A Pasteboard Crown Part 19

"You can't pound me," triumphed Dorothy, "my arm is too weak!"

"No, but I can do worse! Lena has fully informed you of the horrors that follow upon 'calling a maid by a married name,' and the certainty that said maid will never have a married name to be called by, so Mrs.--Mrs.----"

"Oh, Syb! Syb! don't!" pleaded the repentant one. "Syb, I'm awfully sorry for your knees--honestly I am! And if I could fall for you, I would--gladly; though how in mercy's name actresses tumble down in faints or in death-scenes, without either breaking their bones or getting laughed at, is more than I can understand."

"Oh, it's the fear of being laughed at that tortures me, Dorrie. I could never, never face an audience again. Why, last summer out at the Soldiers' Home theatre, a woman had to fall in the play and the people fairly screamed with laughter, and a newspaper said that 'Miss ---- had not fallen, but had tumbled down in sections.' Ever since I have been studying this part, I have agonized over my fall, and with what result?

I've bruised myself from head to foot; shaken mamma's nerves--crumbled the ceiling--frightened papa out of the house at each crash, and"--actually tears were in Sybil's dark eyes--"and I always land in a hunched-up heap that would arouse scornful merriment in the very supers."

"Poor Sybbie!" condoled Dorothy. Then more brightly: "As you can't ask Mr. Thrall or Mr. Roberts to help you, why don't you go over to Brooklyn; make papa take you--Claire Morrell's playing there this week.

Ask for just a moment's interview, and make a clean breast of your trouble to her. I'm sure she would help you--she's so kind."

"Oh, I hate to trouble her when she is working so hard; and, besides, I am afraid falling is a thing that can't be taught, Dorothy. But, oh, do you remember her lovely fall in 'Camille'--the ballroom one I mean--all stretched out so long and smooth, and yet falling with a crash that made you nearly leap from your chair? It's a mystery beyond my solving."

"Lena's mash-man told her--Miss Morrell's coachman told _him_--she was coming over home one day this week, and perhaps----"

Jangle-jangle interrupted the bell at the front door, followed by the peculiarly business-like tread of Lena that ever indicated a suspicion of pedler or tramp, and a shuffling, slippered flight by Mrs. Lawton, who hissed over the banisters: "Say I'm lying down, resting, but will descend--that is, if she has sufficient knowledge of the amenities of social life to ask for me instead of my offspring."

Then as the girls gazed wonderingly at each other Lena appeared, smiling broadly, but somewhat puzzled too, saying: "The big actor voman's com'

und ask for der mudder und for der miss ladies. Und I say ja, dey all com' by der house, und blease com' in by der sittin'-rooms, 'cause we didn't ever make of der fire in der parlor. Und she say dat vas right, der parlor never com' like a home, und I com' up to tell. Und she leave all dose visitin' tickets on der hall table. Und I don't know for vy."

And she held out five cards, adding, distressedly, "Und von of 'em has a man's name on it. Dat com' by mistake, eh? I take dat back to her?"

"No, no! Lena!" laughed the girls, "that's the card of her husband!"

"Vell, shall I take back of der extra tickets? She com', a nice voman, und it is too bad to have of der tickets vasted?"

"Oh, Lena! do go and tell mamma Miss Morrell is waiting, and leave the cards alone," said Dorothy, "and we will explain about them to you by and by!"

And after Mrs. Lawton had attempted to crush her caller by explaining the "wait" for her descent by the statement that she "hardly expected callers before three," Miss Morrell, with a gracious ignoring of the intended snub that the girls adored her for, proceeded to explain the necessity of calling early or not at all, as she had to return to Brooklyn in time for her play. Whereupon Mrs. Lawton found herself, to her own surprise be it stated, descending from her high horse and eagerly discussing the probabilities of English five-o'clock teas ever becoming really domesticated in America. And presently she went in search of Mr. Lawton (whom she knew to be in the kitchen whittling kindlings for the quick lighting of Lena's fire in the arctic-like morning).

