XIIIThe Ordeal

Oscar Stalkey, who seemed blissfully unaware of what was happening, welcomed her eagerly. “You’ve just missed the greatest audition of all time,” he said jovially. “But don’t worry, it’s a performance you’ll see a lot of over the next few months. Katherine, I’d like you to meet Tom Agate.”

Katherine Nelson ignored Tom completely. “What do you mean?” she said in a voice that she was obviously controlling at great effort. “What kind of audition?”

“Why, Tom Agate has just read for the grandfather inInnocent Laughter,” explained Stalkey. “And, I might add, has got the part.” Katherine Nelson stepped back as though she had been struck in the face. “By the way,” he continued blandly, “do you two know each other?”

“Know each other!” Katherine Nelson breathed. She turned on Stalkey in sudden fury. “What are you trying to do to me?” she grated. “Ruin my career? Make a laughingstock of me?”

Oscar Stalkey looked bewildered. “Why, my dear,” he temporized, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And I don’t think you do either!”

“A vaudeville song-and-dance man!” Katherine Nelson said and her voice was heavy with scorn. “A broken-down old has-been who probably can’t even remember his lines! This is what you want to put into one of my plays? Never!” She advanced toward Oscar Stalkey, her eyes flashing. “Either he goes or I go! I will not play in the same company with that man!”

Oscar Stalkey held his ground firmly, but Tom Agate cringed away. “Look, Oscar,” he said dully, “she’s probably right. Let’s just forget about the whole—”

“Be quiet, both of you!” the producer thundered. Peggy noticed that his face was as flushed as Katherine Nelson’s. “Now you listen to me, Katherine. I’m still the producer ofInnocent LaughterandImake the decisions about who goes into the cast and who doesn’t. Tom Agate is perfect for the part of the grandfather. Furthermore, he’s got a name that still has drawing power. Maybe it’s not as big a name as yours, but it’ll do, and I’m willing to gamble on him. As for you, you’ve got a contract. Now, if you want to break it, I’ll give you permission to go right ahead. You can come up to the office right now and we can tear it up together. But if you do”—Oscar Stalkey lowered his voice in warning—“you’ll never be in another one of my shows. You know perfectly well whatInnocent Laughtercan do for you. You’ll have a success again—for the first time in quite a while. And believe me, Katherine, youneeda success.”

For a long moment Katherine Nelson was speechless. Finally, in a voice that was noticeably shaking, she asked, “Is that your final word?”

“It is,” Stalkey replied firmly.

The actress swayed, caught herself, then turned to Tom Agate. “All right,” she said in a low voice, keeping her eyes on Tom. “I’ll agree to what you want. But only on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

Katherine Nelson spoke slowly but with withering effect. “That I have nothing to do with Tom Agate—except during rehearsals and performance. That I won’t speak to him—look at him—or touch him. Is that understood?”

Oscar Stalkey frowned, started to say something, then changed his mind. “Suit yourself,” he said at last. “Of course, I don’t know how Tom feels—”

Tom, who had lowered his eyes under Katherine Nelson’s scathing attack, straightened visibly. His face was grave and serious, but he was no longer cowering. He seemed to have come to some sort of inner decision. He returned Katherine Nelson’s contemptuous stare squarely.

“Very well, Katherine,” he said firmly. “You can live like that if you like. I won’t stop you. But listen to me. Whatever you do, don’t cut yourself off. I’ve been through it. I know what it’s like.” He lowered his voice to a gentle whisper. “Besides, it doesn’t help.”

Katherine Nelson turned without a word and walked slowly away. Her face was a wooden mask that hid—what? Peggy wondered.

Katherine Nelson was as good as her word. In the hectic days that followed, she never spoke to Tom Agate unless it was absolutely necessary. Her manner was cold, aloof, and imperious. She listened to Craig Claiborne whenever he directed her, but seldom followed his advice. With the older members of the cast she was icily polite, a pose that was frequently shattered by violent outbursts of temper. As for Peggy, Katherine Nelson studiously ignored her. Peter Grey explained it by saying that the actress had discovered it was Peggy who was largely responsible for Tom’s presence in the cast.

