“Let’s not throw out that possibility yet,” Peggy cautioned. “He might have found something like a night watchman or a caretaker.”
“Yes,” Peter admitted, “that’s true. But why did he wait so long? Why didn’t he do it years ago before he was completely broke?”
“I don’t know. Let’s put it aside for the moment and go on to the second possibility. He went to some member of his family.”
“Absolutely not,” Peter declared. “He didn’t have any.”
“None at all?”
“Oh, yes, he once had a wife,” Peter said. “But it didn’t work out.”
“Do you know where she is?”
“I don’t even knowwhoshe is. I don’t know whether they were divorced or not. But they parted years ago. As a matter of fact, I once heard that there was some bitterness there, so I doubt if he’d find a warm reception if he went back.”
“So returning to his family is out?”
“I’m afraid so. What’s your third possibility?”
“He might have gone to a friend.”
Peter considered this carefully. “Maybe,” he said at last. “But Tom seems to be a pretty proud old codger, the kind who wouldn’t accept charity. Besides, Johnny Dwyer was one of his closest friends, and even he doesn’t know where he is. What’s next?”
Peggy lowered her eyes. “I—I don’t like even to think of it,” she murmured. “But maybe....”
“Suicide?” Peter said incredulously. “Never! I’d bet anything on that. Tom wouldn’t go out that way. He’s got too much courage.”
“Well then, where does that leave us?”
Peter leaned back in the booth and signaled the counterman for another order. “I’d rule out two of your possibilities,” he said slowly, “leaving us with two alternatives. Either he’s found a job or he’s gone to live with an old friend.” Peter reached out and made room for the two fresh cups as they were brought to the table. The counterman collected the empties and retreated behind the rows of soda stools.
“Which one do you think it is?” Peggy asked as she stirred her tea.
Peter shrugged helplessly. “That’s the trouble,” he said moodily. “I can’t believe that Tom has a job. My original objection still stands. Why didn’t he get one earlier? On the other hand, he just isn’t the type to sponge off an old friend, no matter how close they once were.”
“But, Peter,” Peggy said with a trace of a smile, “you can’t eliminate everything. It’s got to be something.”
“I know, I know,” Peter said impatiently. “That’s the whole trouble. And where does it all fit in with this story of kings and queens and people living inside trunks?” He rested his elbows on the table and cupped his chin in his hands. “I feel like a dog that’s trying to chase his tail. I’m going round and round, but can’t quite catch it.”
“I’ve got an idea,” Peggy said suddenly. “How about combining the two possibilities?”
“What do you mean?”
“Suppose heisliving with an old friend and has a job at the same time—like taking care of the friend’s place of business at night?”
Peter looked interested. “Say,” he said admiringly, “that sounds good. But what kind of business?”
“Something to do with—”
“Oh, no,” Peter groaned. “Not one-eyed giants, please.”
“It’s the only thing that makes any sense,” Peggy insisted.
“But what sort of business is that?” Peter complained. “A freak show someplace?”
Before Peggy had a chance to reply, she heard her name being called out and looked up to see a young girl on her way to their table. Peter turned around in his seat with ill-concealed annoyance. The girl seemed to be bubbling over with good news and was likely to stay awhile.
“Peggy!” cried the girl. “I’m so happy for you. I just heard about your getting the part today. When do you start on tour?”
“Not for another five weeks,” Peggy replied, sliding over. “Won’t you sit down?”
The girl shook her head. “I can’t. I’ve had such an exhausting day. But I saw you from the street and simply had to come in and tell you how wonderful I think it is.” She reached out and put a hand on Peter’s shoulder as he struggled to his feet. “No, please don’t get up.” She smiled. “I’m on my way home.”
“At least let me introduce you two,” Peggy said. “Anna, this is Peter Grey. Peter, Anna Warwick, a friend from drama school.”
“How do you do,” Anna said. “You’re with Mr. Stalkey’s office, aren’t you?” Without giving Peter a chance to answer, she turned back to Peggy. “I don’t think I’ve ever had such a day,” she confided. “You know I’m in an off-Broadway company. We open in less than two weeks.”
“No, I didn’t know that,” Peggy said. “Congratulations. What’s the play?”
