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Quincel, mentioning Augustin Daly's famous production, which had worn from a great public success down to an amateur theatrical favorite, with many of the troublesome accessories cut out and the dramatis personae reduced to the smallest possible number. Drouet had seen this play some time in the past. "That's it," he said; "that's a fine play. It will go all right.
As she dressed with a flutter, in her little stage room, hearing the voices outside, seeing Mr. Quincel hurrying here and there, noting Mrs. Morgan and Mrs.
Harry Quincel, an individual who was very prominent in this local branch of the Elks, "you're the man that can help us out." It was after the business meeting and things were going socially with a hum. Drouet was bobbing around chatting and joking with a score of individuals whom he knew. "What are you up to?" he inquired genially, turning a smiling face upon his secret brother.
"I'm afraid he'll never pick up." At this moment Bamberger was exclaiming, "Pearl, you are joking with me." "Look at that now," said the director, whispering behind his hand. "My Lord! what can you do with a man who drawls out a sentence like that?" "Do the best you can," said Quincel consolingly.
"Well, now, I'll tell you what we are trying to do," went on Mr. Quincel. "We are trying to get a new set of furniture for the lodge. There isn't enough money in the treasury at the present time, and we thought we would raise it by a little entertainment." "Sure," interrupted Drouet, "that's a good idea." "Several of the boys around here have got talent.
She did it with a grace which was fascinating to look upon. "Who is that woman?" asked the director, watching Carrie in her little scene with Bamberger. "Miss Madenda," said Quincel. "I know her name," said the director, "but what does she do?" "I don't know," said Quincel. "She's a friend of one of our members."
Quincel, who sat at the side of the stage, looking serenely on and volunteering opinions which the director did not heed. "All right," said the latter, somewhat abashed, "it might be well to do it." Then brightening, with a show of authority, "Suppose we run right through, putting in as much expression as we can." "Good," said Mr. Quincel. "This hand," resumed Mrs. Morgan, glancing up at Mr.
"Well, she's got more gumption than any one I've seen here so far seems to take an interest in what she's doing." "Pretty, too, isn't she?" said Quincel. The director strolled away without answering.
The members of Custer Lodge could scarcely understand why their little affair was taking so well. Mr. Harry Quincel was looked upon as quite a star for this sort of work. By the time the 16th had arrived Hurstwood's friends had rallied like Romans to a senator's call. A well-dressed, good-natured, flatteringly-inclined audience was assured from the moment he thought of assisting Carrie.
She did it with a grace which was fascinating to look upon. "Who is that woman?" asked the director, watching Carrie in her little scene with Bamberger. "Miss Madenda," said Quincel. "I know her name," said the director, "but what does she do?" "I don't know," said Quincel. "She's a friend of one of our members."
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