Actually, Peggy didn’t see much of Peter. Both he and Pam were too busy with the thousands of chores that go with sending a theatrical company on the road. The only other person in the company, aside from Pam, who was close to Peggy’s age was Marcy Hubbard, the girl playing the part of the young daughter. Marcy was a breath-takingly beautiful girl with a clever sense of timing and a pleasant, friendly, off stage manner, but Peggy never got to know her well. Marcy, very much in love and recently engaged, spent every available spare moment with her fiancé, a quiet young man who picked her up at the theater immediately after rehearsals.

This left only Amy, May Berriman, and Randy Brewster to talk to. Not that they weren’t eager listeners. But because they never had a chance to see any of the rehearsals, Peggy was forced to go into great detail in order to answer their many questions.

“You mean to say that sheneverspeaks to him?” Amy asked one evening, during the second week of rehearsals. They were sitting in May Berriman’s private sitting room on the ground floor of the Gramercy Arms. Amy, Peggy, and Randy had all been to dinner together, and when they came back May had seen them and invited them in for coffee.

“She hardly ever speaks to anyone,” Peggy said. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Goodness,” Amy said wonderingly. “That must put a strain on things.”

“You don’t know,” Peggy answered. “It’s as if we were rehearsing a play about the end of the world or something—not a romantic comedy that should be full of laughs.”

“How do you get along with her?”

“Me? Like everybody else. I’ve got one tiny scene in the first act. I come in with Marcy, who’s supposed to introduce me to her mother—that’s Katherine Nelson. We say a few words to each other and then I go out again.”

“How does that go?” Randy asked, balancing his cup and saucer in one hand. “If I remember rightly you have one or two nice lines.”

“I did have, you mean,” Peggy said moodily. “Katherine Nelson insisted on cutting them.”

May Berriman arched her eyebrows. “How did she manage that?”

“She said I wasn’t doing them right.”

“Were you?”

Peggy looked at them helplessly. “No,” she said, “I guess I wasn’t. But I don’t think anybody could,” she added stoutly. “You see, when I come on to meet the mother, Katherine Nelson doesn’t even look at me.”

“Wheredoesshe look?” Amy demanded.

Peggy touched her right ear. “She keeps staring at a spot just about here. Her face never changes expression, and her eyes look positively glassy. Now, how can you react to someone like that?”

“It sounds as though she were some sort of mechanical doll,” Randy said.

“That’s exactly it!” Peggy cried. “We’re all mechanical people. We go through the right motions and say the right words, but it’s all so stiff—without any life or warmth.”

“Even Tom Agate?” May asked.

Peggy’s face softened. “No,” she said quietly. “He’s wonderful. I don’t know how he does it. He’s the only one with any spark to his performance. It’s a joy to see him come out on stage.” She shook her head wonderingly. “I think that man could act with a stone statue.”

In Oscar Stalkey’s office, two men were pacing back and forth restlessly. One of them was Stalkey himself, but then he always paced. The other was Craig Claiborne, who was usually relaxed and easygoing. The director threw out an impatient hand. “It just won’t work, Oscar!” he said. “I’ve tried everything, but that woman stiffens them all up like blocks of ice. She won’t do a thing I tell her, and as a result, this so-called comedy we’re about to take out on the road sounds like a dramatized version of an obituary column.”

“Now, now,” Oscar Stalkey soothed. “It can’t be as bad as all that.” But his face looked drawn, worried.

“Come on, Oscar,” Claiborne said. “You know it is.”

Oscar Stalkey sighed heavily. “Maybe it’ll get better,” he said hopefully. “You know, with opening night and all, there’s bound to be some excitement.”

The director shook his head with stark finality. “Opening night is just around the corner,” he said, “and they’re getting worse. Every last one of them. Except,” he added hastily, “Tom Agate. What a remarkable old man!”

“Three weeks in Baltimore!” Peter looked up from the pile of papers on his desk and laughed bitterly. “We’ll be lucky to last three nights!”

At the other end of the office Pam Mundy’s fingers kept up a steady tattoo over the keys of her typewriter. She didn’t bother to answer. She knew he was right.

Oscar Stalkey didn’t quite know how to begin. He prowled uncertainly along the bookcases lining one side of his office, trying to keep his temper in check and his voice low. Sitting in the most comfortable chair in the room, Katherine Nelson watched him steadily and waited for him to speak.

