Blue-grass and Broadway
"Let's loaf and talk a while," the Violet answered, with a tentative
note of invitation in her voice.
"I had thought you and Van and I would have a great powwow over the
play this evening, and it's fierce that he had to get back to that
furnace a night like this, but we can limp along on a few ideas without
him, maybe. What do you think of 'The Purple Slipper'?" As he set the
car at an easy pace he turned and looked down at the lovely face so near
his shoulder with a great and extremely boyish enthusiasm, which was
very delightful and very irritating to the Violet.
"What do you think about it? You tell first," she said with a smile that
answered his enthusiasm adequately and which served to cover with
agility the fact that she had not read the play.
"Well, at first it seemed a queer kind of vehicle for you, but as I read
on I could see you queening it in all those furbelows of dress as well
as adventure and sentiment. It's a little serious in situation, but it
is full of comedy adventure in line, and I can just see the audience eat
you up in it. I told Van so, and I bought in before I had read more
than half the second act. I don't feel as though I could wait to see you
in that dinner scene while you hold the enemies of your spouse
confounded. I agree with Van that your emotional qualities may exceed
your comedy."
"Does Van back my emotional acting against my comedy?" the Violet asked,
with barely concealed surprise in her voice.
"He does. He says that 'The Purple Slipper' is going to be the sensation
of Broadway for the early fall, and I agree with him. Do you feel as
sure of it as he says you are?"
"Yes," answered the Violet, and by her assent in premeditated ignorance
of the contents of the play manuscript she put the second cross on the
production which made it a double on the fate of Mr. Dennis Farraday as
a theatrical producer. However, that fact may have been balanced by the
fact that it was the third cross on the fate of Miss Patricia Adair.
Crosses on fates in the world of Broadway go in singles, doubles, and
threes, and no man can tell their exact significance.
"Good!" answered Mr. Dennis Farraday, with another and still broader
smile of gratification and admiration of the Violet as an artist--a
smile which further infuriated, but equally inspired her. "And what a
grand time we'll all have putting it across! I'm going to help Van see
actors for the cast on Friday, and I'm going to sit in on rehearsals
straight through. I'm due a month's vacation, and I'm going to have my
mail from the office relayed back to New York from the yacht off
Nantucket so that bunch of money grubbers can't find me. Think of having
the honor of being co-producer for Violet Hawtry for my first shot!"
All of which enthusiasm and admiration went like wine to the head of the
Violet, though it left her heart uncomfortably cold; and beautiful, cool
moonlight heats the heart of a fair woman when it is not more than two
feet away from that of a brave and fair man.
"Sure I'll make it a success for you, man dear!" Maggie Murphy in the
Violet made an attempt to put a glow into the situation, using the
brogue that was like rich cream poured over peaches, as she snuggled her
bare shoulder, from which the orchid wrap had slipped, with a natural
little shiver against good Dennis's wheel arm.
"You and Van are trumps to take me in for the fun, and I'm no end
grateful to you both," was all she got for her manoeuver.
"Yes--Van is a dear," she hedged in a matter-of-fact voice.
"Yes, and I suppose after my co-first night with him the old scout will
stop baiting me about blinking the white lights. I always have been
obliged to beat Van at any game before I could rest in peace." And at
the thought of getting in at his David big Jonathan laughed heartily
just as he began to slow up the car for the turn along the sea-wall that
led under the porch of Highcliff.
"Have you ever competed with him in the biggest game of all?" the
Violet asked softly, as the car swept into the shadow and stopped by the
broad stone steps.
"What do you mean?" demanded Mr. Farraday, with a countenance so open
and a voice so hearty that the Violet, used to artifice from everybody,
suspected that they could not be real, and this suspicion made her give
up the game for the time being. She laughed with a mocking sweetness as
she sprang out of the car and to the top of the steps before he could
help her.
"Some day I'll tell you what I mean," she mocked from the dark doorway.
"Good-night!" And while he stood at the bottom step looking up at her,
she vanished into the darkness of the house, leaving him out in the cool
moonlight, a fate very different from what she had been planning for him
for several hours.
"Just as old Van said, they are nothing but children, and I blame him
about trifling with her more than I thought I did; she's a dear thing
and a little pathetic in her anxiety to make good for him. Scout has
just got to do something about it all. She's a fine and devoted woman.
And beautiful--whee-ugh!" The big thirty-year-old boy ended his
soliloquy with a whistle, which showed that in a measure he had
appreciated the dangers of the last hours. One of the eternal questions
is how can a mere man be so wicked--or so good as he is often discovered
by temptation to be?
"I'll have to be publicly and finally severed from Van before I annex
him, the boob," was the soliloquy of the Violet as she prepared for her
slumber of beauty. Another question is how thin a veneer of feminine
beauty weathers indefinitely the wash of circumstances.
Then after that moonlit night in August Fate spun her web, which she
called "The Purple Slipper," rapidly, and for a number of the people
involved life became very hectic. The center of the whirl was Mr. Adolph
Meyers, though he was safely functioning with power behind the throne
occupied by Mr. Godfrey Vandeford's nonchalant and elegantly clad
figure.
"But Mr. Vandeford, sir, it is never before that you have produced a
play without a reading," he remonstrated on the morning of the day set
for the picking of the cast from those probably suitable chosen by
Chambers, the invaluable agent of the great army of those theatrically
employed. "Actors will be here from twelve o'clock even to six. How will
a choice be made?"
