The Cricket Part 47

"You little beast! You--you h.e.l.l-cat! What d'ye mean by spoiling my scene like that?"

"Oh, I am so sorry," said Isabelle, "I didn't mean to do it, but I got the two Marys all mixed up."

"You're crazy--you're a mad woman! What do you think this will mean to me? It means failure--complete failure! I never could get through the scene again. It means thousands of dollars, that's what it means.

Because I let a stage-struck fool like you speak a line! Talk about grat.i.tude! You turn and ruin me!"

"But I didn't know----"

"Don't pull that baby stuff!" he shrieked. "You _did_ know. You _intended_ to do it all the time. You're so crazy about yourself, that you'd murder your own mother to get the spotlight! Get out of here!

Don't you ever let me see your face again! Don't you ever step in this theatre, you dirty spy! Take her away! Take her away!" he raved, now entirely beside himself.

Isabelle for once was dumb. Poor, terrified Miss Watts seized her by the arm, and dragged her out the stage door, and down the alley.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Isabelle walked Miss Watts for miles. She would not answer questions, nor discuss the events leading up to Cartel's outburst.

"Of course, he isn't a gentleman," was her only remark during the entire walk. Poor Miss Watts was utterly in the dark over the whole situation.

She was sitting quietly in the dressing room, reading the _Atlantic Monthly_, under the impression that the play was going nicely, when the terrible outbreak of Cartel occurred. One thing she grasped, and that was that the girl was suffering, so she let her alone and trudged along beside her, as well as she could.

Suddenly Isabelle called a taxi, and ordered the driver to hurry them home.

"I won't see the Wallys to-night," she said, as they reached the house.

"If they're home, you tell them whatever you like."

But the Bryces were not in yet, so Matthews told them. Isabelle rushed upstairs, and went to bed, with a brief good-night to Miss Watts. An hour later Max snapped on the light in Isabelle's room, and evidently spoke to Wally.

"The little beast is asleep!" she said. "Did you ever hear anything equal to that?"

Isabelle heard him laugh; the light was turned off, and her parents went on their way. They never had any part in her crises. They thought this terrible, wracking fiasco was funny! She covered her ears to shut out the hideous wild laughing of that audience. She could never forget it as long as she lived--that gust of laughter, as if the solid earth had begun to rock and roll.

She tried to think back to the beginning of the disaster, but it was all hazy in her mind--a chaos of lights, people, applause, excitement--a mixture of the role she was playing and the one she had made up for herself. She could not remember when it was that she began on the wrong Mary.

She viewed the ruins of her hopes, lying all about her. She heard Cartel's shrieks of rage, and that awful laughing! It was terrible--terrible! And n.o.body would understand. There was nothing for her to do, but die.

She thought back to another time when she had wanted to die, and dear Mrs. Benjamin had comforted her. If only she were here now she would understand, and help her to face her disgrace. What was she to do? How could she live it down? She must hide somewhere. Maybe she ought to disappear in the morning, before her parents were awake. That would let her out of the much-dreaded interview with them. So with this idea in her mind, she fell into troubled sleep, at dawn.

When she woke, it was to broad daylight, and the presence of her father and mother.

"Oh!" sighed Isabelle, as her eyes fell on them.

"You've been asleep all day," said her mother. "We thought maybe you'd taken something."

"Taken something?"

"Drug, or something."

"Is it late?"

"Four o'clock in the afternoon."

"Oh, and I intended to get away early this morning."

"Get away where?" inquired Wally.

"Anywhere out of sight"--desperately.

He sat on the edge of her bed.

"Look here, kid, just what did happen?"

"You'll never understand, and I'm not going to talk about it," she said, sullenly.

"You needn't take that tone," said her mother, sharply. "You've made an utter fool of yourself, and of us, too."

"Now, Max, let her alone to-day," Wally protested.

"It's always 'Let her do it her own way,' with you. You backed her up in this foolishness. We've had all the publicity I intend to have through Isabelle. She will go back to school, and stay in retirement, until we are ready to bring her out," said Mrs. Bryce, firmly.

"All I say is that to-morrow is soon enough to take it up with her. The kid's had a bad fall, and she needs to get together."

"Yes, she has! She comes home and goes to sleep for sixteen hours, while we read the newspapers."

"Newspapers?"

"Column after column of what you did to Cartel's opening. If he doesn't sue Wally for a fat sum, I miss my guess."

"What did they say?"

"You can read them for yourself. I intend that you shall. If there is any way to cure your conceit, I'd like to see it done," Mrs. Bryce continued.

"Plenty of time later," urged Wally, distressed at his daughter's white, tragic face. "Did Cartel say anything to you last night?"

Isabelle nodded.

"Dismissed you?"

Again she inclined her head.

"I should hope so," laughed Max, shortly. "Paper says he has gone to Atlantic City with a nervous collapse."

"And the play?" Isabelle said.

"Closed. That's what you did. Must have endeared yourself to the company."