"Sakes o' goodness! To think of my granddaughter bein' the leading lady in 'The Lost Diamonds'-a playactress on a stage! Why when I was your age," always when Grandma talked of the old days, or when she was emotionally stirred, the Scotch brogue grew in her speech, "when I was a girl, it wad hae been a grievous sin to see a play. I mind when I was a wee bit lassie m' mither had to gang past the front of a play; house. She wint scuttlin' past, wi' her head turned and her nose in the air—but I sneakit a bit look, for the ladies in pink tights lookit ower grand to me. Eh, but wasna' I sinfu' then? M' mither gie me a yank and a jerk, an m' fayther that nicht gie me a lesson wi' the strop. But I wouldna' be surprised if m' fayther wint to see for himsel' if it was a' sae sinfu' as m' mither said." Janet laughed. "But of course being a Mutual play, it's not as if it was real," added Grandma. "It is presented in a real theater, anyway, Granny dear, and maybe oh, you'll just have to guess the news. It's just too wonderful to be true!" "M-m-m, you and Harvey hae moved the date a bit sooner. Grandma broke more bread into her bowl, speaking as if this were the only possible thing which could be so wonderful. "You dear old tease, there isn't any date, and-" "Eh, weel, then, you're powerfu' slow. Gin I was a lassie haen a fine lad like Harvey comin' one day after the other, it wad nae fau't o' mine if I didn'a lead him wi' oats to the halter!" "But Grandma, I don't want to marry Harvey! Of course I think he's the best sort of a pal, and I like him more than any one else, but-. Well, today, when I was taking dic Janet?" she asked anxiously. there are just lots of opportunities tation, who should walk into the office, but-J. Reginald Forrest!" have to gasp his name as if the milk "And who might he be that you was burning your tongue?" "Why Grandma! But of course the stock company that comes to the you never go to the shows. He has Crown every three weeks. They tour and everybody's crazy about him. this whole country. He's the lead Well, Mr. Williams introduced me and told him about tonight. I was so And Grandma, he promised to come fussed I didn't know what to say. to the play!" "Well it's to be hoped he pays his ticket that'll help some. But goodness help us if you take it that excited about everyone that comes." "Just wait-you haven't heard the best news yet. He said he was looking for an ingenue for his company, some one to do young girl parts you know-and after he'd seen me act he'd maybe give it to me!" vey? Ever since he had come to her Her Jenny-an actress! And Harfor cookies and peppermints as his hoped that someday she would see little brother Billy did now, she had him settled happily with Jenny, for she loved them both as her own. And now Wonderful! Tears came to Grand- SA thinkin' o' the fame an' the wealth, 5 "Now, Granny!" Harvey shook his finger at her. "Say-want to see something? Sure Jenny's gone?" Grandma nodded her answer to both questions, while Harvey unfastened his storm coat and took from his vest pocket a tiny gray velvet box. As he snapped it open his fingers shook. His whole face beamed with sheer happiness. He blushed scarlet. Do "For her birthday. A surprise. you think she'd like a man about to take care of?" Grandma touched the diamond, beautiful in its slender platinum setting. Joy and hope surged again into her heart. Could Jenny refuse him now? Surely not "Laddie, dear, I'm sae glad-sae unco happy!" She patted his arm and tried to say more, but could only smile at him through tears. Then hastily wiping her eyes"Ould folk do be sich silly ould fools! But laddie-dinna' wait till her birthday! I canna' tell you why, but gie it her tonight, Harvey lad, will you?" Grandma's white face was so eager, so wistful, that Harvey smiled reassuringly and promised. She was trembling when he lifted her into the sleigh, and bright pink spots burned on her cheeks. How would it all end? "Harvey, lad," ventured Grandma presently, "how should you like to be married to a-a movie actress?" Harvey laughed. suits me about right. But why-oh!" he said suddenly, "has Jenny a notion she'll be an actress now?" "Oh, no," protested Grandma hastily, "I was just wondering." Maryville's only theater was spe "I should say not! I guess Jenny cially decorated this evening with the bunting left over from the Fourth of July celebration, but it had been snowed on during the day, so that now it hung limp, and the stars were lavender and the stripes ran zigzag. This, however did not detract from the effect for Grandma. She had been in the theater only a few times before, so now she noticed the building with fresh interest. The new management had repainted it, she observed. The walls were now a brilliant red, with gold pillars and filigree work like the superstructure of a wedding cake. And at intervals there were remarkably life-like murals-painted right on the walls indeed-of deer standing in pools among the mountains. And the curtain had a pretty boating scene, she thought, though she wondered about the notices of Petersons' Horseshoeing Establishment and Sim's Hay Grain and General Merchandise which appeared on the land scape. Harvey led her to the box at the right of the stage-close enough so that she would not miss a word, even if she were a bit hard of hearing, which of course she wasn't, though people had a habit of speak ing softer these days than they did when she was young. There Harvey left her, for he was to help behind the scenes in the shifting of wings and