At last he asked the question that had been preying on his mind for the past two weeks. “Why?” he said simply. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?” Katherine Nelson inquired innocently.

Stalkey gave an exasperated shake of his head. “You know perfectly well. The play’s going to pieces.”

She crossed her legs and returned his pleading stare with a bland smile. “Are you suggesting it’s my fault?” she asked.

“Of course I am!” the producer exploded. “Whose fault d’you think it is?”

“Now that’s very interesting,” the actress said coolly. “Supposing we go over my so-called shortcomings. First of all, have I ever missed a rehearsal—or even been late for one?”

“No,” Stalkey admitted uncomfortably. “But—”

“Let me finish,” Katherine Nelson insisted. “There’s been no trouble with my lines. I know them perfectly. Now, I admit I’ve had some disagreements with Craig Claiborne. He’s wanted me to do some things I don’t like.”

“And so you didn’t,” Stalkey concluded gloomily.

“No, I didn’t,” Katherine Nelson said cheerfully. “But why should I follow his orders like a robot? After all, I’ve had thirty years of experience in the theater. I’m an established star. Surely I’ve got some right to express myself in my own way. Be reasonable, Oscar.”

“Well, what about the other people in the cast? You treat them like dirt.”

Katherine Nelson looked shocked. “I do not,” she declared. “I haven’t said a word to them.”

“That’s the whole trouble. You completely ignore them.”

The actress looked pained. She leaned forward in her chair and spoke intensely. “I’m a professional, Oscar. The theater is my business. I don’t go to rehearsals to socialize or have a good time. I’m there to work. And I expect others to do the same.”

Oscar Stalkey threw up his hands. “Have it your own way, Katherine, but something’s all wrong. I know it and so do you. You’re not the only professional in the cast. Emily Burckhardt’s been in the theater as long as you have and she’s upset.”

“Poor Emily,” Katherine Nelson said sweetly. “Her trouble is that she’s got to play so many scenes with that horrible man.”

Stalkey glanced at her shrewdly. “Tom Agate?”

Katherine Nelson didn’t answer. She smiled instead.

“... Oh, it allsoundsreasonable enough,” Stalkey said later that day. He and Craig Claiborne were having a conference after rehearsal. “She claims she has her own way of working, and that she’s building up to a performance. She’s terribly, terribly sorry that the others are having such a hard time, but it’s not her fault.” The producer’s voice was heavy with sarcasm.

Craig Claiborne was more direct. He only said one word.

“Nuts.”

“I’ve seen it happen before,” May said thoughtfully. They were entering the third week of rehearsals, and Peggy had made it a habit to report to May every night. The older woman’s advice was usually sympathetic and helpful. “I can see her little game just as clearly as if it were written on the wall.”

“But what is it?” Peggy asked. “I’ve never known anything like this before. Honestly, it’s gotten so Ihateto go to rehearsals in the morning. The atmosphere in that theater is simply loaded with bitterness. Everybody’s on edge.”

“Except Katherine Nelson. I bet she’s all sweetness and light.”

Peggy looked at her in astonishment. “How did you know that?”

May smiled. “I told you. I know what she’s up to. Look, Peggy, she wants to get rid of Tom Agate, and she doesn’t care whom she hurts in the process. She’s deliberately throwing everybody off balance by giving a technically perfect but cold performance. You just wait until opening night, though. Because of the way she’s been acting, everyone in the cast will have a terrible case of first-night jitters. But not our girl. Not Katherine Nelson. That night, she’ll open up and play the part with everything she’s got. The result?” May smiled bitterly. “She’ll be the heroine of the hour. Then she can go up to Oscar Stalkey and say, ‘See, I told you so. I was fine. It’s the others that are bad.’ And he’ll have to listen to her because she’ll be speaking from a position of strength.”

“But what good will that do?” Peggy asked.

“She’ll put on pressure to fire Tom Agate. And Oscar Stalkey will have to do it, too. Reluctantly, he’ll ask for Tom’s resignation.”

“But Tom’s so good,” Peggy protested. “He’s the only one in the cast who isn’t being affected by her.”

May shook her doubtfully. “He’s only human,” she said. “I’m afraid the strain is going to show.”

