Blue-grass and Broadway
was the straight-out answer he got to his venture, an answer that Miss
Hawtry would have felt smoothed greatly the path of her present
adventures in life.
"Poor girl! I knew she was hurt somehow, but I thought--forgive me, old
man." With a tenderness in his voice that both alarmed and puzzled Mr.
Vandeford his big Jonathan closed the subject and snapped a lock on it.
"Come over to the Astor with me for a cold bite."
"Goes!"
The cool, green-leafed Orangery at the Hotel Astor is the oasis in the
desert days of rehearsal for all early fall plays, and beside its
tinkling fountain and under its tinkling music can be found at luncheon
all of the theatrical profession who are not around the corners at the
equally cool, white-tiled Childs restaurants. Beside and around the
green wicker tables careers of managers, artists, actors, playwrights,
electricians, and scenic artists are made and unmade in the twinkling of
some bright or heavy-lidded eye. Each and every feaster watches each and
every other feaster with the quick, wary eye of a jungle being consuming
its food before it is snatched from him or her; and gossip reigns over
all.
"Gee, look at the swell dame Gerald Height has got cornered over there!"
exclaimed Mazie Villines, as she looked up from a frapped melon, which a
"heavy" moving picture man was "buying" for her consumption. "The way
them society queens do fall fer him!"
"Put your blinkers on, Mazie, put 'em on, and don't take a shy at Height
over my knife and fork! Let him eat what he pays for and me the same,"
growled the huge man. "I let you put up that drunk Howard for a week,
and that's rope enough."
"I'd like to feed him the green in his 'runny' eggs; it makes me sick to
open for him," was the adored Mazie's way of speaking of her eminent
playwright.
"Well, get his wad first," was the heavy's advice.
Just at this moment Mazie had the delight of seeing Mr. Godfrey
Vandeford enter with his "soup and fish" friend Mr. Dennis Farraday. As
they both had to pass directly by the table at which sat Miss Adair and
Mr. Height, of course they both paused for greetings, which included the
introduction of Mr. Height to Mr. Farraday.
"I could hardly eat in this beautiful cool place when I thought that
maybe you would work on in the hot office with nothing with ice packed
around it for your luncheon," said Miss Adair, as she raised her eyes to
Mr. Vandeford's with the adoration still intact after at least
three-quarters of an hour assault upon it by Mr. Gerald Height's
disturbing personality. "I wanted to go back for you, but Mr. Height
said that Mr. Meyers fed you cold pie when you were busy, and that you
roared dreadfully if anybody interrupted you when you were eating it!"
"He does," Mr. Farraday interjected, smiling down at her in a way that
it was unwise to do in the Orangery at noon; and it lighted a fuse he
little suspected. Miss Violet Hawtry caught the smile in mid-air and
then promptly turned her back and became all charming attention to the
gentleman with whom she was having luncheon, who was no other than the
celebrated Weiner, who had built three theatres in two years and was
building more. He was of the bull-necked type of Hebrew and not of the
sensitive, exquisite type of the sons of the House of David to which
belong the E. & K.'s, and the S. & S., as well as the great B. D.
"When will the new theatre be completed, Mr. Weiner?" Miss Hawtry asked,
as she turned over an iced shrimp and tore at a lettuce leaf with her
fork.
"October first," answered Mr. Weiner, past a mouthful of Russian
herring.
"What will the opening show be?" asked Miss Hawtry, with indifference,
though there was a glint under her thick lashes lowered over her
snapping Irish eyes.
"'The Rosie Posie Girl,'" answered Weiner, and he swallowed his herring
and gave her a shrewd glance at the same time.
"Vandeford will never sell it to you," Miss Hawtry announced calmly, as
she ate the shrimp and the torn lettuce leaf.
"Maybe!" answered Weiner with equal calmness. "What are his plans for
his new show that he is tearing up Forty-second Street about?"
"Road from September fifteenth until New York October first."
"What theater in New York?"
"I don't know." As she made this answer Miss Hawtry looked up and caught
a snap in Weiner's small black eyes, perched on each side of the hump of
his red nose.
"Has the show got goods?" he asked.
"I'm going to put some into it," answered Miss Hawtry calmly.
"Why?"
"I like Mr. Dennis Farraday, who's Vandeford's angel. I don't want to
see Van take the money out of his pocket and get away with it." Miss
Hawtry was dealing in half-truths to a lie expert.
"Hooked Farraday yet?"
"Not quite."
"No use bargaining with a woman when she's fishing for a man, but if he
slips the hook come to me and I'll show you a new bait. When do you
open?"
"Twenty-third of September, at Atlantic City."
"I'll be there."
"I hope you will, and--" but the rest of Miss Hawtry's remark was cut
off by Mr. Dennis Farraday's genial greeting, backed by Mr. Vandeford's
more restrained pleasure at happening upon her and her co-plotter, to
whom she introduced Mr. Farraday.
The exchange of amenities was as brief as it was cordial, but as Mr.
David Vandeford and Mr. Jonathan Farraday passed on to a table which
the discreet head waiter had reserved in case of the unexpected and
tardy arrival of just such personages as Mr. Godfrey Vandeford and his
friend, Mr. Farraday, Miss Hawtry had answered a low-voiced question
from Mr. Farraday with a sadly tender smile and the words:
"At eight?"
