Bambi
She knocked at the third-floor back, with no response; so she opened the
door and entered. One dark area window, a bed, a chair, a dresser, an
improvised table with piles of manuscript. It was cleaner than the awful
entrance suggested. But, oh, it was pitiful! Such a place for a dreamer!
Bambi leaned her head on the dresser and sobbed. That he had been
reduced to this, that he had never told them, that he had refused the
Professor's money and chosen poverty! It nearly killed her, while it
thrilled her with a pride unspeakable. If he had the strength for such a
fight, nothing could conquer him. She started at a step outside,
thinking that it might be he.
Suddenly she realized that he might not want even her to see this; that
he might not want her to know of this drab tent where he crawled for
sleep off the field of battle. She went to the narrow bed and laid her
hand gently where his cheek would rest.
"Jarvis, my dear!" she whispered.
Then she went down the rickety stairs, out to the waiting cab. She was
sick, heart and body, at the revelation of what his struggle meant. All
the mother in her cried out at the physical distress of such
surroundings to a nature sensitive to environment.
He could have come back to the sunny, airy rooms he had made his, at
home; but he had chosen to stay and win. So many things she had not
understood about him were made clear now, and she wondered if Richard
Strong had found him there. No wonder Jarvis had repulsed him, taken
unawares, and at such a disadvantage!
"Oh, why didn't you let me know and help?" she repeated. She had the man
take her round and round the Park, where it was quiet. She must get
herself in hand. She felt that at the slightest excuse she would burst
into hysterics! More than ever, now, must she be mistress of herself for
the coming interview. She must fight to catch the big manager's
attention, and win her way with him. She drew her furs about her, closed
her eyes, and tried to shut out the sight of that sordid, wretched room,
where handsome big Jarvis was paying the toll to success--toll of blood
and brain and nerves, paid by every man or woman who mounts to the top!
She saw him climbing wearily those dirty stairs, coming into the cell.
Over and over she saw it, like a moving-picture film repeated
indefinitely.
At quarter before three she ordered the driver to the Empire Theatre.
This time his face cleared. Actress, of course. Probably went to the
slums to look up a drunken husband. He drew up at the theatre, demanded
a queen's ransom for her release, and stood at attention. She was too
nervous to notice the amount, and paid it absently, dismissed him, and
hurried to the elevator.
She was first shown into the general-domo's office, where she was
catechised as to her name and her business. She waited fifteen minutes
while her name was passed down the line. Word came back that Mr. Frohman
was engaged. Would she please wait?
"I'll wait, but my appointment was at three," she said.
The major-domo looked at her as if such _lèse majesté_ deserved hanging.
In fifteen minutes more she was conducted into an anteroom, where she
was turned over to a secretary. Her business was explained to him. In
due course of time word came out that Mr. Frohman would be through in
ten minutes. She was moved, then, to a tiny room next the sacred door
leading into the inner mystery. Twenty minutes passed, then a
youth appeared.
"Mr. Frohman will receive you now," he announced in solemn tones.
Bambi refrained from an impulse to say, "Thank you, St. Peter," and
followed into the private office. For a second she was petrified with
fear, then with the courage of the terror-stricken she marched down the
long room to the desk where Mr. Frohman sat looking at her.
"Sorry to keep you waiting," said he.
Bambi fixed her shining eyes upon him and smiled confidently.
"I feel as if I'd gotten into the Kingdom of Heaven for a short talk
with God!"
The smile on the manager's face broke into a laugh. "Is it as bad as
that? Sit down and see how you like it up here?"
"Thanks," she said, sinking into the big chair beside the desk.
"So you wrote 'Francesca,' did you?"
"I did."
"You look pretty young to know as much about life as that book tells."
"Oh, I'm old in experience," she boasted.
He looked closely at her ingenuous face, and laughed again.
"You don't look it. I think there's a play in that book."
"So do I."
"Did you ever write a play?"
"No, but I've helped on several plays. I know a great deal about them,"
she assured him.
"Do you? Well, that's more than I do. Any of the plays that you have
helped on been produced?"
"That isn't fair of you," she protested. "I should have boasted about it
if they had."
"A skilled playwright could take the heart of your story and build up a
clever comedy."
"Could we have Richard Bennett, Marguerite Clarke, and Albert Bruning
play the parts?"
"Oh, ho, you've got it all cast, have you?"
She nodded.
"And I know just the man to make the play."
"Do you? So do I. Whom do you choose?"
"Jarvis Jocelyn."
"Jarvis Jocelyn? Who's he?"
"He's a young playwright. He hasn't had anything produced yet, but he's
extremely clever, and I do so want him to have the chance."
"Jarvis Jocelyn! Seems as though I had heard that name. Oh, your name is
Jocelyn," he added. "Is this a relative?"
"Sort of--husband."
"Husband? So you're married?" in surprise.
"Yes. If you don't mind, I think I'll have to tell you some personal
history."
"Go ahead. I wish I could think where I had heard that fellow's name."
"He submitted a play to you, called 'Success.'"
"What--the cab-driver? You mean to say you're married to the
cab-driver?"
"Cab-driver?"
"The 'Success' fellow came in here, in a long coat and a top hat. Said
he was driving a hansom to help a friend and incidentally turn a penny
himself. Big, handsome, blond fellow. I remember, I liked him."
