Chapter 37
She reached the Fifth Avenue corner just as the policeman out in the middle of the street swung his Stop-and-Go post round to allow the up-town traffic to proceed on its way. A stream of cars which had been dammed up as far as the eye could reach began to flow swiftly past.
They moved in a double line, red limousines, blue limousines, mauve limousines, green limousines. She stood waiting for the flood to cease, and, as she did so, there purred past her the biggest and reddest limousine of all. It was a colossal vehicle with a polar-bear at the steering-wheel and another at his side. And in the interior, very much at his ease, his gaze bent courteously upon a ma.s.sive lady in a mink coat, sat Uncle Chris.
For a moment he was so near to her that, but for the closed window, she could have touched him. Then the polar-bear at the wheel, noting a gap in the traffic, stepped on the accelerator and slipped neatly through. The car moved swiftly on and disappeared.
Jill drew a deep breath. The Stop-and-Go sign swung round again. She crossed the avenue, and set out once more to find Nelly Bryant. It occurred to her, five minutes later, that a really practical and quick-thinking girl would have noted the number of the limousine.
CHAPTER XI
MR. PILKINGTON'S LOVE LIGHT
I
The rehearsals of a musical comedy--a term which embraces "musical fantasies"--generally begin in a desultory sort of way at that curious building, Bryant Hall, on Sixth Avenue just off Forty-second Street.
There, in a dusty, uncarpeted room, simply furnished with a few wooden chairs and some long wooden benches, the chorus--or, in the case of "The Rose of America," the ensemble--sit round a piano and endeavour, with the a.s.sistance of the musical director, to get the words and melodies of the first-act numbers into their heads. This done, they are ready for the dance director to instil into them the steps, the groupings, and the business for the encores, of which that incurable optimist always seems to expect there will be at least six. Later, the princ.i.p.als are injected into the numbers. And finally, leaving Bryant Hall and dodging about from one unoccupied theatre to another, princ.i.p.als and chorus rehea.r.s.e together, running through the entire piece over and over again till the opening night of the preliminary road tour.
To Jill, in the early stages, rehearsing was just like being back at school. She could remember her first schoolmistress, whom the musical director somewhat resembled in manner and appearance, hammering out hymns on a piano and leading in a weak soprano an eager, baying pack of children, each anxious from motives of pride to out-bawl her nearest neighbour.
The proceedings began on the first morning with the entrance of Mr.
Saltzburg, the musical director, a brisk, busy little man with benevolent eyes behind big spectacles, who bustled over to the piano, sat down, and played a loud chord, designed to act as a sort of bugle blast, rallying the ladies of the ensemble from the corners where they sat in groups,
Jill listened to the conversation without taking any great part in it herself. She felt as she had done on her first day at school, a little shy and desirous of effacing herself. The talk dealt with clothes, men, and the show business, in that order of importance. Presently one of the young men sauntered diffidently across the room and added himself to the group with the remark that it was a fine day. He was received a little grudgingly, Jill thought, but by degrees succeeded in a.s.similating himself. A second young man drifted up; reminded the willowy girl that they had worked together in the western company of "You're the One"; was recognized and introduced, and justified his admission to the circle by a creditable imitation of a cat-fight. Five minutes later he was addressing the Southern girl as "honey," and had informed Jill that he had only joined this show to fill in before opening on the three-a-day with the swellest little song-and-dance act which he and a little girl who worked in the cabaret at Geisenheimer's had fixed up.
On this scene of harmony and good-fellows.h.i.+p Mr. Saltzburg's chord intruded jarringly. There was a general movement, and chairs and benches were dragged to the piano. Mr. Saltzburg causing a momentary delay by opening a large brown music-bag and digging in it like a terrier at a rat-hole, conversation broke out again.
Mr. Saltzburg emerged from the bag, with his hands full of papers, protesting.
"Childrun! Chil-_drun_! If you please, less noise and attend to me!"
He distributed sheets of paper. "Act One, Opening Chorus. I will play the melody three--four times. Follow attentively. Then we will sing it la-la-la, and after that we will sing the words. So!"
He struck the yellow-keyed piano a vicious blow, producing a tinny and complaining sound. Bending forward with his spectacles almost touching the music, he plodded determinedly through the tune, then encored himself, and after that encored himself again. When he had done this, he removed his spectacles and wiped them. There was a pause.
"Izzy," observed the willowy young lady chattily, leaning across Jill and addressing the Southern girl's blonde friend, "has promised me a sunburst!"
A general stir of interest and a coming close together of heads.
"What! Izzy!"
"Sure, Izzy."
"Well!"
"He's just landed the hat-check privilege at the St. Aurea!"
"You don't say!"
"He told me so last night and promised me the sunburst. He was,"
admitted the willowy girl regretfully, "a good bit tanked at the time, but I guess he'll make good." She mused awhile, a rather anxious expression clouding her perfect profile. She looked like a meditative Greek G.o.ddess. "If he doesn't," she added with maidenly dignity, "it's the last time _I_ go out with the big stiff. I'd tie a can to him quicker'n look at him!"
A murmur of approval greeted this admirable sentiment.
"Childrun!" protested Mr. Saltzburg. "Chil-drun! Less noise and chatter of conversation. We are here to work! We must not waste time!
So! Act One, Opening Chorus. Now, all together. La-la-la...."
"La-la-la...."
"Tum-tum-tumty-tumty...."
"Tum-tum-tumty...."
Mr. Saltzburg pressed his hands to his ears in a spasm of pain.
"No, no, no! Sour! Sour! Sour!... Once again. La-la-la...."
A round-faced girl with golden hair and the face of a wondering cherub interrupted, speaking with a lisp.
"Mithter Thalzburg."
"Now what is it, Miss Trevor?"
"What sort of a show is this?"
"A musical show," said Mr. Saltzburg severely, "and this is a rehearsal of it, not a conversazione. Once more, please."
The cherub was not to be rebuffed.
"Is the music good, Mithter Thalzburg?"
"When you have rehea.r.s.ed it, you shall judge for yourself. Come now...."
"Is there anything in it as good as that waltz of yours you played us when we were rehearthing 'Mind How You Go?' You remember. The one that went...."
A tall and stately girl, with sleepy brown eyes and the air of a d.u.c.h.ess in the servants' hall, bent forward and took a kindly interest in the conversation.
"Oh, have you composed a varlse, Mr. Saltzburg?" she asked with pleasant condescension. "How interesting, really! Won't you play it for us?"
The sentiment of the meeting seemed to be unanimous in favour of shelving work and listening to Mr. Saltzburg's waltz.
"Oh, Mr. Saltzburg, do!"
"Please!"
"Some one told me it was a pipterino!"
"I cert'nly do love waltzes!"