drive to the hotel. The general aspect of Cincinnati was typical of my state of mind: an unsunned sky and a smoke-filmed atmosphere.... It occurred to me how fallacious was Milton's conception of "evil news." ... "For evil news rides post while good news baits." It has always appeared to me the other way about. Good news flashes on to its destination gathering impetus as it goes, while harbinger of bad lags on behind, retarding the very hours by its sable weight.... The mental rack of suspense, of waiting, while the imagination conjures an endless chain of dire probabilities.... When, at last, Experience and Boy were settled in an adjoining room Will closed the door and turned to me. It seemed an interminable time before he spoke. He seemed to be bracing himself for the effort.
"First I want to thank you for coming without question.... I only hope you will not suffer a relapse...."
I waved aside the preamble....
"Well," I said....
I think I was stunned. Nothing seemed quite real about the room. Even Will's voice sounded remote. I had experienced the same sensation coming out of the ether after my operation. The doctor's assuring "It's all right, little lady; just open your eyes" reached me from across spanless space. Then, as now, followed a great wave of nausea, whirling me into a relentless undertow, leaving me limp and racked with pain....
Mechanically I re-read the clipping Will had thrust into my hand by way of preparing me for what followed. It was an excerpt from "The Club Window" and ran as follows: "A certain clique of rough-riders allied with a North Side country club are laying odds on a high-stepping filly of their set who for some time past has been riding for a fall. The inevitable cropper will involve a certain actor who for the past month has been delighting Chicago audiences with his manly pulchritude as well as his histrionic ability. The lady in the case showed marked preference for the society of the actor during one of his former visits to the Windy City. From time to time there has reached the ears of the seat-warmers in the Club Window gossip of certain little junkets to New York during the past winter. It may have been purely coincidental that the actor was playing a season's engagement in the metropolis but--be that as it may--the advent of the company to our parts was watched with considerable gusto. Likewise it may have been purely chance that the husband of the third part was away on a hunting trip. 'The best laid plans of' and so forth; the unexpected happened when the actor's wife accompanied him on his visit to us. The affair was for the moment in abeyance. _But_--no sooner had the wife returned to New York than the fire broke out with renewed ardour probably fanned by the previous adverse winds of cruel fate. When the company left for another city the fair Chicagoan was missing from her accustomed haunts. Subsequent investigation affirmed the rumour that the lady was a guest at a leading hotel in Cleveland. Incidentally her suite of rooms was on the same floor as that of the actor. Let us hope that some busy bee does not buzz about the head of the mighty hunter and bring him back gunning for the destroyer of his peace. Verily, verily, the actor hath power to charm."
"You must realize, girlie, that I wouldn't have worried you with this nasty business if I hadn't been afraid of letting us both in for something worse.... What do you think of the damned cat who cooked up a thing like that? It was pure spite work. You see it was like this: When I met this female reporter two years ago she was all for me. You remember the nice things she wrote about me when I played Chicago the last time? Well, she came on to New York last winter and I took her to lunch and showed her other little attentions just to keep on the good side of her. About the same time the other dame blew in, and I felt it was up to me to discharge some of my social debts to her. Here's where the elderly spinster reporter got sore. She thought she had a corner on the market. It's hell to be such a fascinatin' devil!..."
Will winked at me, albeit a little dubiously, sensing a probable lack of appreciation on my part.
"When I came back to Chicago this trip," he continued, "I received a note from my quondam friend and later she came back to my dressing-room to see me. She made some pertinent remarks about the other woman, hinted at some persons being ingrates after all she had done to boom them when they were 'also rans' and, now that they had got there, threw down their old friends. I lost my temper a bit and we parted bad friends. The result was she transferred her booming to ----" (Will named the character actor of his company) "and proceeded to lay it over me on every possible occasion.... These damned women are always worse when they get along in life...."
"What did this 'club' woman expect of you?... What did she want?"
Will looked at me blankly, then batted his eyes....
"Why ... why, I suppose the old hen wanted me to make love to her: she made a play for me and I threw her down hard."
He took the clipping from my fingers and replaced it in his wallet.
"Did you know that the--_the_ lady was coming to Cleveland?" I asked.
"Why--not exactly; she said something about it while we were still in Chicago but I thought she was bluffing. As a matter of fact I thought she had more sense than to do a thing like that."
"What led you to believe she had better sense?--anything in her past performances?"
"No--but women are pretty foxy: they generally take care to cover their trails no matter how reckless they pretend to be. Not many of them want to lose their homes in spite of their protestations about giving up everything for 'thou'...."
"Why did you not insist on her returning home at once? Couldn't you have gone to another hotel?"
"What good would that have done? She would have followed. When she turned up in Cleveland I handed it to her straight, you may imagine. I didn't mince matters a little bit."
"Was she afraid to go back home?"