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Updated: May 19, 2025
She was getting in the metropolitan whirl of pleasure. At last her picture appeared in one of the weeklies. She had not known of it, and it took her breath. "Miss Carrie Madenda," it was labeled. "One of the favorites of 'The Wives of Abdul' company." At Lola's advice she had had some pictures taken by Sarony. They had got one there.
Carrie read it with a tingling body: "The part of Katisha, the country maid, in 'The Wives of Abdul' at the Broadway, heretofore played by Inez Carew, will be hereafter filled by Carrie Madenda, one of the cleverest members of the chorus." Carrie hugged herself with delight. Oh, wasn't it just fine! At last! The first, the long-hoped for, the delightful notice! And they called her clever.
Hurstwood gazed at it a moment, snuffling and hunching one shoulder, as if something were scratching him. He was so run down, however, that his mind was not exactly clear. He approached that entrance and went in. "Well?" said the attendant, staring at him. Seeing him pause, he went over and shoved him. "Get out of here," he said. "I want to see Miss Madenda," he said.
"Madenda," she replied, instantly mindful of the name Drouet had selected in Chicago. "Carrie Madenda." "Well, now, Miss Madenda," he said, very affably, as Carrie thought, "you go over there." Then he called to a young woman who was already of the company: "Miss Clark, you pair with Miss Madenda." This young lady stepped forward, so that Carrie saw where to go, and the rehearsal began.
He was so experienced and so business-like, however, that he came very near being rude failing to remember, as he did, that the individuals he was trying to instruct were volunteer players and not salaried underlings. "Now, Miss Madenda," he said, addressing Carrie, who stood in one part uncertain as to what move to make, "you don't want to stand like that. Put expression in your face.
"Well, let her have it," he said. "I won't bother her." It was the grim resolution of a bent, bedraggled, but unbroken pride. When Carrie got back on the stage, she found that over night her dressing-room had been changed. "You are to use this room, Miss Madenda," said one of the stage lackeys. No longer any need of climbing several flights of steps to a small coop shared with another.
He liked better books than she read, better people than she associated with. His ideals burned in her heart. "It's fine to be a good actress," came distinctly back. What sort of an actress was she? "What are you thinking about, Miss Madenda?" inquired her merry companion. "Come, now, let's see if I can guess." "Oh, no," said Carrie. "Don't try." She shook it off and ate.
It included a familiar voice. "Never mind, now. I want to see Miss Madenda." "You'll have to send in your card." "Oh, come off! Here." A half-dollar was passed over, and now a knock came at her dressing-room door. Carrie opened it. "Well, well!" said Drouet. "I do swear! Why, how are you? I knew that was you the moment I saw you."
The rest of them aren't as good as you are." "Well, I'll see," said Carrie, pleased to have the part, for all her misgivings. He sidled around, dressing and fidgeting before he arranged to make his next remark. "They were getting ready to print the programs," he said, "and I gave them the name of Carrie Madenda. Was that all right?" "Yes, I guess so," said his companion, looking up at him.
"You want to send her her part?" asked the drummer. "Yes." "Well, I'll take it. I'm going right by her house in the morning. "What did you say her address was? We only want it in case we have any information to send her." "Twenty-nine Ogden Place." "And her name?" "Carrie Madenda," said the drummer, firing at random. The lodge members knew him to be single.
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