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Updated: May 5, 2025
But" his kind and honest eyes went from Charmian to Claude "I think, if you don't mind, I'll smoke on the way home. I'll go right away now if you won't think it unfriendly. The fact is I'm a bit tired, and I bet you both are, too. These things take it out of one, unless one is made of cast-iron like Crayford, or steel like Mulworth, or whipcord like Jimber.
Her hand twitched more convulsively under Susan's as she thought of, waited for, the sound. The locust scene was a triumph for Crayford, Mr. Mulworth, and Jimber. The scene which succeeded it was a triumph for Alston Lake. Whatever else this night might bring forth one thing was certain; Alston had "made good." He had "won out" and justified Crayford's belief in him.
The hours had flown, and now, when Alston looked at his watch and told Charmian the time, she could scarcely believe him. "Where can Claude be?" "I'll go behind." "Jimber!" roared Mr. Crayford. "Where is Jimber?" Mr. Mulworth, who looked now as if he had lain awake in his clothes for more nights than he cared to remember, rushed upon the stage almost fanatically.
He wants very much to see you." "Where is he?" "Somewhere behind. I think he's viewing camels. Can you come with me?" "Of course!" He went off quickly with Mr. Mulworth, who shouted: "I say, where is Jimber?" to some unknown personality as he ran toward a door which gave on to the stage. "Let us go and sit down at the back of the stalls, Alston," said Charmian.
Who in thunder ever saw locusts swarming in a corner when they've got the whole desert to spread themselves in? It aren't their nature. What? Well, then, you must alter the position of your motors. Where is Jimber?" And Mr. Crayford strode behind the scenes. Half-past two in the morning! What could Claude be doing? Was Alston never coming back? Charmian suddenly began to feel tired and cold.
"He'll send us away." "Oh, no, he won't!" she replied, with determination. The Madame Sennier spirit was upon her in full force. It was nearly four o'clock when they left the theater. Jacob Crayford, Mr. Mulworth and Jimber were still at work when they came out of the stage door into the cold blackness of the night and got into the taxi-cab.
Mulworth, Meroni, and it was even rumored Jimber declared, the most perfect rehearsal they had ever been present at. "Exactly three hours and a half!" Crayford had remarked when the curtain came down on the fourth act. "So we come ahead of the Metropolitan. I've just heard they've had a set back with Sennier's opera; can't produce for nearly a week after the date they'd settled.
Mulworth crossed, with a thick-set, lantern-jawed, and very bald man, who was probably Jimber. Claude followed two or three yards behind them, and disappeared. His face looked ghastly under the stream of amber light. "It's dreadful to see people on the stage not made up!" said Charmian. "They all look so corpse-like. O Alston, are we going to have a success?" "What! You beginning to doubt!"
Give us your ambers! No, not the blues! Your ambers! Where's Jimber? I say, where is Jimber?" Mr. Mulworth, the stage producer, who was the speaker, appeared running sidewise down an uncovered avenue between two rows of stalls close to the stage. Although a large man, he proceeded with remarkable rapidity. Emerging into the open he came upon Claude. "Oh, Mr. Crayford is here.
"The locusts are all in one corner!" shouted Crayford. "What's the use of that? They must spread." "Spread your locusts!" bawled Mr. Mulworth. He lifted both his arms in a semaphore movement, which he continued until it seemed as if his physical mechanism had escaped from the control of his brain. "Spread your locusts, Jimber!" he wailed. "Spread! Spread! I tell you spread your locusts!"
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