A Pasteboard Crown Part 23

But Sybil fitted the looped string over her finger and flashed a radiant smile at the faithful little German drudge, and, dangling the package in the air, quoted:

"'This little pig went to market!' Just wait till to-night, Lena, when I'm alone in my room, and the little pig will have cookies, eh?"

"Ja! ja!" nodded and smiled Lena. "You com' make very fine little pig, Miss Sybbils; sometimes you can com' black, but ven you smiles, your lips youst curl up like a flower!"

And, amid general laughter, Sybil departed for the city with Leslie doing escort duty, while John and Dorothy Lawton received an informing lecture upon the structure, quality, and quant.i.ty of brain to be found in the low-cla.s.s Germans that nicely filled up the rest of their afternoon.

At Mrs. Van Camp's house Sybil's return was followed almost immediately by the announcement from the wearer of the mulberry livery of: "A person--an elderly female person--to see you, ma'am; by appointment, she claims, ma'am. Show her up? Yes, ma'am. Hem! if you'll excuse the boldness--Mr. Poll's in the library, and he do be swearing awful, beyond anythink, ma'am. What for is it? Why, ma'am, someone--I suppose it's the young lady, ma'am--put a shaving-gla.s.s in his cage, and he's been cussin' of he'self ever since he laid eyes on it. Shall I be carryin'

him to the bas.e.m.e.nt, or covering him up? I don't know. Yes, ma'am, I'll take him down as you say." And a few moments later he returned, haughtily ushered in Mrs. Jane Stivers, and retired.

Sybil, entering by the opposite door, saw a thin, elderly woman, whose dark hair sprinkled with gray and banded smoothly down over each ear, whose small, dark eyes, whose thin, pale-lipped, closely closed mouth, and long, drooping nose spelled as plainly as letters could the word--discreet. Her black gown and unspeakably respectable bonnet, her thick but plain cloak, her neat cashmere gloves, were all prim adjuncts to that picture of _discretion_. She stood in true servant-like att.i.tude, eyes down and hands crossed at the exact waist-line; and as Sybil reached her G.o.d-mother's side that lady, raising her gla.s.ses to look at the stranger, said: "Mrs. Stivers, I wish to--why! why! you're Martin--you are surely Jane Martin?" and sat staring.

"Yes, Madam Van Camp," she replied, "I am Jane that was in your sewing-room three years and more. I didn't think you'd remember a servant's face so long, so I didn't tell Mr. Thrall I'd been in your service. My husband was a boss carpenter in a theatre, and that took me there. Me being a good needle-woman, I got work in the wardrobe, and gradually learned the business thorough-like; and when my husband died, as I wanted to hold on to the house, I began taking lodgers as well as working at the theatre, so as to pay off the mortgage some time, I do hope, ma'am."

Both women sighed sympathetically as they listened to Mrs. Stivers's calm and self-controlled statement of her financial and professional situation, little dreaming that the oppressive mortgage existed only in the imagination of the undemonstrative widow, who found it too powerful a lever in raising the rent of rooms, in raising her salary, and in raising the hats of compa.s.sionate observers--to be willingly abandoned.

But though the house mortgage had been cancelled long ago, she was then by way of secretly placing a mortgage upon her own character for upright honesty, for sincerity, for honor. True, there was no overt agreement to dupe a young girl and to circ.u.mvent her friends; yet if she made no slip, trip, or blunder in this matter intrusted to her, she surely knew that at its end Stewart Thrall, who guided, governed, and controlled her, would hold first mortgage on her character, since by tacit, unspoken agreement she would become a living surveillance, a personified treachery, while still deceptively wearing the livery of prim respectability and honest labor.

Now, Mrs. Van Camp asked the woman to be seated; expressed regret for her bereavement, and, because of the excellent impression Jane Martin had made upon her in the past, looked with unusually lenient eyes upon Jane Stivers of the present, and accepted readily her statements, and trustingly saw in her rect.i.tude, her intelligence, and her respectful and deferential manner the most desirable sort of combination--landlady, maid, and sheep-dog.