Anna shrugged her shoulders. “Heavens, I don’t know. It’s a new play all in verse. They keep changing the name every other day. Anyway, it’s in costume and has a perfectlyhugecast. And that’s where the trouble comes in. They’re trying to save money, so they brought us all down to this horrid little junk shop to rummage around for costumes. I’ve been there all day, and I’m simply dead on my feet.”
“What’s the name of the place?” Peggy asked without much interest.
“I’m sure you know it,” Anna said breezily. “You must have passed it a hundred times. It’s just down the street here. Syd Walsh’s Theatrical Costumes. It’s way up on the top floor of the building. I can’t tell you how stuffy and smelly, but, my dear, theydohave the most fabulous costumes. He pried open some trunks that hadn’t been looked into for years, I suppose, and came out with—well, with exquisite materials. I can’t think where he got them all. They must have been—”
“Syd Walsh!” Peter almost shouted the name. “On West Forty-ninth Street?”
Anna looked at him in surprise. “Yes,” she said. “That’s the place.”
Peter threw some money down on the table and slid out of the booth. “Come on,” he said with mounting excitement. “Come on, Peggy. Let’s go.”
Anna blinked at him and moved aside to give Peggy room. “He’s closed now,” she said in a mystified voice.
“I know, I know,” Peter said impatiently, grabbing Peggy by the arm. “That’s just the right time to go.” He leaned forward and shook Anna’s hand warmly. “Thank you. Thank you very much. I can’t tell you how much help you’ve been. Nice meeting you. G’by.”
“Yes, but”—Anna faltered, “I haven’t done a thing.”
Peter patted her on the hand. “You just don’t know.” Taking Peggy by the arm, he rushed her down the aisle and into the revolving doors at the drugstore entrance. As she spun out into the street, Peggy caught a last glimpse of Anna’s face as she sat bolt upright in the deserted booth. Her look was one of complete bafflement.
Peter guided Peggy deftly through the traffic and started up the block with long, loping strides.
“Peter,” Peggy cried. “What’s going on?”
“It’s Syd Walsh,” Peter explained. An expression of absolute certainty was on his face. “Syd Walsh is another old-timer like Tom Agate and Johnny Dwyer. But instead of being a song-and-dance man, he was a vaudeville magician. Sydney the Great, he called himself. He retired years ago and started a theatrical costume and prop shop.”
“But what makes you think—?” Peggy asked as she ran to keep up.
“Syd Walsh,” Peter said, “was known as the tallest man in vaudeville. He was six foot five at least. And,” Peter added significantly, “he had only one eye. He wore a black patch for all his performances.”
“The one-eyed giant!” Peggy breathed.
“That’s it,” Peter said. “It all fits together now. The kings and queens—Tom was talking about Syd’s costumes.”
“And the trunks, too,” Peggy cried. “Memories in trunks! Old theatrical costumes!”
“Right,” Peter said, as they turned the corner of Forty-ninth Street. “Tom Agate’s got a job looking after Syd Walsh’s costume shop at night. I’m convinced of it.”
Peter pulled to a stop in the middle of the block and scanned the darkened buildings. “It’s right around here,” he muttered. “I remember coming here years ago.”
“There it is!” cred Peggy, pointing to a plate-glass window on the fifth floor of a dingy brownstone building. Across the front of the glass was lettered:Syd Walsh’s Theatrical Costumes. The light of a street lamp barely caught the faded sign.
Peter took her by the arm. “Come on,” he said. “In we go.”
The next instant they were standing in a cramped lobby in front of the iron grillwork of an old-fashioned elevator. Peter reached out and pushed the button. A bell jangled down in the elevator shaft. The old building seemed deserted.
“How about the stairs?” For some reason, Peggy was whispering. Peter nodded wordlessly and turned into a corridor behind the elevator. Through the gloom of a single night light, Peggy could see stairs leading upward.
“Take a deep breath,” Peter advised over his shoulder. “It’s on the fifth floor.”
“I’m right behind you,” Peggy assured him.
Slowly, they made their ascent. On the second floor they passed the bolted front door of a sporting goods manufacturer. The third floor was occupied by a firm that specialized in trimmings for ladies’ hats. The night light on the fourth floor was out and Peggy couldn’t read the name on the door.