May was right. Tom began to fall to pieces during the next rehearsal. Where he had once been alive and vital, he now read his lines unevenly, in a lackluster mumble. In the second act, he completely forgot one of his lines, and in the third act he forgot to come in on his entrance. That was when Craig Claiborne lost his temper and bawled him out in front of the other members of the cast. During the tirade, Peggy stole a glance at Katherine Nelson. The actress was standing perfectly still, an unholy gleam in her eyes.

Craig Claiborne was slumped deep in the easy chair in Oscar Stalkey’s office. A look of troubled guilt was stamped across his face. “I apologized later,” he was saying to the producer, who for once was not pacing. He was sitting across from his director, chewing nervously on the stump of a cold cigar, looking haggard and careworn.

“What did he say?” Stalkey asked.

“He mumbled something about its all being his fault and shuffled out.”

“Where did he go?”

“How the devil should I know? I’m not his nurse.” Claiborne passed a weary hand over his forehead. “I’m sorry, Oscar. I didn’t mean to snap at you. But this thing’s got us all to the breaking point.” He paused and looked at the producer steadily. “Have you thought of asking for Katherine Nelson’s resignation?”

Stalkey removed the cigar from his mouth. “On what grounds?” he shot back. “Yes, I’ve hinted at it,” he added morosely. “But she laughed at me. She said she’d never resign.”

“Did you threaten to fire her?”

“I didn’t have to. She told me that if I tried to get rid of her she’d raise such a fuss the show would never open.”

“But that’s all bluff.”

Stalkey sighed. “Maybe. But she threatened to sue me and drag the whole thing into court.”

“But—I don’t understand her attitude.”

“Neither do I!” Stalkey said. “I don’t know what she hopes to accomplish. It won’t do her any good to have the play flop.” The producer changed the subject abruptly. “What about Tom? Do you think he’ll be back?”

Claiborne shook his head. “We’ll see.”

It was nearly a quarter of three and Tom Agate still hadn’t appeared. Their nerves frayed and their tempers short, the rest of the cast went through some scenes where Tom wasn’t needed. Finally, just a few minutes before the hour, the back doors of the theater opened and Tom came striding purposefully down the aisle. On stage, the cast members greeted his arrival with smiles of relief. All except Katherine Nelson. She drew in her breath sharply, marched over to a chair, and sat down forbiddingly.

“Sorry I’m late,” Tom apologized. “But the train broke down.”

“That’s no excuse,” came a cold, hard voice. “You’ve kept us waiting for nearly an hour. If you don’t have more of a sense of responsibility than that, you should get out!”

In the silence that followed, Tom went up to Katherine Nelson and looked down at her. An expression of sorrow, mingled with pity, crossed his face. “It won’t work, Katherine,” he said softly. “I’m in this to the finish.” He turned away abruptly and signaled Craig Claiborne. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

“All right,” Craig announced. “We’ll do the scene between the grandfather and the daughter. Marcy! Let’s go!”

Peggy, who had come to look upon this scene almost as her private property, stood in the wings and watched it unfold. She had seen it so many times before, knew every line of dialogue and every movement, but she still loved it.

As soon as Tom came on stage, it was evident that he had regained the confidence that he had lost yesterday. His rich, deep voice colored the empty theater, making it glow with warmth and life. Peggy smiled to herself and settled down to watch. It soon became clear that this was the finest performance Tom had given yet. It was almost as if he wanted to make up for the day before. Everyone in the theater stood engrossed as the two actors went through their scene.

Halfway through the scene, Peggy suddenly realized she wasn’t alone. Standing a few feet away from her, half hidden by the backstage gloom, was Katherine Nelson. Her eyes never left Tom Agate, and as Peggy watched, the older actress’s face softened in an infinitely sad and tender half-smile. Peggy had never seen her look like that before. She was almost in tears. Then, abruptly, Katherine Nelson turned and moved quickly out of sight to her dressing room. Peggy thought she heard a stifled sob.

The young girl stared after her with a puzzled frown. “Now what,” she murmured to herself, “do you suppose that means?”

“I went to see Tommy today,” Tom was saying to Peggy later that afternoon. They were standing in the little alley behind the theater, taking a quick breath of fresh air before going back to rehearsal.

“Tommy?” Peggy asked, trying to place the name.