And then Miss Morrell, happening to press Sybil's arm, brought forth a whimper of pain and an exhibition of bruises the cause of which she comprehended in a moment. "Oh, you poor mottled child--what a state you must be in? Have you been falling on the bare floor, then?"

"I've tried to fall on a mattress," confessed Sybil, "but some part of me always flies over on the floor."

Miss Morrell threw back her head and laughed till the tears stood in her eyes. "Then you must let me help you," she said, "it is very, very easy." She was drawing off her gloves as she spoke, and, tossing them to the piano, she stepped toward the centre of the room, saying, "You see, now--" She raised her hands toward her head, and without further preparation, without a warning word, she fell suddenly face downward with a crash that made things jingle on the mantel, and brought two startled screams from the girls and Mr. Lawton rushing to her a.s.sistance. That gentleman, bending over to lift her, was stricken helpless by her raising her head and asking, pleasantly: "My skirts are lying all right, aren't they?" Then she added: "Oh, how do you do, Mr.

Lawton? Just give me your hand, will you? This dress is a little tight for falling in, and I can't get up." Then, turning to Sybil, she laughed at her astonished face: "I'm afraid you did not catch the trick, did you?"

"Oh!" answered the girl with her hand on her heart, "I never got such a scare in my life! How, oh, how do you do it? Just look at Dorothy! She's quite white."

And it was difficult for the girl to believe that Miss Morrell had not suffered in the least from such a fall.

"Why, it's just a trade secret," laughed the actress. "Some people never fall well because their nerve fails them at the last moment, but all their lives long are content with a sort of jointed fall--they drop on their knees and then forward on their faces. If it is done very quickly it pa.s.ses, but one never looks graceful, and the immense effect of the crash of the fall is missing. Then, too, an actress who goes down in that manner not only runs the risk of being made fun of, but the bruising over and over again of the same spot may produce a lump with a very ugly and alarming name.

"But here is the whole wonderful secret." She held out her open hands, and both girls saw their palms were slightly reddened. "Always throw out your hand, both of them in beginning; keep your knees nearly stiff, and just topple over like a great tree, but strike on the flats of your open hands. The blow won't hurt them beyond making them sting a little. Your knees, elbows, head, shoulders, are all safe--yet you have fallen with immense force."

Sybil lifted her hands and made a movement as if about to try the trick, but stopped, looking rather frightened.

"No, no--not here!" said Miss Morrell. "Try on your mattress first, and close your eyes when you have marked where you want to strike, and then the distance won't frighten you so. The bolder you get, the less you will extend your hands. It requires nerve, but I'm sure that is a quality you possess, my dear. Besides, you may not play a part requiring a fall for a year or two yet."

And Sybil blushed hotly because she had been so charged to secrecy that she dared not tell even this woman who was so good to her that she was the girl about whom all the newspaper stories were appearing, and that she was being coached for Juliet.

After a few moments of general conversation the caller rose to go, and, while Mr. Lawton stepped to the door to signal the coachman, who had been keeping his horses moving, Mrs. Lawton explained that in former years the "porte cochere of her old home would have made such action needless, but this," waving her hand condemningly, "was not a home, but--er--er a mere shelter."

"Ah!" graciously responded the actress, "but you know there are people who have the gift of carrying the home atmosphere with them even to a--mere shelter."

And Mrs. Lawton really looked very handsome and quite impressive, for she felt she was receiving her due, and all the time Sybil was secretly squeezing the fingers of her friend, and in the hall, while her father gallantly opened the carriage door, she whispered: "I love you so for having helped me! And Dorothy prays for you!"

With quick anxiety in eye and voice the woman questioned: "Why not do it yourself, my child?" But good-byes were being repeated, and with that slight sense of dissatisfaction upon her she had to take her departure.

Then the floodgates of Mrs. Lawton's eloquence were opened, and Dorothy and John Lawton were caught in the swirl of eulogy and reminiscence until suddenly a heavy jar overhead and a rattling of mortar between the part.i.tions was followed by a shrill cry of: "I've done it! I've done it!

Dorothy! Papa! Mamma! Come here, quick! quick!"

