Grace Harlowe's Plebe Year at High School

by Josephine Chase

  CHAPTER X

  GRACE KEEPS HER SECRET

  The "best" Oakdale people did not often see the melodramas that appearedfrom time to time at the small opera house. Occasionally, if somethingreally good came along, Oakdale society turned out in force and filledthe boxes and the orchestra seats; but, generally speaking, the littletheater was only half filled.

  And such was the case on this Thanksgiving night. Most of the audiencewas made up of farmers out holiday-making with their families, factorygirls from the silk mills and a few storekeepers and clerks.

  "I am glad there are so few people here," observed Grace, looking aroundthe scanty audience; "because, if we have to resort to my scheme, itwill make it much easier and less dangerous."

  "What in the world is it?" pleaded Jessica.

  "Never mind," answered her friend. "I'm afraid you'll object, so I won'ttell until the last minute."

  Just then a wheezy orchestra struck up a march and the High School partysettled down in their seats, each with a secret feeling that it wasrather good fun, in spite of the peculiar reason that had taken themthere.

  "Here he is," said Nora, pointing to the name on the programme. "Hetakes the part of Amos Lord, owner of the woolen mills."

  At that moment the lights went down and the music stopped short. Thecurtain rolled up slowly disclosing the front of a church. It was nightand lights gleamed through the stained glass windows. Snow was fallingand from the church came the sound of organ music playing the weddingmarch. The picture was really very impressive, although the music wassomewhat throaty and the flakes of snow were larger than life-size.

  But who was it half lying, half sitting on the church steps, shiveringwith cold?

  The girls had not been so often to the theater that they could afford tobe disdainful over almost any passable play, and from the very momentthe curtain went up their interest was aroused. Certainly, there wassomething extremely romantic and interesting about the lonely littlefigure on the church steps.

  "That's the heroine," whispered Jessica. "Her name is Evelyn Chase."

  Then people began to go into the church. It was a wedding evidently,although the groom was a tall, lean, middle-aged individual with grayhair.

  "It's Mr. Pierson himself," exclaimed Nora in a loud whisper.

  The bride-to-be was young and quite pretty. She was not dressed inwhite, but it was plain she was the bride because she carried a bouquetand hung on the arm of Anne's incorrigible parent. As they started upthe steps, what should they stumble over but the half-frozen form of theyoung girl!

  Then, there was a great deal of acting, not badly done at all, thoughtDavid, who had had more experience in these matters than his friends.The bride refused to go on with the ceremony until the poor little thingwas taken care of. The groom would brook no delay, for, oh, perfidy, hehad recognized in the still figure his own child by a former wifedeserted years before.

  Slowly the forsaken girl regained consciousness, lifted her head fromthe steps, threw back her shawl, and----

  "Heavens and earth, it's Anne herself!" exclaimed Grace.

  It was Anne. They were so startled and amazed they nearly tumbled offtheir seats.

  "As I live, it is Anne, and acting beautifully!" whispered David.

  "Where did she learn how?" demanded Jessica. "Strange she never toldit."

  But they were too interested to reply, for the action of the play wasexcellent and the interest held until the curtain rang down on the firstact.

  "No wonder he wants to keep her with him," ejaculated David when thelights went up. "She is the star performer in the show."

  "She is wonderful," declared Grace. "To think that little, brown, quietthing could be so talented! I always imagined acting was the hardestthing in the world to do, but it seems as though she had always been onthe stage."

  "Are we still going to try to save her?" asked Nora.

  "Of course," replied David. "She doesn't want to act. Didn't you hearher say so that night? She wants to go to school."

  "But it seems a pity, somehow, when she is so talented."

  "She's just as talented in her studies," said Grace, "and I've oftenheard that stage life is very hard. No, no! I intend to do my best toget Anne away this very night, if it upsets the entire town of Oakdale."

  When the second act was over, and Anne had actually so moved heraudience that one old farmer was audibly sobbing into a red cottonhandkerchief, and the girls themselves were secretly wiping their eyes,Grace whispered to David:

  "I'm going to write a note, if you'll lend me a pencil and a slip ofpaper, and wrap it around the stem of this chrysanthemum. When Anneappears in the next act, you go up in the box, and if she's alone aninstant pitch it to her. Then she will know what she's to do."

