The Argosy, Vol. 61, No. 4 — page 64: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

622 be had for small rentals after the regular season closes, clever people are willing to play for half salary rather than none at all, and Dave Faulkner, proprietor of the Superb, had let them have the house for little more than the cost of the lights and stage and house crews. The theater had been sold for three times its value, to be razed by the city, which had planned a municipal building on that block, and Faulkner could afford to be generous. Moreover, he had a real liking for Jim Adrian, who, as dramatic reporter for the Globe-Herald, had done him many a good turn. ’ The house filled slowly. Even chronic deadheads are loath to accept free tickets with the mercury climbing above the eighties, and when the’ musicians pre- pared for the overture the house was scarcely half filled. To Jim, peering through the peep-hole, the people out front seemed to wear the look of mourners at a funeral. “Tt’s got to be-a hit,” he whispered to himself as he pressed the button for the orchestra. The light on the leader’s_ desk flashed, and dispiritedly they began the medley overture of airs from the first act. On the stage the chorus people were taking their places, but there was none of the nervous bustle of the usual first night. The girls moved languidly ; and Casson, the comedian, standing in the opposite entrance, seemed the embodiment of gloom. There was a mild burst of applause as the music stopped, to start a moment later with the opening chorus, and even the curtain seemed to suffer from the en- ervating’ heat as it slowly ascended. Myra’s sprightly music sounded funereal as the chorus sang it, and Casson droned the dialogue, setting a tempo the others followed. 3 To Adrian it seemed hours before the cue for the act’s end came; and he was glad when, a moment later, the key bumped softly on the stage and the butchery of the play paused for a few minutes. The stage hands alone seemed not to suffer from the general lassitude, but sprang to strike the scene and make ready the second act: the courtyard of the pal- ace in Topsy Turvy, capital of Turvy- THE ARGOSY. land. The set was a handsome one, the palace on one side showing a rich land- scape in the distance, with the ripple of the moon on the water and a cascade effect. Myra had written a serenade for the opening number that was the best song in the score, and Adrian was re- garding the scene hopefully as Faulkner came on the stage to cheer him up. ‘“ Not so bad,” lied the house mana- ger glibly. “ The weather is against you, and your people are loafing shame- fully; but the songs are good, and the lines, too, when Casson takes the trouble to speak so that you can hear him.” “How about the boys?” questioned Adrian, referring to the critics. ‘‘ Did they say anything?” “They are coming back for a part of the second act. There’s a chance yet that you'll catch them,” said Faulkner cont- fortingly; but Adrian shook his head. He was an experienced member of the death-watch himself, and he knew the signs. Only a miracle could save the play now. Already he was planning how ibest to meet the poverty that he had brought upon Myra and himself. The little house they had bought “with their savings, with its tiny garden that had been Myra’s delight, would have to be given up. They must go back to some cheap boarding-place and start all over again. He did not mind for himself—but it would come hard on Myra. Faulkner. hurried back to the lobby to herd the newspaper men into the theater, and presently Adrian flashed the signal to the orchestra and called to Ridd for the lights. Ridd, the revengeful, smiled an evil smile as he threw the current into the sciopticons that produced the effects, and the curtain-rings rattled against the guide-wires as it went swiftly up. Adrian expected a “ hand ”’ on the pic- ture as the curtain rose, but he was un- prepared for the yell of delight that was the first spontaneous expression of the evening. An instant later he understood and stared, too horror-stricken to speak. Everything seemed to have’ gone wrong. A cascade of crimson water leaped from the pool straight up to the top of the rocks, while a green moon CO OO (©