The Essential Writings of Theodore Dreiser. Theodore Dreiser

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      “We’re trying to get up some theatricals for two weeks from today, and we want to know if you don’t know some young lady who could take a part — it’s an easy part.”

      “Sure,” said Drouet, “what is it?” He did not trouble to remember that he knew no one to whom he could appeal on this score. His innate good-nature, however, dictated a favourable reply.

      “Well, now, I’ll tell you what we are trying to do,” went on Mr. Quincel. “We are trying to get a new set of furniture for the lodge. There isn’t enough money in the treasury at the present time, and we thought we would raise it by a little entertainment.”

      “Sure,” interrupted Drouet, “that’s a good idea.”

      “Several of the boys around here have got talent. There’s Harry Burbeck, he does a fine black-face turn. Mac Lewis is all right at heavy dramatics. Did you ever hear him recite ‘Over the Hills’?”

      “Never did.”

      “Well, I tell you, he does it fine.”

      “And you want me to get some woman to take a part?” questioned Drouet, anxious to terminate the subject and get on to something else. “What are you going to play?”

      “‘Under the Gaslight,’” said Mr. Quincel, mentioning Augustin Daly’s famous production, which had worn from a great public success down to an amateur theatrical favourite, with many of the troublesome accessories cut out and the dramatis personae reduced to the smallest possible number.

      Drouet had seen this play some time in the past.

      “That’s it,” he said; “that’s a fine play. It will go all right. You ought to make a lot of money out of that.”

      “We think we’ll do very well,” Mr. Quincel replied. “Don’t you forget now,” he concluded, Drouet showing signs of restlessness; “some young woman to take the part of Laura.”

      “Sure, I’ll attend to it.”

      He moved away, forgetting almost all about it the moment Mr. Quincel had ceased talking. He had not even thought to ask the time or place.

      Drouet was reminded of his promise a day or two later by the receipt of a letter announcing that the first rehearsal was set for the following Friday evening, and urging him to kindly forward the young lady’s address at once, in order that the part might be delivered to her.

      “Now, who the deuce do I know?” asked the drummer reflectively, scratching his rosy ear. “I don’t know any one that knows anything about amateur theatricals.”

      He went over in memory the names of a number of women he knew, and finally fixed on one, largely because of the convenient location of her home on the West Side, and promised himself that as he came out that evening he would see her. When, however, he started west on the car he forgot, and was only reminded of his delinquency by an item in the “Evening News” — a small three-line affair under the head of Secret Society Notes — which stated the Custer Lodge of the Order of Elks would give a theatrical performance in Avery Hall on the 16th, when “Under the Gaslight” would be produced.

      “George!” exclaimed Drouet, “I forgot that.”

      “What?” inquired Carrie.

      They were at their little table in the room which might have been used for a kitchen, where Carrie occasionally served a meal. To-night the fancy had caught her, and the little table was spread with a pleasing repast.

      “Why, my lodge entertainment. They’re going to give a play, and they wanted me to get them some young lady to take a part.”

      “What is it they’re going to play?”

      “‘Under the Gaslight.’”

      “When?”

      “On the 16th.”

      “Well, why don’t you?” asked Carrie.

      “I don’t know any one,” he replied.

      Suddenly he looked up.

      “Say,” he said, “how would you like to take the part?”

      “Me?” said Carrie. “I can’t act.”

      “How do you know?” questioned Drouet reflectively.

      “Because,” answered Carrie, “I never did.”

      Nevertheless, she was pleased to think he would ask. Her eyes brightened, for if there was anything that enlisted her sympathies it was the art of the stage. True to his nature, Drouet clung to this idea as an easy way out.

      “That’s nothing. You can act all you have to down there.”

      “No, I can’t,” said Carrie weakly, very much drawn toward the proposition and yet fearful.

      “Yes, you can. Now, why don’t you do it? They need some one, and it will be lots of fun for you.”

      “Oh, no, it won’t,” said Carrie seriously.

      “You’d like that. I know you would. I’ve seen you dancing around here and giving imitations and that’s why I asked you. You’re clever enough, all right.”

      “No, I’m not,” said Carrie shyly.

      “Now, I’ll tell you what you do. You go down and see about it. It’ll be fun for you. The rest of the company isn’t going to be any good. They haven’t any experience. What do they know about theatricals?”

      He frowned as he thought of their ignorance.

      “Hand me the coffee,” he added.

      “I don’t believe I could act, Charlie,” Carrie went on pettishly. “You don’t think I could, do you?”

      “Sure. Out o’ sight. I bet you make a hit. Now you want to go, I know you do. I knew it when I came home. That’s why I asked you.”

      “What is the play, did you say?”

      “‘Under the Gaslight.’”

      “What part would they want me to take?”

      “Oh, one of the heroines — I don’t know.”

      “What sort of a play is it?”

      “Well,” said Drouet, whose memory for such things was not the best, “it’s about a girl who gets kidnapped by a couple of crooks — a man and a woman that live in the slums. She had some money or something and they wanted to get it. I don’t know now how it did go exactly.”

      “Don’t you know what part I would have to take?”

      “No, I don’t, to tell the truth.” He thought a moment. “Yes, I do, too. Laura, that’s the thing — you’re to be Laura.”

      “And СКАЧАТЬ