They all fled up the stairs to find Sybil stretched out on her face on a mattress, kicking her slippers impatiently for their coming: "Look at me!" she cried. "See my skirts--they are just exactly as I fell! I haven't moved an inch!"

John said, slowly: "I-t wasn't an accident, was it, daughter? Are you sure you can do it again?"

"Oh, Sybbie!" cried Dorothy, "do try it once more--only be very careful not to fly over and get bruised!"

And willingly enough up scrambled Sybil, and, standing at the foot of the mattress, she threw up her hands and with closed eyes pitched recklessly forward, and arrived in good order to cries of admiration and wonder from the lookers-on when, suddenly, Lena appeared, saying: "Miss Sybbils, uf you blease, do dose yumps und tumbles in der odder room. Der ceilin's too tender under here, und a chunk com' by der floor down youst now."

And while Mr. and Mrs. Lawton went below to measure the disaster, Sybil threw her arm about Dorothy's waist, crying: "Oh, won't Mr. Thrall be surprised and delighted with me when he finds I can make a real Morrell fall!"

Then to the tune of "Take back the heart that thou gavest!" she burst into singing:

Take back the bottle thou gavest What are my bruised knees to thee!

and tossed the arnica bottle at Dorothy, and renewed her everlasting study of Juliet.

CHAPTER XXI

SEEKING REFUGE FROM THE STORM

The first appearance of the new Juliet was but one week off. Sybil had spent the last fortnight with Mrs. Van Camp, and some very hard work had been done in the quaint old drawing-room, for be it known there are few more difficult undertakings than the proper coaching of an inexperienced girl for the playing of a great part.

The actress who has made her way gradually acquires, all unconsciously, a hundred nameless graces, little tricks of manner, movement or expression, poses, poises, flutterings, the turn of the head or the glance of the eye, and all seem so natural, so spontaneous; but try to teach them to a novice and both coach and pupil will find their work cut out for them.

The process is an unnatural one, and the result is a forced blossom, that, however brilliantly beautiful, has a frail exotic air that makes even admirers wonder if the plant has sufficient strength ever to bloom again.

Stewart Thrall knew perfectly what drudgery coaching meant, and perversely told himself, up to the very last moment, that he should send, in a day or two, to-morrow, next day, for "Mother Mordaunt" (whose home was irreverently termed "The Hatchery," because of the numbers of amateurs she ever had in training there), and place the Crown Princess in her hands, "for drill, tuition, and discipline," and with insidious self-deception he went so far as to write a note to summon her. Then he caught at the word "drill" to hang his changed opinion on. He did not want her "drilled" out of all the bright spontaneity that was in her now; and, come to think of it, all Mrs. Mordaunt's pupils were trained to the same pattern--they were merely weak copies of herself. He believed, after all, he would undertake the task himself, and he tore to bits the note summoning Mrs. Mordaunt, and wrote instead that line to Sybil, which had caused her so much surprised grat.i.tude, and then remarked casually to Jim Roberts, who sat in the private office with him and carefully polished the metalled gauntlets that belonged to a coat of mail: "I don't know but what young Fitzallen is too inexperienced to do Romeo with a green-girl Juliet. It's rather too great a risk. Maybe I had better go on for it myself, though I suppose I'll scarcely look the part now, even in some new and youthful toggery?"

Roberts looked up from his task, with a queer expression of blended admiration and anger on his face, and answered: "You'll look the part all right, just as well as you ever did, but--what's the use of trying to deceive yourself, for you wouldn't condescend to try to deceive me surely. You know well enough that as long ago as when you telegraphed me to bring Miss Lawton back from the West you had already decided to play Romeo to her Juliet, and I knew it as well as you did, so what's the use?"

"Indeed! Why, you are becoming clairvoyant! Isn't that what they call the fellow who lies about seeing things that have never occurred? Jim, you're off your base!"

"Easy, Thrall!" answered Roberts, in a low tone. "A sneer more or less doesn't matter much, but we will draw the line at 'lying!' And if I'm off my base no one knows why better than you do!"