“Peter,” she whispered through the darkness, “Where are you?”
There was a shuffling step in front of her and a hand reached out for hers. “Here,” came the answering whisper. “Just one flight more.”
About halfway up the last flight, Peggy felt Peter freeze. His hand tightened over hers. Catching her breath, Peggy tried to peer through the inky gloom. Then she heard the sound of a banjo being played. It seemed to come from a great distance.
Peter advanced a few more steps, made a sharp right turn, and stopped on a landing. In front of them a thin slit of pale yellow light illuminated the floor. They were now standing directly in front of the door that led to Syd Walsh’s shop. From the other side Peggy heard a soft voice singing the tune that had recently become so familiar to her.
Moving very slowly, Peter turned the handle of the door and opened it a crack. By crowding behind him, Peggy could see the interior of the shop. It was a jumble of old boxes, trunks, musty figures clothed in period costumes. Masks of all descriptions leered down from the walls, and in one cabinet there was a shadowy row of wigs. The singing was clearer now and Peter pushed in a little farther.
In one corner of the room, half hidden by what Peggy assumed was a worktable, stood a white-haired old man. One leg was planted easily on a low stool, and cradled lovingly in his arms was a banjo. The words of his song floated quietly through the absolute stillness of the shop and Peggy suddenly realized that she was in the presence of a true artist—a man who could take a simple instrument and a familiar folk melody and weave a magic spell capable of moving an entire audience.
The song whispered to its husky, haunting conclusion, and the old man stood bowed over his instrument.
Perhaps it was Peter or maybe it was some sudden movement of hers, but the door moved forward another inch and, through the quiet, there suddenly rang a sharp tinkle of a bell. The old man with the banjo straightened up and whirled around to face the intruders.
Shielding his eyes with one hand, he advanced toward the door. “Who’s there?” he challenged. “Who is it?”
Directly in front of her, Peggy felt Peter grow tense, then suddenly relax as he shouldered his way into the shop. “Mr. Agate,” he called in a reassuring voice. “It’s all right. We don’t mean any harm.”
Tom Agate stared at them in amazement. Peggy noticed that his eyes were a bright china-blue that contrasted strongly with his fair complexion and white hair. “How—” he began. “How did you manage...?”
“To find you?” Peter said. “Well, it wasn’t easy, but this is the young lady who did the tracking down.” He reached around and brought Peggy up into the light.
Tom Agate looked at both of them in turn and then slowly chuckled. “Excuse my manners,” he said, sweeping some material from a bench. “But I’m not used to visitors up here. I’d be interested to know how you located me, Miss—”
“Peggy Lane,” Peggy said, holding out her hand. “And this is Peter Grey.”
Tom Agate acknowledged the introductions and sat down on a three-legged stool. “All right now,” he said. “I didn’t think anyone in the world knew where I was. Except Syd, of course.”
“We didn’t know either,” Peggy said, “until a few minutes ago. You see, this morning I went out to Paradise Avenue and talked to your old landlady.”
“Oh, yes.” Tom nodded vigorously. “But how did you know about that?”
“Johnny Dwyer,” Peter said simply.
Tom Agate shook his head. “I thought he’d be one man with enough sense to keep his mouth shut.”
“Don’t blame Johnny,” Peggy said. “He didn’t want to say a word.”
“Well, what made him?”
“Peggy convinced him,” Peter said with a smile.
Tom turned his blue eyes on Peggy and nodded slowly. “I imagine you can be pretty persuasive if you want to be. But it’s still a long way from Paradise Avenue to this place.”
“Don’t I know it,” Peggy said. “Your landlady told me you had moved.”
“She didn’t know where,” Tom said.
“No, she didn’t,” Peggy agreed. “But she seemed to remember something about a place called Tidewater Road.”
Tom Agate shook his head ruefully. “That woman,” he said. “I never could keep a thing from her. She had a nose built for prying into other people’s business. So you went out to Tidewater, eh?”
Peggy nodded. “I didn’t know the address so I tried all the houses.”
“You were a brave girl,” Tom said with concern. “That’s not the best part of town.”
“I didn’t run into any trouble,” Peggy assured him. “Anyway, finally I came to this nice-looking house where the woman remembered you.”