When terms came to be considered, though they seemed surprisingly easy, Sybil nervously checked Mrs. Van Camp's acceptance of them, saying that her salary hardly justified such an outlay.

"Oh, Miss Lawton, if you'll pardon the interruption," said Jane Stivers, "your salary will be quite a different thing when you begin playing Juliet. Anyone would know that, as a mere matter of course. But besides that, when Mr. Thrall did me the service of mentioning this matter, he honored my little home with a call, and as he was going he puts on his hat and says: 'And I must have now a bit of a business talk with our little Royal Princess'--that's you, Miss; theatrical people are great for tagging folks with names, be you high or be you low--you're bound to get a tag; even I, miss, have been 'Jane Penny' ever since some rattle-brain found that Stiver was Dutch for a penny."

Sybil recalled her mother's old saying, "Not worth a stiver," and laughed, while Jane went on.

"Yes, ma'am, he said he must have a little talk with the Royal Princess and add a cipher to her salary, so she could settle down with a quiet mind, free for Juliet alone."

And on the strength of that report Mrs. Van Camp accepted the offered terms, but advised Sybil to run over with "Martin," as she would call her, "to look at the apartments and ascertain if there was a sun exposure for at least one room; and whether the drains were all right, and the gas-pipes innocent of dangerous leakage."

And Sybil--the wish being father to the thought--declared the house quite perfect. Mrs. Lawton was notified by letter, and while awaiting her answer a "lightning-change artist" had been at work upon walls and floor of the front room. The drab and blue horror of the wall had become a clear primrose yellow with white enamelled picture-rails. The floor being of old, badly matched pine-boards, and there being no time for painting or staining, was completely covered with a dull grayish-green carpet, with pure white rugs before sofa, writing-desk, etc.; and with flowing white curtains with broad primrose ribbon-ties and a white-framed rocker with cushion of grayish green, flowered over with pale primroses. These changes made so magical an effect that Sybil, coming on the third day to take possession, stood astounded.

"Yes, ma'am," evenly admitted Jane Stivers, "it was a bit of a rush, and I could not manage to get the second room done so quickly. The expense?

Oh, I have been saving up for months for the express purpose of doing up my rooms."

But Sybil was amazed at the artistic taste shown here; it was in such strange contrast to the black hair-cloth, the shiny white and gold paper, the wax flowers of the parlor, that yet evidently filled Jane's soul with pride.

"Whom did you advise with, Mrs. Stivers?" she asked, as her fingers stroked the flowered cushion.

"No one. I did it all myself." Then, as a quick side-glance caught the unbelief on her lodger's face, she added: "No, I don't know, on second thought, but what I did get a hint about the color you would be likely to favor. I recall now that Mr. Thrall remarked, seeing that paper hanging in the dealer's window: 'What a fine background for some dark-haired woman.' So I just caught the idea, as you may say."

"You are a very clever woman, I see," answered Sybil, who went joyously about her unpacking, looking every ten minutes from the window for Dorothy, who was coming with home photographs, Lena's personally constructed pillow-sham with a large blue cotton "S. L." worked in the middle, a beautiful old paper-knife from papa, a silver powder-box from Leslie, and two pretty but broken fans from mamma, who thought they would decorate a room nicely, giving quite a little studio-like touch--all to be used in "homing the rooms," as Dorothy put it.

G.o.dmamma Van Camp sent three really precious old engravings that Dorothy, with hat still on, went about rapturously holding up against the clear yellow wall, smacking her young lips as though she were tasting something.

The most exciting moment of the girls' day was when going into the second room Dorothy pointed to a corner cabinet and said: "What's that, Syb?"

"What's what?" asked that person from near the bottom of the trunk Jane was waiting to remove to the attic.

"That in the corner?"

Sybil rose, red and hot, and looked while Jane pulled the trunk out.

Then she exclaimed: "Why, that was not there when I came to look at the rooms first!" She went over to it. A small visiting-card was attached to the key--the card of Stewart Thrall. She opened the cabinet door and revealed a coffee outfit. Two cries of delight arose; alcohol was sent for--the picnic was on!