Surprise, pain, then understanding, flashed across her face, and somehow
the manager knew that he had betrayed a secret to her and that it hurt.
She controlled herself quickly, and answered him.
"Yes, that was Jarvis. We were married last spring, and we both set out
on a career. I kept mine a secret, and just by luck I succeeded. But
Jarvis"--here her eyes filled with tears--"you've no idea how hard it is
to be a playwright! Everybody thinks what a snap it is to collect
royalties when you are a Broadway favourite, but they don't know all
those terrible days and nights before you get there, and what it means
if you never do get there."
"I know," he nodded. "So you want to give this fellow the chance to make
this play?"
"I want to more than I ever wanted anything in my life."
"Well, well!" he said, in surprise at her earnestness.
"I want you to send for him, give him the commission, and never mention
me."
"Why not?"
"I do not want him to know that I had anything to do with it."
"He doesn't know you wrote the book?"
"No."
"And you're married to him, you say?"
She nodded.
"Upon my word, you're a queer pair! Are you Francesca, and is he the
musician of the story?"
"Well, they are based on us, rather."
He laughed.
"Dear, kind Mr. Frohman, will you do this?"
"I told the fellow to try his hand at a comedy. He might handle this, if
we could hold him down. Awful preacher, isn't he?"
"He's young," she answered patronizingly. The manager covered a smile.
"Won't he recognize himself and you in the book?"
"I think not. He's so unobserving, and he does not suspect me at all.
He'll never know."
"You may have to work with him on the play."
"Oh, he'll appeal to me for help. He always does. We will do it
together, only he will not know about the author."
"You will have to come to rehearsals."
"I'll come as wife of the playwright, or co-author."
"You've got it all thought out, haven't you?"
"I have."
"Sounds like a farce plot to me. Give me my instructions again. You want
me to send for him, tell him to make a play out of this book----"
She smiled and nodded.
"Suppose he asks me who the author is?"
"You could say that she insisted upon preserving her anonymity."
"What else do I do?"
"That's all."
"If this is your idea of a short interview with God, you certainly make
good in dictating his policy to him!"
Bambi's laughter rippled and sang.
"But you will do it?"
"I'll make a start by calling the cabby."
She rose and held out her hand.
"I'm so glad you're like this," she said. "I shall love doing things
with you."
"Much obliged. I'm glad you came in. You'll probably hear from one of us
as to the next move in the matter. Good-bye!"
"Good-bye and thanks, Mr. God."
His laugh followed her out. He sat for several minutes thinking about
her and her plan. He recalled Jarvis's fine, unconscious exit at the
time of his interview. He rang for a boy, and demanded Jarvis's address.
Bambi walked out, treading on air. She had won her point. She had got
Jarvis his chance. She thought it all out--the coming of Frohman's
letter, his joy over the commission, how he would announce it to her.
She laughed aloud, so that several people turned to look at her and a
man slowed up and fell in step.
She went into a tea-shop to have tea, calm down, and decide on the next
step. Would she stay over-night, summoning Jarvis to meet her next day,
or should she go home on the night train and not see him at all? Could
she bear to see his face with the imprint of poverty and discouragement?
He had been so reduced as to be forced to drive a cab, she might even
meet him on the avenue! No, she would go home to-night, and let Jarvis
come to her with news of his victory.
So she surprised the Professor at breakfast.
"Morning!" she cried.
"Bambi! We didn't expect you so soon."
"I finished what I had to do, so here I am."
"And Jarvis?"
"Oh, he's well."
"Was he surprised to see you?"
"Very."
"Is he getting on?"
"Slowly. But he will win."
"If he can learn to be practical----"
"He's learning," said Bambi, grimly.
"When is he coming home?"
"He did not say."
"Nobody buys his plays yet?"
"Not yet."
"I'm not surprised. That woman, you know, in the play he read us----"
"Don't talk about her till I get my breakfast."
He looked at her in surprise, she was so seldom irritated. She rang for
Ardelia.
"Why, Miss Bambi, honey! I didn't see yo' all comin'."
"Here I am, and hungry, too."
"How's Mistah Jarvis?"
"All right. Breakfast, Ardelia, I perish."
"Did you have a successful trip?" inquired her father.
"I did, very."
"How did you find Babylon?"
"As Babylonish as ever."
She seemed strangely disinclined for conversation, so her wise parent
left her to her meditations and her breakfast. But he patted her as he
passed to go out.
"We're glad to have you back, my daughter."
She brushed his cheek with her lips, understandingly.
XXI
"God's in his heaven! All's right with the world!" carrolled Bambi gayly
the next day.
She wrote Mr. Strong of her interview with Mr. Frohman and its happy
outcome. It gave her some satisfaction to announce that the manager was
willing to entrust Jarvis with the play. She explained that she was
obliged to come home on the night train, so she had missed the pleasure
of seeing him. Would he see that Mr. Frohman had the first bound copy
of the book?
She added that she was happy, but it was superfluous. It sang itself
through the note, so that Strong patted the paper, as he finished it, as
if it were a personal belonging of the sender.
The letter finished, she mounted the stairs to Jarvis's house, as she
always called the top floor. She wandered about, comparing it with that