Wheeling Sunday register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1882-1934, 1893-09-24


"Dld?"
For moment be sat in puzzled rumi-
nation, his ierretlike glance upon the
stage entrance completely blocked. de
shook his head helplessly and then
jerEed dirty thumb over his shoulder,
indicating a narrow iron stairway at
the left. Exhausted by the demand
upon his endurance, he disappeared an
inch or two in his coat collar.
Tom was in no mood TO cavil. de
followed the direction OF the dirty
thumb, cleared the steps in two bounds
aud found himself IN the back OF the
auditorium.
For the first time he stood In an emp
" theatre in the daylight. How ghost
| ly, solemn, crude, IL wasl To nature
I like his, so sensitive TO impressions,
there was something appalling ABOUT
/ it. he felt his enthusiasm ooze slowly
the hope that had so buoyantly sus-
tained him fell suddenly, as II magic
cord had been snapped.
The curtain was raised on disor-
dered scene; a pillar Of papier macne
/ lay prone across the stage beside
piano swathed in muslin; far up in the
gallery the figure of a charwoman was
dim and uncanny, her grooming sweep
/ ing across the emptiness; bar OF SUI
| light fell aSlant the shadow and drank
10 the swirling dust. IL was beauu-
/ ful body from which the soul had he'd
How could be hope that some day
each of these folded seats would con-
tain living thing, a thinking being who
would listen with interest, perhaps de-
light, 70 words of his spoken on the
stage, but coined in quiet room far
away from the crowd?
For this was Toms dream-to be
writer OF plays that the world he loved
would applaud, to be factor in the
life OF the theaters around which for so
long be had secretly circled like rest
less moth.
He tried to throw of the sickenlng
doubt, walked down the aisle, and open
ing a door at the back Of proscenium
box found himself behind the scenes.
Gaslight and hurry were here. Scene
shutters moved about dragging bulky
pieces Of scenery, swearing at each
other in hOarse whispers. At desk
under a 6aring gas jet screened by
wire a large man sat toying with MS
watch chain while he leisurely dictated
letter to a stenograDher. A few men,
whose blue shaven lips proclaimed
their calling, obSequiOusly awaited his
pleasure. Tom joined this group. a
little crease grew between his broWs as
he fixed mis- eyes imploringly on the po-
tentate who held mis- happiness In mis-
hand.
But he had little misgiving as TO the
final answer. Surely his play was &C
ceDued else 10 would have been returned
with an abrupt line of refusal or chill
ling silence, as many others had been.
And yet-and yet-he must not hope, or
the blow, n it came, would fall too heaV-
lily. Alterations might be requested or
It's appearance postponed for year. or
this man might be overcrowded ana
had sent for him merely to tell him OF
better market for il. A pronounced
and positive success was too sweet
dream.
These confused and burning sdrmtses
all melted into a bresthless anxiety as
be found himself facing the manager,
who longed with fat, good humored i'm
uortance, waiting for him 70 speak.
eel sent you a play few weeks ago.
You wrote me 10 come in to-day"
Eyes, 10 be sure, brightly. you're
Mr.. Dupont. Take chair"
''No, my names Murray, and the play
was "A Family Falling
Mr.. Plunket permitted one OF his red
eyebrows TO move slowly toward his
chair.
II wrote you to- Gomez" Then he
paused, pursed up his lips, Topped his
watch chain. You're mistaken, amt
you?"
A chill crept over Tom and moved
under the roots OF his hair. Had he
been mistaken? Had there been mis-
take?
81 didn't bring the letter with me.
But you asked me to call to-day at
relative to my play"
Without changing his position Mr..
Pluukett held out one fat white hand
where q huge cats eye Winked and
glinted.
"Hand me that paper, Romney. "A
Family Failing?' Now, let's see." and
the point OF his brightly polished nail
glanced down list. All, yes, OF course.
It's been declined. Didn't you get it
back?"
mo" was all Tom could say.
"Romney, look in that upper drawer.
You made a mistake Ia writing Mr.. -
er-Mr Murray letter. You're get
ting so deuced careless l believe you're
TO love, upon my soul"
Romuey colored and stuck his pen
behind his ear.
Eyes, sir, l guess did. l meant to
send it 70 Mr.. Dupont about His Aunt's
Legacy. Here's the gentleman's play,
SIR"
on. that unknown man named Du-
pont-how Tom envied and hated him
in that moment! He took the manu-
script like only half awake. he heard
Mr.. Plunket murmur an apology and
briskly wish him good afternoon. Still
be fingered, looking down at the roll OF
pager.
DO you think I could get it accepted
anywhere? Or could l improve it?' be
asked, and something in his face moved
the manager TO little pity and pa
thence.
"I looked through it, The first scene
told me 10 wouldn't do. You want the
truth, and I'll give It 10 you-sentiment
be hanged! It's fairly good as far as
style goes. You might turn il into
novel. But we want more than style on
the stage. We want actiOn-we want
life" and warming to his subject Mr.,
[ Plunket threw one pOnderouS leg over
the arm of his chair. 1--WE want situa-
tions-Quiet, but so subtle and intensely
weighted with interest that a crowded
house holds its breath to see them de-
velop. If you cant do that-and its
very evident you can't-write realistic
a~o-,o couldn,t use H. Of course but