“Yes, that would be Mrs. Mullins,” Tom said. He looked at Peggy sharply. “But I was using a different name then.”
“I know,” Peggy replied. “Mr. Armour. That was how she knew you.”
Tom Agate looked puzzled. “But how didyouknow that name?”
“I didn’t,” Peggy told him. “But I had a picture of you. Johnny Dwyer gave it to me.”
“And you tracked me down with that?” Tom sounded incredulous.
“That’s all I had to go on.”
Tom Agate stared at the two young people in front of him and slowly shook his head. “Well, you certainly have gone to a lot of trouble,” he said at last. “I hope it’s been worth it to you, but I can’t imagine what you want.”
“We want to talk to you, Mr. Agate,” Peter said.
Tom Agate crossed his legs and leaned back. “All right,” he said amiably. “Go right ahead.”
Peggy reached forward and touched Peter on the arm. “Let me say it,” she said. When Peter nodded briefly, Peggy stood up and shifted over to a chair beside Tom. “Mr. Agate,” she said in a low, earnest voice, “we want you back.”
Tom Agate looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “Back where?” he asked sharply.
“In the theater.”
For a long moment Tom Agate sat perfectly still, his face expressionless. Then he slowly got up and moved away. When he turned to face them, Peggy saw he was smiling. “Thank you, Miss Lane,” he said gently. “Thanks for the compliment. But I’ve learned that in this life you can’t go back.”
“That’s not so,” Peggy declared hotly. “You can if you want to.”
The old man looked at her tolerantly. “You may be wise for your years, my dear. But I think I know better.”
Peggy held her ground. “No,” she said. “The point is, you’ve got towantto come back. There’s got to be some reason.”
Tom Agate shrugged. “Maybe. But you see, I don’t think I want to.”
“Why not?” demanded Peggy.
Tom frowned slightly. “You ask too many questions.”
“Oh, Mr. Agate,” Peggy said, “I don’t want to pry into your personal life. That’s what I told Johnny Dwyer this morning. I’m sure you had a good reason to leave the stage. But don’t you think it’s time to reconsider?”
Tom returned to his stool. “All right, Miss Lane,” he said. “It’s my turn to do some asking. Why do you think it’s time? WhyshouldI come back?”
Peggy accepted the challenge. “There are two reasons,” she declared. “First of all, you’re not happy here.” She stopped him as he started to protest. “It won’t do you any good to deny it. You’re living in a self-imposed exile—not because you want to, but because you think you should. As I said before, I don’t know the reasons, but I do know that running away is no answer.”
“Running away—” said Tom.
Peggy nodded her head firmly. “That’s what I said. Let me finish before you start.” Tom settled back and nodded. “The second reason,” Peggy went on, “is that you’re needed.”
“Who needs me?” Tom asked in a contemptuous voice.
“I do for one,” Peggy said. “I’m just starting out in the theater, Mr. Agate. You know so much and I know so little. When I think of the things you could tell me—the things you could teach me!” Peggy paused and lowered her voice. “Let me try to explain this way. Today—this afternoon—I met a little boy. His name is Tommy Stanton. Actually, he was the one who led me here.”
The old man started. “Tommy!” he cried delightedly. “How is he?”
“He’s lonely,” Peggy said. “He misses you. You taught him how to play the banjo and he loved you for it. He’s been practicing every day, Mr. Agate, and he’s much better than he was before. He told me to tell you that.”
“Tommy said that?”
“Yes. And he said another thing. He said that he wanted you to come back because he wanted to play for you. He’s proud of what he’s learned, but he needs more help. Your help.” Peggy reached out and took one of Tom Agate’s hands in hers. “In a way, we’re like Tommy Stanton. We need you and we want you.”
The old man sat silently, making no effort to remove his hand. “I can’t come back with the same old routines,” he said. “People are tired of them. They’ve heard them all a thousand times. There’s no point in returning with the old familiar bag of tricks.”
“But you don’t have to,” Peggy cried. “There are all sorts of new things for you to do.”
“What, for instance?”
“A play. You’ve never acted in a straight play before. Think of it! Tom Agate in a play!”