drops. "I sure am sorry you canna' see Jenny act frae the front," said Grandma. "I'm afraid you'll miss half the effect. But I'll tell you all aboot it," she promised. When she was alone, she watched the people coming in, and nodded proudly to acquaintances. She felt that they must all be envying her. But of course they couldn't all have granddaughters as talented as Jenny to be in plays. Should she take off her hat? She thought it best to do so, and patted down her hair. Then she noticed that most of the ladies in the audience were keeping theirs on, so she hastily replaced hers, hoping that none had noticed her departure from what was done. Perhaps if they did see, they would only think she wanted to smooth her hair. Eight-thirty came, but the curtain did not rise. The audience grew impatient and applauded. Grandma clapped too. Nothing happened for a long time, though there was clapping occasionally in which Grandma joined. She would not be negligent in showing honor to the actors. But she wondered what dreadful thing could have happened to delay the performance. She was just on the point of going behind the scenes to find out when the orchestra crawled from under the stage and took its place in the pit. She had hoped that the wonderful pipe organ would be played, for she had heard that it could be made to sing like a person, to ring like a bell, and to whistle when a train was shown on the screen. But perhaps it was out of order this evening. Finally, after a prolonged torrent of applause, the curtain jerked up— three quarters of an hour late. Grandma forgot J. Reginald Forrest, and sat spellbound all through the act. She wept a little when Janet's cruel stepmother turned her out and accused her of having stolen the diamonds, and she felt very indignant at the craven villain who had the jewels all the time. At the end she clapped with the rest, until the audience had enjoyed three curtain calls and she was troubled for fear Janet would not have time to change her costume before the next act if she had to bow much more. Near the end of the second act a man entered the box and sat beside her. Grandma scarcely noticed him, for the heroine was now in desperate straits, being hungry and shabby and friendless, though the hero was vainly seeking her. Grandma gave little gasps, and applauded earnestly at the end. "Of course her voice doesn't carry," he continued, pursing his lips, "and her gestures are artificial as the deuce, but with coaching she might do minor parts and get by with an audience like this." "Isn't she wonderful? Isn't she that grand?" Grandma exclaimed to the man as the curtain fell. "M-m. Not bad for a beginner. Know the young lady?" "Know her? Why she's my grand- paper, then added, as he was leaving daughter!" the box, "The youngster has talent." Grandma beamed. "I don't understand what you mean," said Grandma with just a hint of coldness in her voice. How unappreciative he was! Now that the lights were up for intermission, she took a good look at this strange person. He seemed a man of thirty-five or forty, tall, but slouching in his chair so that his head rested against the back. His features were striking, even handsome on first glance, but as Grandma looked closer she noticed that his expression was cynical, and his eyes, bloodshot and puffy, were constantly shifting. As he glanced at this little old lady, a contemptuous smile, supremely egotistical, flickered over his lips. His clothing, too youthful in cut and color, was redolent with the perfume-oh, contrast!-of violets. Throughout the entire third act he made witty comments, until Grandma was so out of patience with him that she almost lost the effect of the final reconciliation and vindication in the hero's arms. She had advised Jenny that it would be best not to kiss him really, but just to give a pretense so that the town people would have nothing to gossip about, and Harvey would have no reason to be jealous. But now, just at the important moment, the unpleasant man attracted her attention with a useless remark and she did not see whether Jenny followed her advice or not. "If you are her grandmother," he was saying, "Perhaps you'll give her this for me. Thank you." He put into her hand a little square of white Grandma looked at the paper in astonishment. What could this man want with her Jenny? When the lights were turned on and people began the stir of leaving, and finding coats, and waking up the children and dressing them for the cold outside, Grandma examined the paper. Printed on it was Reginald Forrest in fancy letters, and on the back was scrawled: "You'll do. If you want the job come to the hotel tomorrow at three." After reading it, Grandma was ashamed. It really wasn't any of her business, and she had been as wicked as their mail-man who always read the post cards on his way down the street. And still-now that she had read it-how would it be to tear it up immediately and say nothing about it? "I'll dae it!" But just then Jenny and Harvey came for her, and she slipped it into her bag. All the way home she thought of it, and her decision wavered. "Wi' a livin' lie like that on m' conscience, could I be partakin' of the sacrament every Sunday wi' a pure heart?" But could a lie be called a lie, if a body merely said nothing? And anyway wouldn't the happiness of her "twa bairnies" be worth a wee bit sin? "Eh, but-" she told herself, "it was the Deil himsel' in the council in Heaven was for forcin' us all in |
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