  "But what is she to do?" demanded the others.

  "I won't tell," persisted Grace. "You'll object, if I do."

  "All right," said David. "I'll obey you Mistress Grace, although I wishyou would confide in me."

  But Grace was obdurate. She would tell no one.

  The last act disclosed an attic at the top of an old tenement, withdormer windows looking out on a wintry scene. Anne appeared, more raggedthan ever, carrying a little basket of matches. It was evident that shewas a match girl by trade, and that this was her wretched domicile. Asshe crept down the center of the stage, ill and wretched, for she wassupposed to be about to die--David saw his opportunity. From behind thecurtain of the box he tossed the chrysanthemum, which fell right at herfeet.

  "If she only sees it," he thought.

  But apparently she didn't. Going wearily to an old cupboard, she tookout a crust of bread. Then she drew the ragged curtains at the windowsand lit a candle. Simultaneously the entire attic was illuminated, forstage candles have remarkable powers of diffusing light.

  "Why doesn't she pick up the flower?" exclaimed Grace. "If she doesn'tthe scheme won't work at all."

  "I believe she's going to die," whispered Nora in a broken voice.

  Just then the Irish comedian appeared, puffing and blowing from the longclimb he had had to the top of the house. He had come to bring help tothe dying girl, but he was funny in spite of the dreary tragedy, andNora changed her tears to laughter and began to giggle violently,burying her face in her handkerchief in her effort to control her mirth.Her laughter was always contagious, and presently her two friends weregiggling in chorus.

  "Do hush, Nora O'Malley!" whispered Jessica nervously. "You know that ifyou once get us started we'll never stop."

  A countryman, sitting back of Nora, touched her on the shoulder.

  "Be you laughing or crying, miss?" he asked. "It ain't a time forlaughing nor yet for crying, since the young lady ain't dead yet and Idon't believe she's goin' to die, either."

  "She just is," exclaimed Nora, wiping the tears from her eyes. "She'lldie before she gets off that bed to-night, I'll wager anything."

  All this while, the chrysanthemum with the note twisted and pinned toits stem lay in the middle of the stage. In the meantime, Anne hadfallen into a stupor from cold and hunger. The kind little comedianrushed about the stage, making a fire, putting on the tea kettle andstumbling over his own feet in an effort to be useful.

  "Now, all the others will enter in a minute," whispered Gracedisgustedly, "and she'll never get it at all."

  Just then Anne turned on her pillow and opened her eyes. They lookedstraight at David, who was sitting in the front of the box. He pointeddeliberately at the chrysanthemum.

  "She sees it," said Jessica, for Anne's eyes were now fixed on theflower.

  When the kind Irishman departed to spend his last cent on medicine andfood for the dying girl, she rose, staggered across the stage, seizedthe chrysanthemum and rushed back again, just in time to be lying pronewhen her father entered, now a repentant and sorrowful sinner.

  "It's all right," whispered Grace in a relieved tone. "I feel sure thatthe plan will work to perfection."

  Anne _did_ die a stage death, and there was
not a dry eye in the housewhen she forgave her father, bade farewell to the entire company, whohad now gathered in the attic, and her soul passed out to soft musicwhile the lights were turned very low.

  "Fire! Fire!" rang out a voice from the darkened house.

  Where did the voice come from? Nora and Jessica were so startled theycould only clutch each other and wonder, while Grace whispered:

  "Don't move from your seats."

  "Grace, was that your voice?" whispered David, who had joined the girlsduring the death-bed scene.

  But Grace made no reply. She only put her finger to her lips as she heldhis arm with a detaining hand.

  There was a panic in the house. The audience rushed for the doors whilethe actors leaped over the footlights in their mad scramble to escape.Several women's voices took up the cry of fire and the place was in wildconfusion. Evidently the man who managed the lights had been toofrightened to turn them on again, for the theater still remained insemi-darkness.

  The four young people did not move while the audience was crowding outof the aisles.

  "We might as well be suffocated as crushed," observed David. "It's amuch more comfortable death, and besides I can't smell any smoke."

  Grace smiled but was silent.

  "I'm here at last," announced Anne's well-known voice behind them.