"I'm trusting to your hunch about the purple manuscript falling on the
day of the Violet letter, Pops," answered Mr. Godfrey Vandeford. "Make
out a little memorandum against each name that tells me what to pick. I
like the idea of going it blind that way: it may be lucky. And, Pops,
split that five-thousand-dollar check of Mr. Farraday's in three ways.
Pay Lindenberg two-fifty as his advance on the scenery for 'The Rosie
Posie Girl,' provided he furbishes up something that will do for the
little road sally of Violet's spanking-machine, to be emblazoned as
'The Purple Slipper' on the cheapest black bills ever run off in New
York. Give Hugh Willings a thousand advance for the music of 'The Rosie
Posie Girl,' but make him write as many as six waltz songs even if you
are sure the first is a hit; it is good to make people, specially any
kind of artists, work for the money you pay 'em. The other fifteen
hundred you had better put off by itself as a starter on the Violet's
gowns. She likes to pay an Irish woman with a French name three hundred
dollars for six dollars' worth of chiffon sewed with seventy-five cents'
worth of silk."
"What is for costumes for the 'Purple Slipper'?"
"Oh, any old dolling up will do for that. The women can wear what
they've got and the men borrow or rent." With a wave of the cigarette in
his hand, Mr. Vandeford dismissed the scenic effects of the play for
whose debut Miss Elvira Henderson was concocting a dream costume to
adorn the author for receiving triumphal plaudits.
"But, Mr. Vandeford, sir, it is a costume play of a period," the humble
power behind the throne pleaded.
"Oh, is it? Then rent the nearest layout to its date that Grossmidt has
for all of 'em in a lump, and make him give you a bargain. Tell him they
won't be worn more than two weeks. I guess Violet will be in line by
that time." With which significant order Mr. Godfrey Vandeford turned
from the anxious Mr. Meyers to answer the tinkling telephone at his
elbow. In a second he was speaking to the most eminent stage director on
Broadway.
. . . . . .
"Yes, this is Godfrey Vandeford, Bill."
. . . . . .
"Yes. Called to know if you would like to stage a little show for me
right away."
. . . . . .
"Yes. I'm going to give Hawtry a little canter before 'The Rosie Posie
Girl.' New line for her, and doubtful. Like to take hold for a
pittance?"
. . . . . .
"Oh, yes, that three hundred a week for the 'Posie Girl' goes, of
course, but this play is just a Hawtry whim that I have got to let her
get out of her system. One hundred a week is my limit, and you ought to
do it for seventy-five. You can sit in your chair all the time for all I
care."
. . . . . .
"Now you get me--a hundred it is. Let her have her head and work off
steam before we start 'The Rosie Posie.' Yes, Willings is doing the
Rosie songs for us. They'll be hot stuff."
. . . . . .
"Yes, Corbett's making sketches for 'The Rosie Posie' scenery now. We'll
start 'The Purple Slipper' on Monday. Yes, that's its blooming name.
By!"
* * * * *
"Is it William Rooney to stage 'The Purple Slipper'?" asked Mr. Meyers,
with a shrug of his narrow shoulders as he began pecking out on his
machine the notes that were to guide his chief in picking the artists
who were to embody the characters in the play founded on the life
romance of that old grandame Madam Patricia Adair of colonial Kentucky.
"Why do you reckon Samuel Goldstein likes to build up a reputation for
himself on Broadway by the name of William Rooney, Pops?" inquired Mr.
Vandeford, with the idle curiosity of a free and untroubled mind.
"It is the prejudice against Hebrews for a reason," answered Mr. Meyers,
with a glint in his gem-like eyes and a wave of color flushing across
his high, scholarly forehead.
"Well, the top crust of the whole show business is Hebrew, and I should
think the bunch of you would be proud of the fact. I'm even proud that a
man named Adolph Meyers runs this whole company, and me included," said
Mr. Vandeford, without taking the trouble to note the wave of gratified
pride, devotion, and embarrassment that swept over the countenance of
his faithful henchman. "Now I'll get a little booking for your 'Purple
Slipper,' and that is all you need expect me to do, except shoulder all
the loss I haven't shunted on Denny."
"It is to be a win, not a loss," murmured the loyal Adolph under his
breath, with a glance of affection at the absorbed Mr. Godfrey
Vandeford.
This vow of Mr. Adolph Meyers shows that it is as dangerous to arouse
the affection and loyalty of one genius as it is to incur the anger of
another.
The casting of "The Purple Slipper" was a joy to Mr. Dennis Farraday. He
was to pay well for it in the future, but it was conducted in pure glee.
He sat beside Mr. Godfrey Vandeford in the latter's long, Persian
carpeted, soft-tinted, and famous-actor-photograph-bedecked, private
office beside that eminent producer, and watched the strong light from
over their shoulders reveal the points of the men and women who came in
to exhibit themselves. From the moment they entered the door, through
the walk or waddle or lope or saunter with which they approached their
fate to the expressions of joy or disappointment which their emotions
showed under Mr. Godfrey Vandeford's grilling, Mr. Farraday was deeply
interested.
"You know, Bebe, it is not necessary to put on more than a hundred extra