The Pit [47]
effort to repress his emotion, flung himself into a chair, turning his back and crossing his legs violently. Miss Gretry stopped, very much disturbed, gazing perplexedly at the coach's heaving shoulders.
There was a strained silence, then:
"Isn't--isn't that right?"
As if with the words she had touched a spring, Monsieur Gerardy bounded to his feet.
"Grand God! Is that left-centre where you have made the entrance? In fine, I ask you a little--_is_ that left-centre? You have come in by the rustic bench and practicable table set for breakfast. A fine sight on the night of the performance that. Marion climbs over the rustic breakfast and practicable--over the rustic bench and practicable table, ha, ha, to make the entrance." Still holding the play-book, he clapped hands with elaborate sarcasm. "Ah, yes, good business that. That will bring down the house."
Meanwhile the Gretry girl turned again from left- centre.
"'Ah, the old home again. See----'"
"Stop!" thundered Monsieur Gerardy. "Is that what you call timid and hesitating? Once more, those lines.... No, no. It is not it at all. More of slowness, more of--Here, watch me."
He made the entrance with laborious exaggeration of effect, dragging one foot after another, clutching at the palings of an imaginary fence, while pitching his voice at a feeble falsetto, he quavered:
"'Ah! The old home--ah ... once more. See--' like that," he cried, straightening up. "Now then. We try that entrance again. Don't come on too quick after the curtain. Attention. I clap my hands for the curtain, and count three." He backed away and, tucking the play- book under his arm, struck his palms together. "Now, one--two--_three._"
But this time Isabel Gretry, in remembering her "business," confused her stage directions once more
"'Ah, the old home----'"
"Left-centre," interrupted the coach, in a tone of long-suffering patience.
She paused bewildered, and believing that she had spoken her lines too abruptly, began again:
"'See, the clambering----'"
"_Left_-centre."
"'Ah, the old home----'"
Monsieur Gerardy settled himself deliberately in his chair and resting his head upon one hand closed his eyes. His manner was that of Galileo under torture declaring "still it moves."
"_Left_-centre."
"Oh--oh, yes. I forgot."
Monsieur Gerardy apostrophized the chandelier with mirthless humour.
"Oh, ha, ha! She forgot."
Still another time Marion tried the entrance, and, as she came on, Monsieur Gerardy made vigorous signals to Page, exclaiming in a hoarse whisper:
"Lady Mary, ready. In a minute you come on. Remember the cue."
Meanwhile Marion had continued:
"'See the clambering vines----'"
"Roses."
"'The clambering rose vines----'"
"Roses, pure and simple."
"'See! The clambering roses, pure and----'"
"Mademoiselle Gretry, will you do me the extreme obligation to bound yourself by the lines of the book?"
"I thought you said----"
"Go on, go on, go on! Is it God-possible to be thus stupid? Lady Mary, ready."
"'See, the clambering roses have wrapped the old stones in a loving embrace. The birds build in the same old nests----'"
"Well, well, Lady Mary, where are you? You enter from the porch."
"I'm waiting for my cue," protested Page. "My cue is: 'Are there none that will remember me.'"
"Say," whispered Landry, coming up behind Page, "it would look bully if you could come out leading a greyhound."
"Ah, so, Mademoiselle Gretry," cried Monsieur Gerardy, "you left out the cue." He became painfully polite. "Give the speech once more, if you please."
"A dog would look bully on the stage," whispered Landry. "And I know where I could get one."
"Where?"
"A friend of mine. He's got a beauty, blue grey----"
They become suddenly aware of a portentous silence The coach, his arms folded, was gazing at Page with tightened lips.
"'None who will remember me,'" he burst out at last. "Three times she gave it."
Page hurried upon the scene with the words:
"'Ah, another glorious
There was a strained silence, then:
"Isn't--isn't that right?"
As if with the words she had touched a spring, Monsieur Gerardy bounded to his feet.
"Grand God! Is that left-centre where you have made the entrance? In fine, I ask you a little--_is_ that left-centre? You have come in by the rustic bench and practicable table set for breakfast. A fine sight on the night of the performance that. Marion climbs over the rustic breakfast and practicable--over the rustic bench and practicable table, ha, ha, to make the entrance." Still holding the play-book, he clapped hands with elaborate sarcasm. "Ah, yes, good business that. That will bring down the house."
Meanwhile the Gretry girl turned again from left- centre.
"'Ah, the old home again. See----'"
"Stop!" thundered Monsieur Gerardy. "Is that what you call timid and hesitating? Once more, those lines.... No, no. It is not it at all. More of slowness, more of--Here, watch me."
He made the entrance with laborious exaggeration of effect, dragging one foot after another, clutching at the palings of an imaginary fence, while pitching his voice at a feeble falsetto, he quavered:
"'Ah! The old home--ah ... once more. See--' like that," he cried, straightening up. "Now then. We try that entrance again. Don't come on too quick after the curtain. Attention. I clap my hands for the curtain, and count three." He backed away and, tucking the play- book under his arm, struck his palms together. "Now, one--two--_three._"
But this time Isabel Gretry, in remembering her "business," confused her stage directions once more
"'Ah, the old home----'"
"Left-centre," interrupted the coach, in a tone of long-suffering patience.
She paused bewildered, and believing that she had spoken her lines too abruptly, began again:
"'See, the clambering----'"
"_Left_-centre."
"'Ah, the old home----'"
Monsieur Gerardy settled himself deliberately in his chair and resting his head upon one hand closed his eyes. His manner was that of Galileo under torture declaring "still it moves."
"_Left_-centre."
"Oh--oh, yes. I forgot."
Monsieur Gerardy apostrophized the chandelier with mirthless humour.
"Oh, ha, ha! She forgot."
Still another time Marion tried the entrance, and, as she came on, Monsieur Gerardy made vigorous signals to Page, exclaiming in a hoarse whisper:
"Lady Mary, ready. In a minute you come on. Remember the cue."
Meanwhile Marion had continued:
"'See the clambering vines----'"
"Roses."
"'The clambering rose vines----'"
"Roses, pure and simple."
"'See! The clambering roses, pure and----'"
"Mademoiselle Gretry, will you do me the extreme obligation to bound yourself by the lines of the book?"
"I thought you said----"
"Go on, go on, go on! Is it God-possible to be thus stupid? Lady Mary, ready."
"'See, the clambering roses have wrapped the old stones in a loving embrace. The birds build in the same old nests----'"
"Well, well, Lady Mary, where are you? You enter from the porch."
"I'm waiting for my cue," protested Page. "My cue is: 'Are there none that will remember me.'"
"Say," whispered Landry, coming up behind Page, "it would look bully if you could come out leading a greyhound."
"Ah, so, Mademoiselle Gretry," cried Monsieur Gerardy, "you left out the cue." He became painfully polite. "Give the speech once more, if you please."
"A dog would look bully on the stage," whispered Landry. "And I know where I could get one."
"Where?"
"A friend of mine. He's got a beauty, blue grey----"
They become suddenly aware of a portentous silence The coach, his arms folded, was gazing at Page with tightened lips.
"'None who will remember me,'" he burst out at last. "Three times she gave it."
Page hurried upon the scene with the words:
"'Ah, another glorious