Tom smiled wanly. “You’re very good to say all this, but I haven’t noticed anybody beating down the doors to ask me.”
“That’s because no one has had the imagination before. But Peter has.”
“Peter?”
“Yes, Peter Grey here. He works in Oscar Stalkey’s office.”
A light seemed to flicker in the old man’s eyes.
“Oscar Stalkey,” he said with a smile. “How is the old boy? Still as enthusiastic as ever?”
“Just the same, Mr. Agate,” Peter answered. “And he’s got a play for you.”
Tom sat up. “Didhesay that?”
Peggy nodded. “Peter suggested you, and Mr. Stalkey was wild over the idea.”
“What’s the play?”
“Innocent Laughter.”
“Innocent Laughter!” Tom Agate looked at Peggy and Peter in amazement. “But that’s a hit! I understand it’s the biggest thing this season.”
“It is,” Peggy said. “Oscar Stalkey’s forming a road company of it. I’m to be general understudy and Peter is company manager.”
“But what sort of a part could I play?”
“Let me tell you aboutInnocent Laughter,” Peggy said, settling herself in her chair. Tom Agate nodded agreement and for the next few minutes, Peggy outlined the plot and the possibilities in the play.
“... so you see,” she finished at last, “the part of the grandfather is simply made to order for you.”
“Who’s playing it now?” Tom asked. Peggy saw he was beginning to become interested.
“Hiram Baker,” Peter said.
Tom Agate made a disgusted face. “But he’s no actor! I remember Hiram as a youngster!”
Peter laughed. “Then prove you can do better.”
“That wouldn’t be hard,” Tom said with a chuckle. He turned to Peggy with a smile of delight. “And you’re the understudy, eh?” Peggy nodded. “Well, well.” He smiled. “Your first real break?”
“With a professional company—yes.”
“I’d like to hear you read sometime.”
Peggy jumped to her feet and began rummaging through her handbag. “Why not right now!” she cried. “We can do the scene between the young girl and her grandfather.”
“We?” Tom exclaimed.
“Well, I can’t do the scene all by myself, can I?” said Peggy, with a quick look at Peter. “Somebody’s got to read the other lines.”
Tom laughed. “All right,” he said. “I’ll humor you. Give me the script.”
“Here,” Peter said, stepping forward. “I’ve got an extra copy. You keep yours, Peggy.” Peter paced over to one side of the room. “Let me explain what the set looks like. We’ll pretend that this is a door. And you’re sitting over there by the fire....”
In a few quick words Peter sketched in the scene for Tom Agate. The old man followed every word, nodding intermittently.
“I see,” he said at last. “Let’s try it.” He looked over at Peggy. “Are you all set?”
Peggy nodded and said, “Start reading your lines when you hear me sigh.” She found her place in the script and took a deep breath. The tiny darkened shop with its strange shapes and musty odor was very quiet and, in an odd way, relaxing. With street noises mute and far away, the room seemed somehow warm and cozy, and Peggy approached the scene ahead with anticipation and confidence. Quietly, she made her way through the imaginary door, walked over to the imaginary window, and looked out. She sighed softly.
From the other side of the room, she could hear Tom Agate turn slowly in his chair. “‘Why did you come in so quietly?’” he read. His voice was rich and warm. “‘You’re as furtive as a lady burglar tonight.’” Here Tom added a note of gentle humor. “‘What’s wrong?’” The last phrase was said perfectly, with just the right amount of concern, but not too inquisitive.
“‘Oh,’” Peggy heard herself saying, “‘I didn’t know anybody was here.’” That was the way! That was the way she had wanted to say it at the audition!
“‘I’ll go if you like.’”
Suddenly the play had real meaning for Peggy. It became important for her “grandfather” to stay. “‘Oh no!’” she cried in a voice of alarm. Then more quietly. “‘Please don’t. There’s—there’s something I want to talk to you about.’”
The scene continued and this time there was no one to stop them. The end came when Peggy, as the young granddaughter, threw herself down on the floor beside her grandfather and began to cry. To her surprise, real tears came to her eyes.
“‘I’m sorry,’” she gulped. “‘I didn’t mean to cry.’”
