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Updated: May 19, 2025
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."
At Broadway and Thirty-ninth Street was blazing, in incandescent fire, Carrie's name. "Carrie Madenda," it read, "and the Casino Company." All the wet, snowy sidewalk was bright with this radiated fire. It was so bright that it attracted Hurstwood's gaze. He looked up, and then at a large, gilt-framed posterboard, on which was a fine lithograph of Carrie, life-size.
"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.
Evidently the part was not intended to take precedence, as Miss Madenda is not often on the stage, but the audience, with the characteristic perversity of such bodies, selected for itself. The little Quakeress was marked for a favourite the moment she appeared, and thereafter easily held attention and applause. The vagaries of fortune are indeed curious."
"You do, eh?" the other said, almost tickled at the spectacle. "Get out of here," and he shoved him again. Hurstwood had no strength to resist. "I want to see Miss Madenda," he tried to explain, even as he was being hustled away. "I'm all right. The man gave him a last push and closed the door. As he did so, Hurstwood slipped and fell in the snow.
"Don't you think," said Carrie weakly, noticing that it had not been proved yet whether the members of the company knew their lines, let alone the details of expression, "that it would be better if we just went through our lines once to see if we know them? We might pick up some points." "A very good idea, Miss Madenda," said Mr.
"You do, eh?" the other said, almost tickled at the spectacle. "Get out of here," and he shoved him again. Hurstwood had no strength to resist. "I want to see Miss Madenda," he tried to explain, even as he was being hustled away. "I'm all right. The man gave him a last push and closed the door. As he did so, Hurstwood slipped and fell in the snow.
"Oh, we'll be right back, Miss Madenda," said one of the chaps, bowing. "You wouldn't think we'd keep you over time, now, would you?" "Well, I don't know," said Carrie, smiling. They were off for a drive she, looking about and noticing fine clothing, the young men voicing those silly pleasantries and weak quips which pass for humour in coy circles.
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