Infatuation
marching up to cannon and saving people from burning buildings, and
descending to the bottom of the sea in submarines; but in the forlorn
hopes of life it is most often the women who lead.
After a while Adair was revived; on examination it seemed that he wasn't
seriously damaged at all, only scared--oh, yes--just scared all out of
his poor Booful wits; and a fairy potion called: "What does anything
matter as long as we have each other?" was extraordinarily effective in
pulling him together again. Then Phyllis jumbled up all the swear-words
she had ever heard, and hurled them indiscriminately at Shamus O'Dowd,
with such piquancy and humor, coming as they did from that sweet mouth,
and with such a delicious lady-intonation that Adair was convulsed, and
a tiny bit shocked--which was precisely what she had schemed for, the
daring little wretch.
Thus began a new era of looking for an engagement; and it must be said
it was a very sad, anxious, bitter era, for they were dreadfully
poor--hungry-poor--and every time there was a knock at the door it was a
dun who had to be coaxed and persuaded into going away. Adair's recent
prominence had done little to incline managers towards him, and though
they were more civil, and he generally got greater consideration at
their hands, it was evident that their former hostility still persisted.
But his professional reputation now stood pretty high; and occasionally
one, bolder than the rest, would coquette with him, keeping him on
tenter-hooks while a frantic search was made "for somebody that would do
as well." This somebody was always found, and Adair would be told
politely that "the vacancy had been filled."
Incidentally he learned that his parting from O'Dowd had been grossly
misrepresented by that "genial star," who had spread it about broadcast
that Adair was as impossible as ever, and so inflated and top-lofty that
it had been cheaper to break the run of the piece than to stand his
vagaries any longer. This was in such accord with Adair's former
character that it found ready credence up and down Broadway; and the
great Mr. Fielman himself enunciated the general sentiment when he said
to Rolls Reece, the dramatist: "If that fellow Adair only had the
manners and decency of a common hod-carrier, I'd give him a five years'
contract, and make a fortune out of him; but the stage is on too high a
level nowadays for men like that to get a second chance to disgrace
it--at least from me!"
No one appreciates more than an actor the need for being well-dressed
when seeking an engagement. His appearance is a considerable part of his
capital, both on the boards and off; he may have had little breakfast,
and less lunch, but his clothes must be good, and his linen immaculate,
and in a "profession" judged so largely by superficialities, it behooves
him, poor dog, to affect at any cost an air of fashion that but too
often is the most pathetic of masquerades.
It was now that Phyllis rose to the occasion with an unexpected capacity
that showed she was, indeed, her father's daughter. She got the
janitress to teach her how to wash and iron white shirts; and in a short
time could glaze a bosom better than her instructress, and almost as
well as a French laundry-man. She learned how to press Adair's coats
and trousers; she turned his ties; she ironed his collars; she cleaned
his gloves with gasolene. No man was ever valeted with more assiduous
care, or sent out every morning looking sprucer or better-groomed. When
she kissed him good-by for the day it was always with a playful
admonition, for Adair bore adversity none too well, and though he tried
to hide his despondency he was beginning to break down under the long
continued strain.
"And he knows he's a great, big, handsome, splendid Booful?"
"Oh, he's sure of it!"
"And he's going to step out like a Crown Prince going down to see his
Emperor-Papa at the club?"
"You bet he is."
"And swing his cane as though he owned all Broadway--and throw back his
head like a Greek statue, and swagger into their horrid old offices like
a millionaire? For he _is_ a millionaire, you know--not a money-one,
but a Love-Millionaire--for don't I love him millions and millions?"
It took a kiss to answer that; and then the Love-Millionaire, laughing a
little tremulously, would hurry away, whistling with much bravado as he
went down the stairs, two at a time, as suited a great, big, handsome,
splendid Booful; who, whatever his demerits in the past, was fast
retrieving himself before the Great Judge.--And if, on his departure,
Phyllis would lay her head on her arm and give way to uncontrollable
tears, you would be wrong to feel too sorry for her. For the misfortune
that draws a man and woman together, and extorts from each their noblest
qualities is not really a misfortune at all, but a precious and
beautiful thing that it would become us more to envy.
Thus the days passed in a deadening, cowing, unutterably depressing
search for work. Adair was rebuffed, put off, told to call again; he
abased himself to men he despised; he forced his presence with hungry
persistence on dramatists and stars who were putting on new plays,
affecting a good fellowship that was a transparent, dismal lie. He
tried to buy them wine, cigars--inveigle them into promises, and his
lunch often went in a tip to some greedy understrapper who guarded their
portals.
It is strange the mile-wide demarcation that divides the real stage--the
stage of Sothern, John Drew, Faversham, Maude Adams, etc., from that
other to which Adair had so long associated himself. This other had no
representative save Adair in the whole Thespian Club. It was a region
apart, and a region that Adair was determined never to return to. It
would have called him back willingly enough, and in his desperation he
might have returned to it had it not been for Phyllis. It was she who
kept his resolution alive; she was too confident of his talent to let
him throw it back into that Dead Sea; it meant the abandonment of every
serious ambition;--artistically speaking, suicide, death.--Booful
belonged to the top, and it was his business and hers to get him there.
