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Updated: June 15, 2025
It appeared that Sally's presence had in some mysterious fashion fulfilled the function of the last straw. "This is the by-Goddest show I was ever in! I can stand for a whole lot, but when it comes to the assistant stage manager being allowed to fill the theatre with his sisters and his cousins and his aunts it's time to quit." "But, sweetie!" pleaded Mr. Cracknell, coming to the surface.
Business had been excellent all through the week. Elsa Doland had got better at every performance. The receipt of a long and agitated telegram from Mr. Cracknell, pleading to be allowed to buy the piece back, the passage of time having apparently softened Miss Hobson, was a pleasant incident.
Oh, Fill, what an awful shame!" "Yes, it's pretty tough. Makes the company all on edge. I've had the darndest time, I can tell you." "Why, what have you got to do with it?" Fillmore coughed. "I er oh, I didn't tell you that. I'm sort of er mixed up in the show. Cracknell you remember he was at college with me suggested that I should come down and look at it.
No, she must go back. Of what service could she be to such a man as Adrien? There was nothing for it but to return to Cracknell Court. So, wearily, but still with that grace which Southern blood bestows, even though it runs in the veins of a gipsy, or such a street waif as Jessica, she walked on and reached Johann Wilfer's house.
The real thing that mattered was the question of who was going to play the leading part, that deftly drawn character which had so excited the admiration of Elsa Doland. She sought information on this point. "Who will play Ruth?" she asked. "You must have somebody wonderful. It needs a tremendously clever woman. Did Mr. Cracknell say anything about that?" "Oh, yes, we discussed that, of course."
Cracknell interpreted the ejaculation as a protest against the sweeping harshness of his last remark, and gallantly tried to make amends. "I don't mean you're like that," he said. "You're different. I could see that directly I saw you. You have a sympathetic nature. That's why I'm telling you all this. You're a sensible and broad-minded girl and can understand. I've done everything for that woman.
Not while I have my strength!" A young man with butter-coloured hair, who had entered from the wings in close attendance on the injured lady, attempted to calm the storm. "Now, sweetie!" "Oh, can it, Reggie!" said Miss Hobson, curtly. Mr. Cracknell obediently canned it. He was not one of your brutal cave-men. He subsided into the recesses of a high collar and began to chew the knob of his stick.
Cracknell and the man from up-state and so calmly remote from the feverish atmosphere in which she lived her nights that it was restful to look at him. "I landed to-night," said Bruce Carmyle, turning and faced her squarely. "To-night!" "We docked at ten." He turned away again. He had made his effect, and was content to leave her to think it over. Sally was silent.
Miss Hobson was looking her most regal in old gold and black, and a sorrowful gulp escaped the stricken Mr. Cracknell as he shambled beneath her eye. "If I told you," he moaned in Sally's ear, "what... was that your ankle? Sorry! Don't know what I'm doing to-night... If I told you what I had spent on that woman, you wouldn't believe it. And then she throws me down.
I saw a man come charging out of Palace Yard the policeman touched his helmet to him with a hat and a bearing astonishingly like my uncle's. After all, didn't Cracknell himself sit in the House?
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