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Updated: May 21, 2025
"And as you say, mum's the word. We don't want them to get onto the fact that she's here. That's the idea, isn't it?" "Absolutely." "Then," she said, wrinkling her brow, "I wouldn't repeat this story to Mr. Lyndon Rushcroft, father of yours truly. He would blab it all over the county. The greatest press stuff in the world.
Dear old girl, he would as soon have cut off his right hand as to break any promise made to her. He brushed something away from his eyes, and his chin, contracting, trembled slightly. "Quite right," said Barnes, sympathetically. "And how long has Mrs. Rushcroft been dead?" A hurt, incredulous look came into Mr. Rushcroft's eyes.
In case of detention or inquiry, she was to pose as a stage-struck young woman who had obtained a place with the company at the last moment through his influence. Mr. Rushcroft was not in the secret. Barnes merely announced that he wanted to give a charming young friend of the family a chance to see what she could do on the stage, and that he had taken the liberty of sending for her.
Wonderful scenery, splendid air " "Deliver me from the hoi-polloi," said Mr. Rushcroft, at his ease once more. "I may also add, deliver me from walking. I'm damned if I can see anything in it. What will you have to drink, old chap?"
"I don't know what I should do without you," she said. That evening at supper, Barnes and Mr. Rushcroft, to say nothing of three or four "transients," had great cause for complaint about the service. Miss Tilly was wholly pre-occupied. She was memorising her "part." Instead of asking Mr.
Rushcroft leaned back in his chair and stuck his thumbs in the arm holes of his vest. He displayed no undue elation. Instead he affected profound calculation. His daughter shot a swift, searching look at the would-be Samaritan. There was a heightened colour in her cheeks. "Ahem," said Rushcroft, squinting at the ceiling beams.
And he actually debased himself by wishing that the Rushcroft company might find it imperative to go on rehearsing for weeks in that dim, enchanted temple. It was not a "barn of a place" to him. It was paradise. He sat for hours in one of the most uncomfortable seats he had ever known, devouring with hungry eyes the shadowy, interested face so close to his own, and never tired.
Think of the awful requiem I could have But what's the use thinking about it now? I am so exasperated I can't think of anything but anathemas, so " "I don't see how you managed to sleep through it," Barnes broke in. "You must have an unusually clear conscience, Mr. Rushcroft." "I haven't any conscience at all, sir," roared the star.
Miss Thackeray was "turning down" his bed when he entered his room after bidding his new actor friends good night. All three promised to be up bright and early in the morning to speed him on his way with good wishes. Mr. Rushcroft declared that he would break the habit of years and get up in time to partake of a seven o'clock breakfast with him. Mr. Dillingford and Mr.
"Where is Crowndale?" interrupted Barnes, a slight frown appearing on his brow. He had a distinct feeling that there was handwriting on the wall and that it was put there purposely for him to read. "About five hours' walk from Hornville," said Dillingford, grinning. "Twenty-five cents by train. We merely resume a tour interrupted by the serious illness of Mr. Rushcroft.
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