The Yakima herald. [volume] (North Yakima, W.T. [Wash.]) 1889-1914, 1894-03-22

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dirty thumb over his shoulder, indicat-
ing narrow iron stairway at the left
Exhausted by the demand upon his en-
durance, he disappeared an inch or two
in his coat collar.
Tom was in no mood to cavil. He fol.
lowed the direction Of the dirty thumb,
cleared the steps in two bounds and
found himself in the back Of the audito-
rum.
For the first time he stood in an empty
theater in the daylight. How ghostly.
solemn, crude, 1t was! To nature like
his, so sensitive to impressions. there was
something appalling about 1t. He felt
his enthusiasm ooze slowly. the hope that
had so buoyantly sustained him fall sud-
denly, as il q magic cord had been
snapped.
The curtain was raised on disordered
scene; pillar of papier mache lay prone
across the stage beside piano swathed
in muslin; far up in the gallery the fig
ure of charwoman was dim and uncan-
ny, her grooming sweeping across the
emptiness; bar Of sunlight fell aslant
the shadow and drank up the swirling
dust. It was q beautiful body from
which the soul had fed.
How could he hope that some day each
of these folded seats would contain d liv-
ing. thinking being who would listen
with interest, perhaps delight, to words
Of his spoken on the stage, but coined in
a quiet room far away from the crowd?
For this was Toms dream-to be Q
writer of plays that the world he loved
would applaud, to be factor in the life
of the theaters around which for SO long
he had secretly circled like q restless
moth.
He tried to throw of the sickening
doubt, walked down the aisle. and open
ing door at the back Of o 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 .
fiaring gas jet screened by wire large
man sat toying with his watch chain
while he leisurely dictated letter to
stenographer. A few men, whose blue
shaven lips proclaimed their calling. OBJ
sequiously awaited his pleasure. Tom
Joined this group. A little crease grew
between his brows as he fixed his eyes
imploringly on the potentate who held
his happiness in his hand.
But he had little misgiving as to the
final answer. Surely his play was &C
cepted else it would have been returned
with an abrupt line of refusal or chill
ing silence, as many others had been.
And yet-and yet-he must not hope, or
the blow. If it came. would fall too heav-
lily. Alterations might be requested or
its appearance postponed for year, or
this man might be overcrowded and had
sent for him merely to tell him Of bet
ter market for it. A pronounced and
positive success was too sweet a dream.
These confused and burning surmises
all melted into q breathless anxiety as
he found himself facing the manager,
who lounged with fat, good humored
Importance. waiting for him to speak.
II sent You play few weeks ago.
You wrote me to come in today"
Eyes, to be sure" brightly. You're
Mr.. Dupont. Take chair"
mo, 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
your
A chill crept over Tom and moved
under the roots of his hair. Had he been
mistaken? Had there been mistaken
II didn't bring the letter with me.
But you asked me to call today at 5rel-
alive to my play"
Without changing his position Mr..
Plnnket held out one fat white hand
where a huge cats eye winked and
glinted.
Hand me that paper. Romney. "A
Family Failingy Now, let's see, ;" and the
point of his brightly polished nail glanced
down list. "Ah, yes, of course. It's
been declined. Didn you get 1t backT'
NO." was all Tom could say.
"Romuey, look In that upper drawer.
You made mistake in writing Mr.-er
Mr.. Murray letter. You're getting
so deuced careless I believe you're in
love, upon my soul"
Romney colored and stuck his pen be-
hind his ear.
"Yes, sir. ! guess I did. I meant to
send it to Mr.. Dupont about His Aunt's
Legacy Here's the gentleman's play,
SIR
Oh, that unknown man named Dupont
how Tom envied and hated him in
that momenti He took the manuscript
like one only half awake. He heard Mr..
Plunket murmur an apology and briskly
wish him good afternoon. Still he linger-
ID, looking down at the roll of paper.
do you think could get IL accepted
anywhere? Or could I improve itg'' re
asked, and something In his face moved
the manager to little pity and patience.
II looked through it. The first scene
told me it wouldn't do. You want the
truth, and I'll give it to you-sentiment
be hangedl It's fairly good as far rs
style goes. You might turn it into a
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. I'VE want situa-
tions-quiet, but so subtly and intense
ly weighted with interest that crowded
house holds its breath to see them de-
velop. II you can't do that--and it's
very evident you can't-write realistic
drama. / couldn't use 1t, of course, bu!
you'll find a manager who'll take 1t OF
your hands fast enough.
"Stun your audience with daring leaps
into real running water. so that the lead,
ing man comes before the curtain in,
cased in rubber, diffusing dampness
that makes the orchestra leader sneeze
or thrill them with mine explosions, OF
real engines. or bridges that move