  And there she was, still in her ragged stage dress, carrying her hat andcoat on her arm.

  "Why, Anne Pierson!" cried Nora, "I thought you were dead and gone."

  Anne laughed.

  "Not dead," she said. "But I would certainly have been gone in anotherhalf hour. We needn't hurry," she continued. "I don't believe he wouldever think of looking for me inside the theater, and, for the timebeing, this is the safest place."

  "Anne, why did you never tell us you were an actress!" demanded David.

  "I was afraid to," faltered the girl. "I was afraid you would all hateme if you knew the truth. Besides, I never acted but six months in allmy life. We toured in this play a year ago, and I knew the partperfectly. It would have been cruel of me not to have played to-night.The girl who usually does it was sick and there was no one to take herpart. When father told me that, I knew I should have to do it this once,but if the fire panic hadn't started I couldn't have gotten away fromhim very easily. He would have made a terrible scene. And even then, itmight have been difficult. No stranger would have helped me run awayfrom my own father, who is determined that I shall go on the stage. Hethinks I have the making of an actress. But I don't like the stage life.It is hard and ugly. I want to study, and be with girls like you." Acharming smile radiated her small, intelligent face.

  "Where do I come in?" asked David, looking at her.

  "I think you are the best friend I have in the world, David," declaredAnne. "I can never forget your kindness."

  "And now, Mademoiselle Annette Piersonelli," asked David, secretly muchpleased at the girl's earnestness, "can't you divest yourself of yourragged dress before we go?"

  "Yes, indeed," she replied. "I am fully clothed underneath." She slippedoff the stage dress and put on her hat and coat.

  Meanwhile, not a soul was left in the theater except two of the ushers,who were sniffing around trying to find out where the fire scare hadoriginated.

  "There comes father," whispered Anne. "Can't we hide behind the seats?"

  "Quick," cautioned David. "He's coming down the center aisle."

  The five young people crouched low while the actor stalked down theaisle. But it was plain he was not looking for his daughter in thetheater, for he called out to one of the ushers moving about at adistance:

  "Have you seen anything of the young girl who was with the company? Ilost her during the panic and I haven't been able to locate her since. Imust be leaving town in a few minutes," he added, consulting his watch."It's almost time for the train now."

  "The company all left with the audience," said the usher. "I guess shewent along with 'em."

  "Now is our time," said Anne, when the actor had disappeared. "Supposewe go out the stage entrance and down that side street!"

  Whereupon she led the way back of the boxes and into the wings, followedby her friends, who looked curiously about them at the unusual sight.

  "What a queer place," said Grace, "and how smudgy the scenery looks! Arethese little places dressing rooms, Anne?"

  "Yes," answered Anne. "You see, it's all horrid when you are close. Andthe life is worse--riding almost every day on smoky trains and spendingeach night in a different place. The people are so different, too. Iwould rather go to Oakdale High School," she exclaimed, "than be thegreatest actress in the world."

  They were standing in one of the larger dressing rooms while Anneendeavored to wipe the powder and rouge from her face with a pockethandkerchief.

  A tall figure darkened the doorway, and in the glass Anne saw thereflection of her father's face. Without a word, she ran to the openwindow and jumped out on the fire escape. The others followed nimblyafter her. Mr. Pierson turned and rushed down the passage to the sideentrance.

  "Hurry, Anne!" called David. "He will meet you at the bottom if youdon't."

  They climbed quickly down the ladder, almost treading on each other'sfingers in their haste, and in another moment they were running down analleyway.

  "Another narrow escape," cried Anne, when they were out of danger. "Howshall I ever thank you, dear friends?"

  "You have already discharged the debt, Anne, by letting us see you act,"answered Grace.

  "By the way, Grace," commanded David, "own up now. It was you, wasn'tit, who started the fire panic?"

  "I told you I wouldn't tell," answered Grace, "and I never shall."

  "Anne, did she say anything about it in her note?" asked Nora.

  "No," said Anne mysteriously, "she never mentioned the word 'fire' atall."

  "I feel certain it was you who called 'fire,' Grace," said Jessica.

  "I'll never, never tell," cried Grace teasingly; "so you'll never, neverknow."

  She turned in at her own gate and to this day the mystery is stillunsolved.