“You remember,” Tom said. “Tommy Stanton. Out on Tidewater Road. You were the one who told me that he wanted to see me again.”

Peggy brightened. “Oh, Tommy! Of course. Was he glad you came?”

Tom Agate smiled, obviously pleased by what had happened. “Yes, I think he was. He played me some of our old songs on the banjo, and I gave him another lesson.”

“He must have been surprised.”

“That’s a funny thing. He wasn’t. He was certain I’d be out soon, because you had promised it. He said he never gave up knowing that I’d be back.” Tom shook his head in wonder. “That little boy taught me an important lesson. You know, I was ready to give up yesterday. I wanted to quit the company.” When Peggy didn’t say anything, Tom went on. “Yes, I thought there wasn’t any use in going on. What was the point? But Tommy gave me back the faith I’d lost. I don’t know where he gets so much courage. He doesn’t have a very happy life.”

“I didn’t know that,” Peggy said. “What’s wrong?”

“He’s alone so much of the time,” Tom explained. “The family’s terribly poor, and both his mother and father go out to work all day. They don’t want him out on the street and there isn’t much to do alone in the house. That’s why he loves the banjo so much. It gives him an interest.” Tom laughed. “You know, he wanted to come away with me. He said he was going to visit me sometime and see all the kings and queens. He was especially eager to meet the one-eyed giant.”

“I’m sure he was.” Peggy laughed. “What did you say?”

“I told him it was a long way off and not to try. But he said he didn’t care. He knew where it was.”

“I wonder what he meant by that?”

“I don’t know. When we said good-by, he told me not to be lonely. Imagine! Him telling that to me. He said he’d see me soon—after he learned the new song I’d taught him.”

The two of them stood quietly in the dingy alleyway, wrapped in their private thoughts. Peggy drew her coat up around her neck. Fall had turned to winter, and there was just a hint of snow in the air.

Emily Burckhardt resigned the next afternoon. Surprisingly, Oscar Stalkey accepted her decision without protest. “I can’t blame you, Emily,” he told her.

“That woman is just impossible,” Emily said. She stated it as a fact, simply and without rancor. “If you don’t get her out of the play, you might as well not bother sending it out on tour.”

Oscar Stalkey nodded. “I know. But I’m going to give her another two days. Things might work themselves out by that time.”

Emily Burckhardt looked doubtful but kept silent. “Have you any thoughts about my replacement?” she asked.

“Yes, I am considering Enid Partridge. She’s free and I think she’d do a nice job.”

Emily nodded in agreement. “Good choice.” She extended her hand. “Again, let me tell you how sorry I am about leaving, but you know how it is.”

“Just a minute, Emily. Do you like the part of the grandmother? I mean if it wasn’t for the other thing....”

“I love it,” Emily said with a shrug. “I would have enjoyed playing it.”

Stalkey smiled. “Well then, it’s not all bad news, anyway.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“The present company—the one that’s in New York now—has been booked to open in London. Paula Howard doesn’t want to leave the country. She’s doing a fine job as the grandmother here, but doesn’t think she’s up to making the trip. She wants to resign the part.”

Emily brightened considerably. “And you want me to take her place?” she asked.

Stalkey nodded. “What about it?”

Emily nodded her head emphatically. “When do we leave?”

“Not for another six months. Although Paula wants out right away. Do you think you could take over in two weeks, say?”

“I could take over right now,” Emily declared.

Oscar Stalkey sighed. “Good. At least that’s one thing off my mind.”

“Tell me something, Oscar,” Emily asked curiously. “The New York company is scheduled to go to London in six months. How are you planning to replace them here?”

“I had thought of bringing in the Chicago road company. But now”—Oscar Stalkey shook his head darkly—“I don’t know. We’ll cross that bridge later.”

“There’s one more thing you ought to know,” Emily said. “Marcy Hubbard is thinking of quitting.”

Oscar Stalkey drew a deep breath. “Did she tell you that?”

Emily nodded. “She thinks it would be bad for her career to open in a play that’s as bad as this.”

“Oh, she does, does she?” the producer said grimly.

“Don’t blame her, Oscar,” Emily urged. “Besides, she’s had a very attractive offer from Hollywood.”

Oscar Stalkey sighed. “Let her go, if she wants to. That’s one problem I’m not worried about. I know who’ll take her part.”

