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Updated: June 29, 2025
You don't happen to know 'I Stood on the Bridge at Midnight'?" "No Ruth sings that," replied Susan, and colored violently. Burlingham ignored the slip. "'Blue Alsatian Mountains'?" "Yes. But that's very old." "Exactly. Nothing is of any use to the stage until it's very old. Audiences at theaters don't want to hear anything they don't already know by heart. They've come to see, not to hear.
A pause, then: "Nothing is going to be dreadful to me any more. It's all in the game, as Mr. Burlingham used to say." "Burlingham who's he?" It was Etta's first faint clew toward that mysterious past of Susan's into which she longed to peer. "Oh a man I knew. He's dead." A long pause, Etta watching Susan's unreadable face. At last she said: "You don't seem a bit excited."
The spell of the stage seized her with Tempest's first line, first elegant despairing gesture. It held her through Burlingham and Anstruther's "sketch" of a matrimonial quarrel, through Connemora and Eshwell's "delicious symphonic romanticism" of a lovers' quarrel and making up, through Tempest's recitation of "Lasca," dying to shield her cowboy lover from the hoofs of the stampeded herd.
When Anstruther had put the last touches to her toilet and paraded her to the others, there was a chorus of enthusiasm. The men no less than the women viewed her with the professional eye. "Didn't I tell you all?" cried Burlingham, as they looked her up and down like a group of connoisseurs inspecting a statue. "Wasn't I right?"
Her new hat was a simple blue sailor with a dark blue band that matched her dress. "I spent thirty-six dollars," said Burlingham. "I only spent twenty-two," declared Mabel. "And this child here only parted with seven of her dollars. I had no idea she was so thrifty." "And now what?" said Burlingham. "I'm going round to see a friend of mine," replied Mabel. "She's on the stage, too.
Now that they're giving down to us so freely, I feel better about them myself. It's a pity we can't lower the rest of the program to the level of their intellectuals." Burlingham was not tactless enough to disturb Eshwell's consoling notion that while Susan was appreciated by these ignorant country-jakes, the rest of the company were too subtle and refined in their art.
Violet could wear none of her things, as they were many sizes too small, so she appeared in a property skirt of black paper muslin, a black velvet property basque, a pair of shoes belonging to Tempest. Burlingham and Eshwell made a fairly respectable showing in clothing from Tempest's trunk. Their own trunks had gone down. "Why, where's Tempest?" asked Eshwell.
What are you going to do, Mabel?" "Get some clothes. The water wrecked mine and this rain has finished my hat." "We'll go together," said Burlingham. They took a car for Louisville, descended before a department store. Burlingham had to fit himself from the skin out; Mabel had underclothes, needed a hat, a dress, summer shoes. Susan needed underclothes, shoes, a hat, for she was bareheaded.
And the two followed him up the levee, leaving the others counting their shares. At the street corner they went into a general store where Burlingham bought two ninety-eight-cent umbrellas. He gave Mabel one, held the other over Susan and himself as they walked along. "Well, ladies," said he, "we begin life again. A clean slate, a fresh start as if nothing had ever happened."
Burlingham had taught her that it only makes things worse and more difficult to lie to oneself about them. "John's crazy about you. But he hasn't money enough to ask you to come along. And " Etta hesitated, eyed Susan doubtfully. "You're sure you don't love him?" "No. I couldn't love him any more than than I could hate him." Susan's strange look drifted across her features.
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