In Africa when a creature is too mighty for the hunters, the wily natives contrive a great trap--they dig a deep pit, and then cover it over with frail green boughs and gra.s.ses, until it looks like the rest of the green matted ground about it. They are careful, too, to place this trap in the neighborhood of some rushing river or some stilly pool where in the moonlight or at earliest flush of dawn the great creature must go to lap the cooling water. Then, when it has crashed through into helpless captivity, the small cunning enemy may work their will upon it.

Now, the strange thing is--this cruel and treacherous practice is not confined to Africa. Sometimes pits are dug before young feet and carefully hidden beneath boughs of friendship and flowers of love. Right here in our great city, if we listen closely, we may hear the crashing fall of the victim!

CHAPTER XXIII

THE WOMAN IN THE BOX

At the Globe Theatre they were settling down to a long and brilliant run. Thrall had staged the old play splendidly, costumed it royally, rehea.r.s.ed it to exact precision of movement, and cast it with such knowledge, such consideration for the requirements of each character that the fiery Tybalt, the stately Prince, the benignant Friar Laurence, and the grotesque Peter were not more judiciously placed than the Apothecary, Gregory, or the Page. "Romeo and Juliet" had "caught the town"; for once the matinee girl had two idols in the same theatre.

Never, never had Thrall been so raved over. In his desire to make himself look as youthful as possible for the early acts, he had permitted the Lefebvres to costume him in white, from his cap and floating ostrich plume down to his shoes; but shoes with yellow leathered heels, cloak lined with a golden yellow satin, that reappeared in such trunk puffings and love-knots of yellow l.u.s.tre that all suggestion of coldness was lost in extreme richness and delicacy.

Indeed, in grace and beauty and extravagance, he was the ideal courtly young popinjay of Verona--the idolized only son and heir of the mighty family of Montague.

And Juliet? Truly they were a pair to joy the eye of poet or of painter! From the moment when she appeared upon the scene and the laughing mockery of her "How now! who calls?" to the Nurse, had changed into the respectful "Madam, I am here!" to her mother, the public had been enslaved by the vividness of the dark and changeful beauty of her girlish face.

For Thrall's was the artificial youth of the wig, the grease paint; of skilful costuming and brilliant acting; a youth that does not care to come quite down to the footlights. But Sybil was so young that even some of the dear gaucheries of the still growing girl showed faintly in her and made tender tears start to some very worldly eyes; therefore but little was expected from her in the way of acting. So, when at the end of the first act Juliet learns from the Nurse that the young masker is really a Montague, her moaning words,

"My only love sprung from my only hate; Too early seen unknown, and known too late!"

were given in tones so helpless and amazed, and she stood so dazed and motionless under the shock of her discovery, that with a great roar of applause the audience hailed the actress in her!

Sybil had given much thought to her part, and she had advanced some ideas of her own now and then when Thrall was teaching her the "business" of the play, as, for instance, in the potion scene. The Juliets generally rave and wildly scream the line:

"As with a club, dash out my desperate brains!"

and, if they have strength left, scream louder still the

"----Stay, Tybalt, stay!--"

and then, having swallowed the potion, declare it has

"----chilled me to the heart!"

that their "senses fail" them, etc., but still in fullest voice cry they:

"Oh, Romeo! Romeo!"

and collapse.

When this was being explained Sybil asked gravely, but with dancing eyes: "Where were the rest of the Capulet family that night, I wonder?

Such a dreadful row would bring the entire household, maids and stable-boys included, to the rescue. I thought this potion-taking was a secret between the Friar, Romeo, and Juliet? I believed she was half suffocated with the horror of the scenes she conjured up, and gasped the words out. Then that scream would be just as effective, I should think, if she fell on her knees near the bed and stifled her shrieks in the pillows or the bed-clothing. Would not the suppressed, almost whispering, voice add to the sense of secrecy--of danger?"