Brave words, but how about fulfilment? The end of the month would find
them turned out of doors. Phyllis dreaded to see herself in the glass,
she was becoming so pale and wan; in the unequal battle everything was
going except her courage; sometimes, alone in the silent apartment, even
that seemed to droop, and a daunting terror would overwhelm her--less
for herself than for Adair. He was drinking again, and justified
himself with a bitter vehemence. "They all say, 'Have a drink'!" he
exclaimed. "Nobody ever says 'Have an eat'!"--His harsh, despairing
humor recurred to her, as well as his sudden resentment at her pity. He
had made atonement, but the sting remained--or rather a foreboding of
something somber and evil that in spite of herself she could not shake
off.
One day at the club a card was brought Adair, inscribed Mr. John H.
Campbell; and the boy told him the gentleman was waiting to see him in
the visitors' room. Adair knew no such person, but he went out to greet
him with mingled curiosity and hope, for here perhaps was the
long-sought engagement. An imposing, distinguished looking, very
well-dressed man of fifty rose from the sofa, and asked him, with much
suavity, whether he had the pleasure of addressing Mr. Cyril Adair.
This question being quickly and politely settled, the imposing gentleman
begged for a few words of conversation; and indicating a place for Adair
beside him, he reseated himself with a bland, kind air which yet was not
without an underlying seriousness, not to say solemnity.
"I have come on a very confidential matter," he said, fixing Adair with
his shrewd, keen, heavy-lidded eyes. "A matter, Mr. Adair, so delicate
that it is not easy to convey it except in a round-about form. May I
explain I have sought you out at the request of--Mr. Ladd?"
There was a pause; the shrewd, heavy-lidded eyes slowly inventoried
Adair and read beneath the tarnished air of fashion. Failure, need,
hunger sap a man, and can not be hid, least of all from a professional
observer. John Hampden Campbell was one of the leaders of the New York
bar and was what they call a "court room lawyer" of high rank; which
means that others hand up the guns, while he shoots them off. His
knowledge of human nature was profound, and being profound was neither
unsympathetic nor unkind. But he could shoot straight, nevertheless,
and it was hardly a satisfaction to the victim to hear that murmur of
"poor devil!" as the eminent counsel laid aside the smoking weapon.
"My father-in-law!" exclaimed Adair in amazement.
"He would be happier if he could cease to bear that name," said Mr.
Campbell.
"He can hardly very well help himself," retorted Adair bluntly.
"No, but you could," put in the lawyer, with a vagueness that was
intentional. "By this time you must realize that it is a union that is
scarcely to your own best interests nor the young lady's."
"Haven't noticed it," said Adair, staring at him queerly.
"Mr. Ladd would be prepared to make very heavy sacrifices to put back
things as they were before."
"What sort of sacrifices?"--Adair's tone was not unfriendly; it was
rather questioning and perplexed.
"We would rather leave it to you to suggest them, though we are counting
more on your concern for her welfare. Frankly, Mr. Adair, without
meaning the least disrespect, and with a thorough knowledge of your
honorable and straightforward conduct--do you consider you're acting
rightly in holding this young lady to what most people would call a very
bad bargain?"
"Being married to a starving actor?"
"Oh, that is putting it too--too--"
"Of course, she has thrown herself away--I know that."
There was a gleam in the heavy-lidded eyes.
"It could all be rectified," said Mr. Campbell soothingly. "Very
easily, and very quickly rectified. It is just a question, it seems to
me, of our getting together, and talking it over reasonably. In fact,
some of the details might be omitted entirely. Mr. Ladd is a man of
very large means, and is the soul of honor. He would see to it that
your future was made easy."
"How easy?" asked Adair.
"I mean," returned Mr. Campbell, "that he would substantially recognize
your honest desire to be guided by his wishes--wishes that you admit are
just, and so much to the young lady's advantage that you are willing to
withdraw entirely."
"Those are all words," exclaimed Adair; "let's get to figures."
Mr. Campbell looked pained. After having confined the interview so
skilfully within the limits of irreproachable good taste, this brutality
outraged his ear. He had not been unprepossessed by Adair, and felt
sorry for him.--But here was the cloven hoof.--The fellow was just a
low, mercenary adventurer after all.
"The figures are ten thousand dollars," he answered coldly.
"Why, I don't call that anything!"
"Cash," added Campbell, with a pursing of his lips.
"Of course, it's cash," cried Adair, "it's going to be that, whatever it
is. Only it isn't enough. She's worth more than ten thousand dollars."
Campbell saw that his personal bias had made him err. Adair's vibrating
tone had caught the note of his own; suavity and good humor were
all-important, and he scurried back to them, like an incautious general
flying for the batteries he has left behind. When he spoke again it was
in his best lullaby manner.
"My dear fellow," he said, "the real point is that you concede the
principle. That is so, is it not?"
"Hell, yes," returned Adair. "I'd concede a lot for fifty thousand
dollars."
"But that is a very, very large sum of money."