“Who?”

“Peggy Lane.”

Stalkey made the announcement of Emily Burckhardt’s resignation late that afternoon. The cast was shocked by the news and sat in numbed surprise. After that, Craig Claiborne excused them and posted a notice for ten o’clock the following morning. Slowly, everyone left the theater, struggling into heavy coats as they prepared to face a swirling snowstorm that had struck New York about noon that day.

Peggy didn’t leave the theater at once. She hunched in one of the seats of the auditorium, thinking about the past three and a half weeks. It seemed impossible that they would be opening in ten days. Half her life she had been looking forward to the day when she would be rehearsing a play with a professional company. She had imagined the fun of working together, the excitement of the big night approaching. But instead of what her imagination had led her to expect, she was left with an empty feeling of hopeless frustration. She realized with sudden clarity that she didn’t carewhenthe play opened. It all seemed so pointless.

She sighed, struggled wearily to her feet, and walked aimlessly down the aisle and on up to the stage. There was no sense in staying here. She’d go home and talk to May. She turned the corner to go backstage, then stopped abruptly.

There was a light on in Katherine Nelson’s dressing room. The door was ajar, and from where Peggy stood she could see the star sitting in front of her make-up table, her head buried in her hands. As Peggy watched, Katherine Nelson drew her hands from her face and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Peggy saw that she had been crying.

It was an embarrassing moment. Peggy didn’t know whether to make her presence known or remain hidden in the shadows of the darkened stage. As she hesitated in momentary indecision, the heavy iron stage door leading to the street banged open, and for a second or two winter roared into the theater. The door clanged shut and footsteps shuffled up the passageway. In her dressing room, Katherine Nelson jumped to her feet and came out into the backstage area. “Who’s there?” she cried sharply.

“It’s all right, miss,” came a voice.

The next instant Peggy saw a large, craggy policeman step into the circle of light. With one hand he brushed away the snow clinging to his uniform. His other hand clutched a small boy, who seemed to be staring around in expectant wonder. Peggy recognized the little boy at once. It was Tommy Stanton.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” the policeman said, touching his hat. “But where would I find a Mr. Armour?”

With one hand, the policeman clutched a small boy.

With one hand, the policeman clutched a small boy.

“Mr. Armour?” Katherine Nelson answered vacantly. “Nobody by that name here.”

The policeman bent down and addressed his charge. “You see, son?” he asked kindly. “You must have made a mistake.”

“No, sir,” the boy said in a clear, emphatic voice, “I know him.” He looked at Katherine Nelson curiously. “Are you one of the queens?” he asked.

Katherine Nelson frowned. “Queens? What’s this all about?”

The policeman shifted his weight uncomfortably. “Well, it’s this way, ma’am. I found this little fellow wandering around Times Square all alone. He told me he lives all the way out on Long Island, and I can’t imagine how he got here by himself. Anyway, he did, and I was going to take him over to the stationhouse, but he won’t tell me his name until he sees this friend of his.” The policeman fished in his pocket and came up with a ragged newspaper clipping. “Do you know who this is?” He showed her the scrap of paper. “The boy seems to know him as Mr. Armour, even though the name under the picture is Tom Agate.”

Peggy saw Katherine Nelson start. She looked down at Tommy Stanton and then back at the photograph. “What made you come here?” she asked the officer.

“The piece in the paper here,” he said, pointing it out with a stubby finger. “It said that Mr. Agate—or Mr. Armour or whatever his name is—is rehearsing at the Elgin Theater. The boy is full of some kind of story about a secret place with one-eyed giants. I couldn’t make any sense out of that, so I decided to give the theater a try since it wasn’t much out of our way.”

Katherine Nelson took the newspaper clipping from the policeman and leaned down beside Tommy. “Will you tell me your name?” she asked.

“Tommy,” came the prompt reply.

“Well, Tommy, you see this picture here?” She showed him the picture. “Where did you get it?”

“I tore it out of the paper. Can I see him, please?”

“What do you want to see him about?”

“I learned the piece he taught me the other day,” Tommy said simply. Then, for the first time, Peggy realized he was carrying the banjo that Tom had given him. The little boy held it out proudly. “Would you like me to play it for you?”