Above her, Tom Agate, still in the role of the grandfather, reached down and touched her hair. “‘There, there,’” he read. “‘A person should always have somebody to cry with. It does the heart good. I may not be that perfect person, but maybe I’ll do for tonight.’” Tom Agate put his hand gently on her shoulder. “‘There, there,’” he repeated.
And that was the end of the scene.
In the breathless hush that followed, Peggy couldn’t trust herself to speak. Even Peter, who never seemed at a loss for words, was silent. But eventually, he put into words what they all knew.
“That was beautiful,” he said in an oddly choked voice. “Simply beautiful. It’s the way the scene was meant to be played all the time.” He reached down, helped Peggy to her feet, and shook Tom Agate’s hand. “Sir,” he said earnestly, “you were magnificent.”
Tom Agate passed a hand over his face. His eyes were lighted with a shy smile of delight. “Nothing to it,” he said. “After all, look at the help I had.” He cocked a quizzical glance at Peter. “Do you mean to say that this girl here”—he waved a hand at Peggy—“isn’t playing the part of the daughter?”
“I’m afraid not,” Peter admitted. “Just the understudy.”
Tom shook his head. “What a waste!”
“It certainly is,” Peter replied. “But Oscar Stalkey thinks she needs some more experience. And the right people to work with,” he added significantly.
“Has he heard her read?”
“He hired her,” Peter pointed out. “He must think she’s pretty fair.”
Peggy felt it was time to interrupt. “Look here, you two,” she broke in. “If you’re quite finished talking about me as if I weren’t here, maybe we can get back to business.”
The two men looked at her. “What business?” Tom demanded.
“Will you try out for the part of the grandfather?”
Tom Agate smiled and walked to one corner of the room. “It’s a marvelous part,” he said indecisively.
“And you’re marvelous in it,” Peggy insisted. “Say you’ll do it.”
Tom looked at Peter seriously. “Did Oscar say he wanted me?”
“Yes, he did,” Peter assured him.
Tom moved back across the room, walking with the easy step of someone half his years. Peggy saw that his face was flushed and his eyes were sparkling with an inner excitement she could only guess at.
He stopped abruptly and held out his hands to them. “All right,” he said with unexpected forcefulness. “I’ll give it a try.”
Peggy ran over to him. “You promise?” she said. “You won’t change your mind?”
Tom shook his head firmly. “No, Peggy. When I give my word, you can bank on it.”
Peggy whirled and grabbed Peter by the arm. “Oh, Peter!” she cried. “Isn’t it wonderful!” The three of them stood grinning foolishly at one another like three mischievous children who have just invented an especially wonderful game.
Tom Agate was the first to break away. “Well, now,” he said, picking up the script, “might as well get to work. I’ll want to read this before morning. When does Stalkey expect us?”
“Auditions are scheduled for ten o’clock at the Elgin Theater.”
Tom nodded with satisfaction. “Good. I’ll be there.” He looked at Peggy anxiously. “You’ll read the part with me, won’t you? Just like tonight?”
Peggy appealed to Peter. “What do you think?” she asked.
“No problem there,” he assured them.
“Good.” Tom flipped open the script and ran his thumb down the edges of the paper. “Incidentally,” he said, “who else is in it?”
“Emily Burckhardt is playing the grandmother,” Peter told him.
Tom beamed with pleasure. “That’s nice,” he said. “I haven’t seen Emily for years. What about the daughter?”
“Marcy Hubbard.”
Tom shook his head. “Don’t know her.”
“She’s a newcomer. I’m afraid we’re going to lose her to Hollywood.”
“All the better,” Tom cried gaily. “Then Peggy can play the part. How about the mother? I see she’s got a big part.”
“Itisa big part,” Peter admitted. “We’re centering the play around her.”
Tom frowned. “Is that a good idea? Just from the little I’ve read, I would have thought that the play belonged to the old woman.”
“Well, we’ve got a big name, you see,” Peter explained.
Tom nodded understandingly. “Who is it?”
“Katherine Nelson.”
The transformation in Tom came without warning. All color left him and his face suddenly became drawn and old. “Who did you say?” he whispered in a small, shocked voice.
“Katherine Nelson,” Peter repeated. “Why?”
