Hopkinsville Kentuckian. [volume] (Hopkinsville, Ky.) 1889-1918, 1907-07-13
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
MISS ARCHER'S
UNDERSTUDY
BY CONSTANCE D. MAcKAY


"My luck is so good that l can
hardly believe it's true" said Law
renee Foster, moving his chair lit
tie further from the tiled hearth
stone where a ruddy fire leaped and
danced and threw wavering CLEANS
on the brass and irons.
"What luck?"
"My being able to see you alone"
Miss Archer smiled at him. "Two
Jumps or one?" she questioned, pois-
ing the quaint silver sugar tongs
above his cup. 1t was her day at
home. Outside a furry Of snow
whitened the street and mufied the
footballs of passersby. Indoors a fire
burned on the hearth and a tea ket-
tie sang pleasantly over the flame OF
a filigree alcohol lamp.
Miss Archer dropped the neces-
sary sweetening into Mr. Fosters
cup and passed it to him.
"That's one of the drawbacks Of
success" she observed. cone hasn't
time to see their friends-tO really
see them, 1 mean. My days seem
taken up with a round of rehearsals
and dressmakers; and introductlons
to people half Of whom l shall in
all probability never meet again"
"And in exchange for that draft
on your time and energy you know
what it means to be popular actress
in a record-breaking play. Think
Of the girls who would give anything
in the world for your chanceP'
81 know" said Miss Archer,
soberly.
"There's your understudy, now"
Foster went on, Little Miss Lap
ham. She said to me the other day:
I wouldn't have anything happen to
Miss Archer for the world, but oh,
what wouldn't l give to play her
partp There, you see, is a girl who
has never done anything great in
spite Of her youth and prettiness."
"She is pretty, isn't She" Miss
Archer generously agreed. "Such
soft rose-like coloring and forget
4
me-not blue eyes"
"She is a type" said Foster, "that
interests me enormously-Ah, you
see my luck was short livedl' as the
| door opened to admit a number of
other guests.
When they we're gone, and Miss
| Archer was left alone, she rose, and
leaning one elbow on the mantel,
stared refectively into the fire. She
was very tired and nervous with the
stress of a long season; for ODE
borah's Decision" had begun the end
of August and it was now March.
Much was due to the play itself, but
more to the charm of Miriam Archer
whom the public respected as well as
adored. And before that public she
had been playing for how many
years? She raised her head and
looked in the mantel's mirror. The
reflected face was sweet and mobile
and womanly, yet already delicate
crinkles gathered at the corners Of
her eyes when she smiled; and a
strand of gray showed in the ripples
of her dark hair Her success had
not been won without valiant eff
forts. The fight up the ladder had
been an arduous one. 1t had left
traces that present fame and ease
could never wholly eradicate. She
had given her very soul to her work,
and of all the men she had met and
known there were none who had
touched her heart.
"None," she admitted to herself
with rising color, "till Lawrence
Foster came this winter" He was
not connected with the theater in
any way, and had none of the tenn
peramental moods of the actor, and
Marian had come to rely on his
quietness and strength. Though in
all their long talks or hastier inter
views he had never spoken a word
of love to her; looks and tones and a
great bunch of violets that came
every morning paid her an eloquent
and subtle homage She knew his
views well enough to realize that if
she married him she might still go
playing; he would not ask her to
| 1.;,-o $50 h., ,,-o-,l- A c,rootoy Loppi-