"The Claridge got me a box for the Big Show and a table at the Grove
Garden for to-night, Van," remarked Mr. Farraday, as he unfolded his
napkin. "It is the coolest place in town, and we might as well let the
kid get just one good peep before she goes back into the shell ... if
she goes. I'll take Miss Hawtry on and leave the box number for you and
Miss Adair."
"Right-o," answered Mr. Vandeford, with a growl. For the life of him he
could not understand just why Mr. Gerald Height should have the
privilege of feeding his author alone, while he seemed to be always
forced to enjoy her company in the presence of others. He looked across
the room, met the gray eyes laughing at him over a glass that was
plainly iced tea, and was forced to exchange smiles with his downy
little chicken, who was delightedly peeping out of her shell.
"I think Mr. Vandeford is the most wonderful man I ever met," confided
Miss Adair to Mr. Height, with no suspicion of the incitation such a
remark would be to the ardor of the beloved of many women.
"He's a great producer; had three big hits hand-running and fell down on
'Miss Cut-up' because he wouldn't stand up to Hawtry, and let her cop
the whole show," answered Mr. Height with great generosity, for in
reality Mr. Height had the very poor opinion of Mr. Vandeford that it is
the custom of all actors to hold in regard to their respective managers.
However, he was sugar-coating the pill he was determined to administer
to Miss Adair without delay. "He ought to marry Hawtry and get a bit in
her mouth and the spurs on."
"Is--is he in love with Miss Hawtry?" asked the author of "The Purple
Slipper" with great interest, and the home-made color rose several
degrees, that were not warranted by the calm gossip of the situation.
"That's the noise he makes, but who can tell?" answered Mr. Height,
reveling in the Adairville roses and no more aware of their origin than
was their owner. "He meets bills, but nobody gets in behind his
window-boxes." And Mr. Height raised his glass of Tom Collins, perfectly
contented with the thought that he had enlightened Miss Adair about the
private life of Mr. Vandeford. As a matter of fact he had failed utterly
to do so, as she had not understood a word of his Broadway patois.
"There's the great B. D. and beloved son-in-law," and Mr. Height nodded
and smiled at a white-haired man and his companion who were seating
themselves at the table next to them.
"B. D.?" questioned Miss Adair.
"Benjamin David," answered Mr. Height. "He and his son-in-law are
putting on a great new show. Offered me a lead and--but I think I'll
stick by 'The Purple Slipper.'" His eyes were so ardent as slightly to
disturb Miss Adair and very greatly disturb Mr. Vandeford, who caught
the warmth across several tables, and ground his teeth.
However, Miss Patricia Adair was fully capable of handling such a
situation, for ardor is ardor, whether encountered on Broadway in New
York or Adairville in Kentucky, and Miss Adair had met it many
times--and parried it.
"I've really got to leave this perfectly lovely place and hurry down to
the Y. W. C. A., to get some costume samples for Mr. Corbett," she said
calmly, as she began to draw on her gloves and pull down the veil that
reefed in the narrow brim of the jaunty hat Miss Lindsey and she had by
a great stroke of luck discovered on a side street the day before.
"Y. W. C. A.?" questioned Mr. Height, in stupefaction.
"Everybody looks that way when I say it!" laughed Miss Adair, with a
dimple flaunting above the left corner of her mouth. "Will you take me
there or put me on something or in something that will let me off very
near?"
"I'll take you," answered Mr. Height tenderly and heroically, as he held
the blue-silk coat for her to slip into.
As the two of them stood together the great Dean of American Producers
looked upon them with interest, and rose and offered his hand to Mr.
Height.
"Well, how about it?" he asked, with a smile under his beetling white
brows.
"Mr. David, please meet Miss Adair, the author of Mr. Vandeford's new
Hawtry play," Mr. Height said by way of beginning an answer to the
question put to him. "At last I'm going into wig and ruffles; the play
is of colonial Kentucky."
"I am delighted to meet you, Miss Adair," said the Broadway Maximus,
"and you are fortunate to have Mr. Height for your play. I covet him,
but I'll wait until next time."
"Oh, thank you for not taking him away!" said Miss Adair, with a
displaying of the roses which the great B. D. noted with pleasure. "Will
you come and see our play and tell us what you think about it?" Miss
Adair made her request, which was against the traditions of conventions
on Broadway, with the unabashed air with which she had invited the
reigning Governor of Kentucky to have dinner with her and Major Adair at
the state fair the year before.
"Ask Mr. Vandeford to invite me to a dress rehearsal," answered the
great one, and Gerald Height beamed with pride, while Miss Adair
displayed only gratitude and delight as they took their departure.
In their exit they passed Mr. Vandeford's table and stopped to speak to
him and Mr. Farraday.
"That's Benjamin David Mr. Height introduced to me, and he's coming to
help us at the dress rehearsals of 'The Purple Slipper.' It's
wonderful!" Miss Adair exclaimed, as Mr. Vandeford rose and stood
beside her. "Mr. Height is going down to the Y. W. C. A. with me, and
we'll be right back to the office with those pieces of silk for the
costumes. Mr. David wants him for lead, but he's going to be in 'The
Purple Slipper' and go to Mr. David next. Isn't that fine?" and without
waiting for an answer to her question the busy playwright departed on
important business connected with the costuming of her play.
"Somehow, Van, I don't see why we should worry," Mr. Farraday said, as
he looked at the retreating figures of the pair whose beauty was
attracting no little attention in the feasting Orangery. "She's getting
along all right, eh?"
"Remember you've been in the business about forty-eight hours, Denny,
and never forget that every knife here is sheathed in a smile and