Bambi Part 24

"For instance?"

"Well, that the theatre was on fire."

"But when he got there?"

"I'd have made him see it was a joke."

"Maybe he hasn't that kind of a sense of humour?"

"Then I should have perished bravely."

So the incidents of their first day's careering ended jocularly.

Bambi called Mr. Strong on the wire next day, and told him of Jarvis's unprofitable sitting. Could he get her a letter to Belasco? Or to any other leading manager? He laughed, said he did not know Belasco, but thought he could arrange it for her. He promised to send a letter to the club.

With this a.s.surance to fall back upon, she persuaded Jarvis to go to the office of one of the newer managers who seemed to be of an open mind in regard to untried playwrights. She showed him a magazine article about this "live wire," named over his productions, and repeated his cordial invitation to new writers.

Jarvis set forth reluctantly. He liked salesman work as little as he had expected to. But he felt he owed some effort to Bambi, since he was her guest, and her mind was so set on his success.

This time the cheeky-faced office boy admitted that the manager was in.

He accepted and scrutinized Jarvis's card with disdain, but on his return from the inner office he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, "Wait!" So Jarvis sat down for his second endurance feat. The same Johnnies and Billies and Fays came to this office in their endless seeking. He began to vision the great, ceaseless army of them "making the rounds," as they call it, often hungry and tired. They were most of them uneducated, you could tell by their speech, for all their long "a's" and short "r's." That they were physically unadapted to the profession was obvious enough in many cases. They were probably badly trained. How did they live? Where did they go? They began to haunt him.

He was interrupted by hearing his name called. He rose mechanically, and followed the boy into a very large and ornate office. A fat Jewish man, in loud clothes, a brown derby hat, and a cigar, sat at a desk, dictating.

"H'are ye?" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed as Jarvis entered. He went on dictating and smoking, until Jarvis finally interrupted him, saying he wanted to see the manager. The fat man glared at him.

"Sit down until I get through!" he shouted. "I'm the manager."

Jarvis took a chair and looked at the man closely. What would such a creature find in his play, with its roots in a modern condition, no more grasped by this man than by Professor Parkhurst? The absurdity of the idea struck Jarvis so forcibly that he laughed out loud.

"Let's have it, if it's any good," said the fat man.

"I beg your pardon," Jarvis replied.

The manager dismissed the stenographer, took up Jarvis's card, looked at it, and then at his victim.

"Jarvis Jocelyn," he read. "Good stage name. What's your line, Jarvis?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "WELL, BELIEVE ME, THAT HIGH-BROW STUFF IS ON THE TOBOGGAN."]

"I've come to see you about a play."

"Oh, you're a writer? What have you done?"

"Several plays, and some poetry."

"Nix on the poetry. Who brought out the plays?"

"n.o.body yet. I am just beginning to offer them."

"What sort of stuff is it?"

"It's a dramatic handling of the feminist movement."

"What's that?"

"The emanc.i.p.ation of woman."

"I hadn't heard about it. Is your stuff funny?"

"No. It is a serious presentation of an unique revolution----"

"Well, believe me, that high-brow stuff is on the toboggan. I knew it couldn't last. I gave it to them when they demanded it, but I am cutting it out now. Haven't you got a good melodrama, or a funny show?"

"I have not," superbly.

"Say, do you know any Jews? I got a great idea for a Jew play that would take like the measles if some fellow would work it up. Pile of money in it."

Jarvis rose, furious.

"It is so apparent that we have nothing to say to each other that I'll bid you good morning."

"If you fellows who come in here from the country to run Broadway could put _yourselves_ in a show, it would be the scream of the town," said the fat man in Jarvis's wake.

"I'd rather starve than endure a pig like you!" cried Jarvis, as he fled.

The fat man's laugh followed him to the street. He hated himself, and the whole situation. It galled him to think he had deliberately submitted himself to such treatment. Even Bambi could not expect it of him,--to set him to sell his dreams in such a market. He charged down Broadway, clearing a wake as wide as a battleship in action. He saw red.

He was unconscious of people. He only felt the animus of the atmosphere, the sense of things tugging at him, which had to be cast off. Why was he here? He wanted the quiet, the open stretches, and his own free thoughts. What turn of the wheel had brought him into this maelstrom?

Bambi! The old story, Samson and Delilah! He had visioned great things.

She had shorn him, and pushed him into a net of circ.u.mstances. He would not endure it. He would sweep her out of his life, and be about his work.

He was disappointed to find her out when he returned to the club. He had his opening speech all ready and it was annoying to have his scene delayed. He raged about, to keep his wrath hot, until she came.

"Greeting," she began; then saw his face, and added, "Jungle beast!"

"I'll not stay here another day!" he cried.

"You saw the manager?"

"He asked me if the stuff was funny! He invited me to write a Jew play, and make a pot of money! He said 'Nix on the high-brow stuff,' and never heard of the feminist movement," he blurted out in one breath.

She sat down under the onslaught, trying to arrange her rebellious features.

"'Nix on the high-brow stuff.' To me!" he repeated.

Bambi gave up. She rolled on the bed, and laughed.

Jarvis raged the room up and down. There was no gleam of humour in it for him. When her paroxysm had pa.s.sed, she sat up and looked at him.