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At seven o'clock, with a last pressure of her thin fingers, a kiss upon her cheek where a tear lay, he left her. He had thought she was asleep, but she murmured: "May God help you to-night, Tom! My thoughts will be at the theatre with you. Good-bye." Mrs. Jones's daughter had promised to look in at Mrs. Mogley now and then during the evening, and to give her the medicine at the proper intervals.
These records never contained a word of either praise or censure for Mogley. Mrs. Mogley had first met Mogley when she was a soubrette and he a "walking gentleman." Shortly after their marriage there came to her that life-ailment which made it impossible for her to continue acting. She had swallowed her aspirations, shedding a few tears.
Which the dramatic editor changed to read as follows: "The revival of a familiar burlesque on 'Faust' at the Theatre last night was distinguished by a decidedly novel and original embodiment of Mephisto by Thomas Mogley, a trained and painstaking comedian.
The opening chorus, the witless dialogue of secondary personages, then an almost empty stage, old Faust alone remaining, and the entrance of Mephisto. Some applause that came from people that had not heard the preliminary announcement, and whose demonstration was intended for Renshaw, rather disconcerted Mogley.
In the dark, narrow hallway on the top floor he met the doctor. "Mrs. Mogley has had a sudden turn for the worse," said the physician, abruptly. "I'm afraid she won't live until midnight." Doctors need not give themselves the trouble to "break news gently" in cases where they stand small chances of remuneration. Mogley staggered. It was cruel that this should occur just when he had such good news.
Don't mind them," she whispered. Mogley has never seen or heard of the little brunette since. But he anticipates eventually to behold her ranking first after Alice among the angels of heaven. The curtain fell and Mogley, somewhat dazed in mind, mechanically removed his apparel, washed off his "make-up," donned his worn street attire and his haughty demeanour, and started for home. Home!
Life was hard enough even when he had her to sustain his courage. What would it be without her? The typewritten part had fallen on the bed. He pushed it aside. "Hexter and his Mephisto be d d!" said Mogley. "I shall stay at home with you to-night." "No, no, Tom: your one chance, remember! If you should make a hit before I die, I could go easier.
He thought only: "To tell her the truth will kill her at once." Mrs. Mogley was awake and in a fever of anticipation when Mogley entered the little room. She was sitting up in bed, staring at him with shining eyes. "Well, how was it?" she asked, quickly. Mogley's face wore a look of jubilant joy. "Success!" he cried. "Tremendous hit! The house roared!
If the papers would mention the performance at all, they would dismiss it in three or four lines, bestowing perhaps a word of ridicule upon him. She was sure to see one paper, the one that the landlady's daughter lent her every day. Mogley looked at the illuminated clock on the steeple across the way. A quarter to twelve.
Mr. Mogley was temporarily taking the place of William Renshaw, a funmaker of more advanced methods, who will appear in the role to-night. There are some pretty girls and agile dancers in the company."
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