The Roanoke times. [volume] (Roanoke, Va.) 1890-1895, 1893-09-17
CHAPTER "

of Miss Stones lines. Tone that down.
Murray, or hold it back bit"
The rehearsal of 1.-The Worlds Way"
was on. Raw gaslight flooded the stage
and showed the auditorium beyond, a
shadowy pit that echoed every word.
Tom stood near the manager, the prompt
book in his hand, interlining it with new
suggestions for stage business and some
times altering line to be more effective.
He was accustomed to the theatre by
this time. For two weeks he had been
coming and going, spending much of his
time among scene painters and holding
long interviews with the manager. He
no longer felt resentful at hearing the
text slurred at rehearsals and only the
cues given with distinctness. He was
accustomed to seeing the players go
through the Cuisines" like automatons,
and climaxes his heart had stood still in
creating arranged with mechanical ex-
actness.
The skeleton of the players craft
without the simulated passion and hui
mor-the hardship and disillusion, were
all familiar now.
The days were too short for all he
found to do, and sometimes it was past
midnight before he thought of returning
to Chelsea square.
The interrupted avowal of his love to
Virginia had not been finished. But in
vague, happy way she understood that
even that must remain abeyant to tho
success of his play
Outlines the thought that it might
fail gave him Il soul sickness that i'm
Uttered his food and kept sleep away.
1t was not enough to hear it praised and
feel its reality himself. Tho final YER
dict must come from the crowd, the
vague mass called the public, depending
upon its mood. What this would be
who could foretell? He heard on every
hand of plays teeming with promise that
had gone down like ships at sea with
flags flying and cargoes Of gems on
board, of others of only doubtful value
that had made fortunes and established
regulations.
Doubt left him no peace, and the first
night of 1.-The Worlds Way" found him
with every sense quivering and alert
| Behind the scenes the air was freighted
with fever. Every body was whispering,
| peeping, specializing except Tom, and
| he leaned against one of the wings wait
| ing. He could do no more. Opallike
| CLEANS of excitement tlickcred in his
eyes, nervous tremors ran through his
blood, and behind an easy smile his teeth
were clinched. He could not breathe
| freely until the first act was over.
Five minutes before the curtain went
| up he peeped over the gasman's shoulder
and looked eagerly at the upper right
| hand box. He saw Mr.. Kent first, stand
| ing we'll in front leisurely surveying the
| house through an opera glass as fanil.
| iarly as if boxes on first nights were
quite everyday matters.
4 little more i'll shadow sat Virginia.
Tom scarcely knew her il the new gray
gown and the feathered hat with bent
rim. How pretty she was. Happiness
was a tonic that had softened every
curve of her face. Her eyes, dilated to
a starry radiance, rested dreamily on the
still undrawn curtain. Her cheeks were
burning pink.
A tenderness swept over his heart, and
| the thought of all she was to him rose
| triumphant above every other feeling.
| Was it not good to know that one in
that crowded house was thinking with
tenderness of him, not as the new dram
atist making bid for fame, but just as
Tom whose every hope was at stalker
Perhaps as they went home he might
| whisper those three words that hold inn
| prisoned in their small circle the har-
mony of the world. He might tell her
in the crowded car, or for moment be-
fore parting in the hail. 1t mattered
not how or where if only he received in
word the assurance of the belief that
she loved him.
The first few moments following the
| tinkle of the bell he never remembered
clearly. Save for tho rustic of the
prompter's book there was absolute 81
lence behind the scenes. The house was
as still. On the hush voices swept to
him speaking the words he knew by
heart. The music commenced family
like the distant sob of waves-a swaying
melody painful and sweet. Tom dared
to lift his eyes and watch the scene;
then by degrees the painful sense of
trepidation left him, for this was the
pregnant action he had dreamed of.
These were the words fire laden, scorch-
ing, living-the passion that had put
on the garb of reality-the humor, sweet,
surprising and irresistible. Sometimes a
gust of laughter swept over the house,
intermittent applause that showed crit
ical appreciation. or dead, absorbed Sic
lences.
But when the curtain fell sound
like thunderholt leaped across the
footlights and made the scenery quake
1t sank only to revive again, its clamor
swelling like a storm at its culmina-