When Katherine Nelson saw the instrument, she gasped and stepped back a pace. The policeman threw out a hand to support her. “Are you all right, ma’am?” he asked anxiously.

“Yes,” the actress assured him. “I’m all right.” She returned to Tommy. “Do you like Mr. Armour?” she asked.

The look on the boy’s face was all the answer she needed.

“He’s—” Tommy struggled to express himself. “He’s my very best friend in the world.” Unexpectedly, his face began to cloud. “Couldn’t I please see him now?” he begged. “Please?”

“He’s had a hard day, ma’am,” the policeman murmured. “I expect he’s pretty cold and hungry. If this Mr. Armour isn’t here, I think I’d better get the boy to the station house and start checking with Missing Persons.”

“No, don’t!” Katherine Nelson cried sharply. “I know where he is. I’ll take the boy to him.”

“I’m afraid I can’t just leave him with you, ma’am,” the policeman explained apologetically. “I don’t even know who you are.”

The actress stepped closer to the policeman. “Don’t you recognize me?” she said. “I’m Katherine Nelson.”

The policeman’s eyes widened. “Oh, beggin’ your pardon, ma’am.”

Katherine Nelson reached out gently for Tommy’s hand. “He’s come to the right place,” she said, a soft smile stealing over her face. “I’ll take him to Mr. Armour, and I’ll assume responsibility.”

The policeman seemed relieved. “Then you know Mr. Armour?”

“Oh, yes—” Katherine Nelson paused, and then said, in a voice that was barely audible to Peggy, “You see, Mr.—Armour is—is my husband.”

“... It isn’t a very pretty story,” Katherine Nelson was saying. It was a little after ten the following morning. Members of the cast, Oscar Stalkey, Craig Claiborne, Peter Grey, and Pam Mundy were all sitting on stage. They had reported, expecting a rehearsal, but had been met instead by the producer who told them that Katherine Nelson had an announcement to make. Peggy, who had slipped out of the theater the night before without being seen, was curled up in a chair on the side of the stage, waiting breathlessly for what she knew was coming.

“You see,” Katherine Nelson went on with a curious half-smile, “Tom Agate and I were married.” She waited patiently for the buzz of excitement to die down. “As a matter of fact,” she added, “we still are. But we’ve been separated for many years now. And I’m afraid it’s been my fault.”

“Now wait a minute,” Tom interrupted, reaching out for her hand. He was sitting beside her, looking younger and fresher than Peggy had ever seen him. “It’s no good your taking all the blame.” He turned to his fellow cast members and began speaking in a low tone.

“When Katherine and I were married,” he said, “we were very young—Katherine was only sixteen—very much in love and very happy. The whole world seemed to be made especially for us. I was doing well as a star in vaudeville and the future looked good.

“Eventually,” he went on, “we had a little girl. She went wherever we did. You’ve all read stories about how, in the days of vaudeville, people used to play one-night stands across the country. Well, it’s perfectly true. That’s exactly what we did. And we took our little girl—Kathy, we called her—everywhere we went.”

He paused, cleared his throat and went on:

“I guess Kathy wasn’t too strong, and that kind of life was bad for her. In any event, she died when she was two years old.” He said this last quickly, as if he didn’t want to dwell on it. “We were both pretty upset,” he said, staring fixedly at the row of darkened footlights in front of him, “and I suppose we both lost our heads.”

“That’s not quite true.” Katherine Nelson took up the story. “What really happened was that I blamed Tom for Kathy’s death. Oh, I know it was foolish of me. But I felt therehadto be some reason for her going like that. I couldn’t bear to think that it just happened. And so I talked myself into believing that it was all Tom’s fault.” The actress took a deep breath. “We parted. Tom kept on in vaudeville and I—well, I went home to my father. But when he died, the theater was the only thing I knew, so I started to act. It had been ten years. I hadn’t kept in touch with anyone. No one remembered me. Vaudeville was dying, so I tried serious acting. You know the rest.”

“I went ahead doing the same things I’d always done,” Tom explained. “I kept thinking Katherine would come back to me and I wanted to be in a position to take care of her. Vaudeville was on the way out, so I tried the movies and radio. As long as I had the hope that Katherine might need me, I kept working.