It seemed an effort for Tom to breathe. The script fell from his hand as he slowly rose to his feet. He shook his head like a drunken man. “No,” he murmured thickly. “I—I can’t.”
Peggy stepped forward. “Can’t what?” she asked in a concerned voice. “Are you all right?”
Tom waved her away. “I can’t be in the play,” he intoned dully. “I won’t be there tomorrow.”
Peggy looked at him incredulously. “But you promised!” she said accusingly.
“I don’t care,” Tom said. “Please—go away now.”
Peggy reached out and took him by the shoulder. “No,” she said urgently. “You can’t do this. I don’t know what’s upset you, but you’ve justgotto be there tomorrow morning. Try and face it, whatever it is.” She gave him a gentle shake. “For your sake as well as ours.”
The old man looked at her sadly. “My dear,” he said wistfully, “you don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I know I don’t,” Peggy said. “But we’re depending on you.”
Tom Agate seemed to stand a little straighter even though the hurt look still lingered in his eyes. He gazed at Peggy steadfastly and sighed. “You remind me of someone,” he said at last. “Someone—I knew a long time ago. Will you be there tomorrow?”
“Yes,” Peggy said quietly.
“Do you promise?”
Peggy nodded. “I promise.”
Torn seemed satisfied. “All right then,” he said. “I’ll be there. But, please, don’t let me down.”
Peggy took her hand away. “I won’t,” she said gently. “You can trust me.”
The theater the next morning seemed full of old men, all of them there to try out for the part of the grandfather. Peggy arrived shortly before ten o’clock, and after scanning the rows of seats for Tom Agate, sank down in an aisle seat toward the back. Promptly at ten, Craig Claiborne began the auditions. The same bored assistant stage manager who had read with Peggy two days earlier took his place behind the plain table on stage and began to read with each candidate. Fortunately, it was the same scene Peggy had read with Tom the night before.
One after another, the old men trudged up to the stage and went through the lines that had now become so familiar to Peggy. Some were better than others, but all lacked the authority, the fire the part demanded.
At ten-thirty, just as Peggy was beginning to grow anxious, a tall figure dropped into the empty seat beside her. “Has he come yet?” It was Peter Grey and he seemed equally worried.
“No,” Peggy whispered. “Will they wait for him?”
Peter shook his head briefly. “I haven’t even told Mr. Stalkey he’s coming. I was afraid he wouldn’t show up.”
“How much longer do we have?”
“If he’s not here in the next half hour, we’ll have to give it up.”
Peggy was suddenly struck by an idea. “Peter!” she said. “Did you give his name to the doorman? They won’t let him in if he’s not on the list.”
Peter grinned down at her. “Don’t worry,” he said. “All taken care of.”
Peggy sat back and tried to concentrate on the auditions. When she saw that the last of the actors was approaching the stage, she turned uneasily in her seat to look toward the rear of the theater. That was when she saw Tom standing quietly behind the curtains that separated the inner lobby from the orchestra. Without taking her eyes off Tom, she reached out and touched Peter on the sleeve of his jacket.
“Look,” she said in a triumphant whisper. “Look behind you, Peter. He’s come.”
Peter swiveled in his seat, saw Tom, and leaped to his feet. “You talk to him,” he ordered, “While I go tell Mr. Stalkey.”
Peggy slid out into the aisle and walked slowly back to Tom Agate. He saw her coming and nodded a shy greeting. “Hello,” he said quietly.
Peggy held out her hand. “I’m glad you came.”
Tom nodded briefly. “I almost didn’t make it,” he said with a nervous laugh. “If it hadn’t been for that promise....” He trailed off and shook his head.
“Well, you’re here now,” Peggy said, slipping her arm through his. “Come on and sit down. I think they’re almost ready for us.” She could feel Tom shiver as they walked down the aisle.
“How were the auditions?” he asked, almost hopefully, it seemed to Peggy. “Did Oscar find anyone?”
“Mr. Stalkey doesn’t take me into his confidence,” Peggy replied with a smile, “but I don’t think so.”
Tom didn’t say a word, but hunched into a seat beside Peggy. In his lap he held a copy of the script ofInnocent Laughter. Down in front Peggy saw Peter Grey leaning over Oscar Stalkey and Craig Claiborne. The three of them seemed deep in conversation. Suddenly Oscar Stalkey gave a little jerk of his head and came up the aisle with the quick steps Peggy remembered so well from her interview in his office. Tom Agate straightened in his seat, uncertain of what to do.