“Then fifteen years after she left me, she suddenly was a star herself. I left the theater then—but not for long. The servicemen needed me during World War II. After the war, nobody needed me—until Peggy said she did. And I saw that Katherine did too.”

Katherine Nelson shook her head. “I’d lost track of Tom completely. I never expected to see him again. Then, when he showed up in this cast, all the old memories—the old hatred and pain—came back. At first, I couldn’t face even seeing him. I still blamed him, you see, and I refused to forget.”

She straightened her shoulders and looked for a long minute at all of them. “I’m afraid I was pretty unpleasant. I thought to myself, I must get rid of that man! And so I tried every way I knew how to force Oscar Stalkey to fire him. When that didn’t work, I tried to shame Tom into going away of his own accord.” She turned to him with a questioning glance. “I still don’t know how you found the courage to stick it out. I was so cruel.”

Tom smiled gently. “I knew you were miserable,” he told her. “Wrapped up in the same kind of misery that I had created for myself. I wanted to show you a way out. I thought that if I stayed you’d see that all this unhappiness was of your own making.”

“And Ididsee it,” Katherine Nelson said. “I saw it a hundred times every day, but each time I shut my eyes deliberately. It wasn’t until I met a little boy who had come to see Tom—a little boy who told me what Tom meant to him—that I finally realized what I had done to myself—and all of you. I want to say to every one of you, I’m sorry. And if it’s not too late, I’d like to start rehearsals today, really working together.”

There was a silence. Finally, Oscar Stalkey stood up. “Last night,” he said, “Tom Agate and Katherine Nelson came to see me. We had quite a talk. Among other things, we discussed what’s wrong with the way we’re doingInnocent Laughter. The main point we agreed upon is this. We’ve been putting too much emphasis on the part of the mother. Actually, the center of action lies with the older woman, the grandmother.” He paused and clasped his hands behind his back. “I asked Katherine if she would play that part and her answer was yes. That means we’ll have to get a replacement for the mother, but that shouldn’t be too difficult.

“Meanwhile, there’s another thing. Marcy Hubbard has left the cast.” He grinned at them cheerfully. “All in all, I think you’ll admit it was quite a night. She asked to be relieved of her contract because she said she had a very attractive offer from Hollywood. I was more than happy to do what she asked because filling in for Marcy was no trouble at all.” He turned to Peggy with a smile. “Peggy,” he announced, “you’ll be playing the part of the young daughter inInnocent Laughter.”

There were telegrams from her family, from May and Amy and Randy. There were flowers from Oscar Stalkey and Peter, and a large bottle of perfume from Craig Claiborne. And then, there was the audience. Standing in the wings amid the bustling confusion of stagehands and electricians, Peggy could hear them file into the theater. Muffled sounds of conversation and an occasional laugh filtered through the heavy curtain.

“Five minutes,” came Mr. Fox’s insistent voice. “Curtain in five minutes.” He hurried away on some mysterious errand.

Peggy leaned her head against the backstage wall. She was tired but exhilarated. The past ten days had been the most wonderful of her life. Even the confusion and the discomfort of the trip to Baltimore had been fun. This was the theater as she had always dreamed it, and she was about to step on stage in the most important role of her life.

“Places everyone, please. Clear the stage.” Mr. Fox’s voice was quiet, but it carried a ring of authority. “Places for the first act.” He paused briefly beside Peggy. “You okay?” he asked. “Everything all right?” Peggy nodded. “Good.” Mr. Fox grunted. “I hope you break a leg,” he said and disappeared.

Peggy smiled to herself. She hadn’t heard that for quite a while. In the theater it was considered a bad omen to wish an actor good luck, and so, instead, you told him you hoped something awful would happen to him. Out in front there was an excited buzz as the house lights flickered their warning.

Then, suddenly, out of the darkness beside her, a voice spoke softly. “Hello, Peggy.” It was Katherine Nelson.

Peggy turned and smiled. “Hello, Miss Nelson.” She saw Tom standing beside his wife.

“We don’t have much time,” the actress said to Peggy. “But before we go on, I want to tell you how much we appreciate everything you did. Tom and I know that you were the one who really brought us back together.”

“I’m sure you didn’t know what you were doing,” Tom said. “But that’s the way it turned out.”

“I’m glad,” Peggy said simply. “I’m glad for you both.”

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