Oscar Stalkey settled the problem by gripping the old man’s hand warmly. “Hello, Tom,” he said, and Peggy heard genuine affection and respect in his tone. “How have you been keeping yourself?”
Tom struggled to his feet, a flush of pleasure creeping over his face. “Fine, Oscar,” he answered. “Just fine. Congratulations on a fine play.”
“Thanks,” Oscar Stalkey said. “What about the part of the grandfather? Think you’d like to play it?”
“Don’t know if I can, Oscar.”
The producer laughed. “That’s not what I heard. Peter Grey said you were great.”
“It’s nice of him to say so,” Tom murmured.
“How about going over a scene or two for us now?” Oscar Stalkey took him by the arm and led him toward the stage. “But first I’d like you to meet Craig Claiborne, our director.”
Tom seemed reluctant to follow Oscar Stalkey. “There’s one favor....” he said tentatively.
“Anything at all,” the producer declared expansively. “You name it.”
“I’d like to read the scene with Miss Lane.”
Oscar Stalkey shot a quick glance at Peggy and turned back to Tom. “Sure thing, Tom,” he said, putting his hand on the old actor’s shoulder. “When do you want to start?”
Tom smiled. “Might as well get it over with,” he declared. “Peggy?” he said questioningly. “Are you ready?”
Peggy nodded and stood up. The three of them walked slowly down to the edge of the stage where Oscar Stalkey made hurried introductions. A few moments later, Peggy found herself back behind the door waiting for Craig Claiborne’s cue. Two days ago she had been so frightened that she could hardly move. But now all that had vanished. It was a calm and confident Peggy who pushed open the door when Craig Claiborne gave the word.
Peggy moved effortlessly through the lines, feeling every pause and groping for exactly the right intonation on every phrase, every word. The big theater was hushed as the white-haired veteran and the newcomer built slowly but surely to the moving climax. But Peggy didn’t notice any of that. Except for the small circle of light that was the playing area, the world ceased to exist, She didn’t even stop to think that she was playing a scene from Broadway’s biggest hit play on the stage of one of New York’s most famous theaters. For the past few years she had dreamed of doing this, but now that the day had arrived, she was so caught up in the powerful emotions of acting that it never once occurred to her that her dreams had suddenly turned into reality.
The scene slowly drew to a close as Peggy knelt beside Tom. Just as on the night before, she could feel his hand gently stroking her hair. The two of them held their positions for maybe half a minute and then Peggy scrambled to her feet, wondering how things had gone. The first hint came when she glanced over at the wings to see three or four stagehands grouped silently beyond the ropes that operated the front curtain. Mr. Fox, the assistant stage manager, was still sitting behind his table, looking like a man hypnotized. No one moved.
Then from the seats out front Peggy heard someone blow his nose. The next instant Mr. Stalkey came leaping up the steps, his eyes suspiciously bright.
“Tom,” he said, coming directly to the point, “will you take the part?”
Tom blinked and stood up. “Are you really sure?” he asked. “Sure you want me?”
Mr. Stalkey opened his eyes. “Want you!” he exclaimed. “Let me tell you something. I must have seen this play a hundred times, but this morning for the first time you’ve shown me how this scene should be played. Let’s go up to the office and talk business.” He threw an arm around the old man’s shoulder and started to walk him off stage.
Watching Tom Agate’s face was an experience Peggy never forgot. When she had first seen him the night before he was a lost soul without the will or the ability to venture far from the airless confines of Syd Walsh’s shop. But now he looked alive and alert, like a man who had rediscovered himself and was proud of it.
Then, suddenly, Peggy saw his body tremble and sway. For a moment she thought he had been taken ill and made a move forward to help him. It was then that she saw what the trouble was.
Standing in the doorway leading to the backstage area, her hands clenched tightly together, was Katherine Nelson.
Stamped across her face was a look of such unutterable shock, mingled with pain and fear, that for a brief moment Peggy felt sorry for her. Then slowly the color crept back into her cheeks and she took a step forward.