Wild Wings

by Margaret Piper Chalmers

  CHAPTER XXVI

  THE KALEIDOSCOPE REVOLVES

  Tony slept late next morning and when she did open her eyes they fellupon a huge florist box by the door and a special delivery letter on topof it. The maid had set the two in an hour ago and tiptoed away lest shewaken the weary little sleeper.

  Tony got up and opened the box. Roses--dozens of them, worth the price ofa month's wages to many a worker in the city! Frail, exquisite,shell-pink beauties, with gold at their hearts! Tony adored roses but shealmost hated these because it seemed to her Alan was bribing herforgiveness by playing upon her worship of their beauty and fragrance.

  Still kneeling by the flowers she glanced at the clock. Ten-thirty! Dickwas already miles away on his hateful journey, had gone sad and hopelessbecause she loved Alan Massey. Why did it have to be so? Why was love soperverse and unreasonable a thing? Alan was not worthy to touch Dick'shand, though in his arrogance he affected to despise the other. But itwas Alan she loved, not Dick. There must be something wrong with her,dreadfully wrong that it should be so. After last night there could be nodoubt of that.

  She sat down on the floor, opened Alan's letter, despised herself forletting its author's spell creep over her anew with every word. It was anabject plea for mercy, for forgiveness, for restoration to favor. It hadbeen a devil of jealousy that had possessed him, he had not known whathe was doing. Surely she must know that he would not willingly harm orhurt or anger her in any way. He loved her too much. Carson had behavedlike a man. Alan would apologize to him if the other man would accept theapology. It was Tony really who had driven him mad by being so muchkinder to the other than to himself. She must realize what he was, notdrive him too far.

  "I am sending you roses," he ended. "Please don't throw them away as youdid the others. Keep them and let them plead for me. And don't ah Tony,don't ever, ever say again what you said last night, that you neverwanted to see me again! You don't mean it, I know. But don't say it. Itkills me to hear you. If you throw me over I'll blow my brains out assure as I am a living man this moment. But you won't, you cannot, Tonydearest. You will forgive me, stand by me, rotten as I am. You are mine.You love me. You won't push me down to Hell."

  It was a cowardly letter Tony thought, a letter calculated to frightenher, bring her to subjection again as well as to gratify the writer's ownByronic instinct for pose. He had behaved badly. He acknowledged it butclaimed forgiveness on the grounds of love, his love for her which hadbeen goaded to mad jealousy by her thoughtless unkindness, her love forhim which would not desert him no matter what he did.

  But pose or not, Tony was obliged to admit there was some truth in itall. Perhaps it was all true-too true. Even if he did not resort to thepistol as he threatened he would find other means of slaying his soul ifnot his body if she forsook him now. She could not do it. As he said sheloved him too well. She had gone too far in the path to turn back now.

  Ah why, why had she let it go so far? Why had she not listened to Dick,to Uncle Phil, to Carlotta, even to Miss Lottie? They had all told herthere was no happiness for her in loving Alan Massey. She knew it herselfbetter than any of them could possibly know it. And yet she had to go on,for his sake, for her own because she loved him.

  By this time she was no longer angry or resentful. She was justsorry--sorry for Alan--sorry for herself. She knew just as she had knownall along that last night's incident would not really make anydifference. It would be put away in time with all the other things shehad to forgive. She had eaten her pomegranate seeds. She could not escapethe dark kingdom. She did not wish to.

  Later came violets from Dick which she put in a vase on her desk besideUncle Phil's picture. But it was the fragrance and color of Alan's rosesthat filled the room, and presently she sat down and wrote herill-behaved lover a sweet, forgiving little note. She was sorry if shehad been unkind. She had not meant to be. As for what happened it was toolate to worry about it now. They had best forget it, if they could. Hecouldn't very well apologize to Dick in person because he was already onhis way to Mexico. There was no need of any penance. Of course sheforgave him, knew he had not meant to hurt her, though he had horribly.If he cared to do so he might take her to dinner tomorrownight--somewhere where they could dance. And in conclusion she was alwayshis, Tony Holiday.

  Both Dick and Alan were driven out of her mind later that day by thedelightful and exciting interview over the tea table with Carol Clay.Miss Clay was a charming hostess, drew the girl out without appearing todo so, got her to talk naturally about many things, her life with herfather at army barracks, and with her uncle on her beloved Hill, of herfriends and brothers, her college life, of books and plays. Plays tookthem to the Killarney Rose and once more Miss Clay expressed her pleasurein the girl's rendering of one of her own favorite roles.

  "You acted as if you had been playing Rose all your life," she addedwith a smile.

  "Maybe I have," said Tony. "Rose is--a good deal like me. Maybe that iswhy I loved playing her so."

  "I shouldn't wonder. You are a real little actress, my dear. I wonder ifyou are ready to pay the price of it. It is bitterly hard work and itmeans giving up half the things women care for."

  The speaker's lovely eyes shadowed a little. Tony wondered whatCarol Clay had given up, was giving up for her art to bring thatlook into them.

  "I am not afraid. I am willing to work. I love it. And I--I am willing togive up a good deal."

  "Lovers?" smiled Miss Clay.

  "Must I? I thought actresses always had lovers, at least worshipers.Can't I keep the lovers, Miss Clay?" There was a flash of mischief inTony's eyes as she asked the important question.

  "Better stick to worshipers. Lovers are risky. Husbands--fatal."

  Tony laughed outright at that.

  "I am willing to postpone the fatality," she murmured.

  "I am glad to hear it for I lured you here to take you into a deep-laidplot. I suppose you did not suspect that it was Max Hempel who sent me tosee you play Rose?"

  "Mr. Hempel? I thought he had forgotten me."

  "He never forgets any one in whom he is interested. He has had his eyeon you ever since he saw you play Rosalind. He told me when he came backfrom that trip that I had a rival coming on."

  "Oh, no!" Tony objected even in jest to such desecration.

  "Oh, yes," smiled her hostess. "Max Hempel is a brutally frank person. Henever spares one the truth, even the disagreeable truth. He has had hiseye out for a new ingenue for a long time. Ingenues do get old--at leastolder you know."

  "Not you," denied Tony.

  "Even I, in time. I grant you not yet. It takes a degree of age andsophistication to play youth and innocence. We do it better as a rule atthirty than at twenty. We are far enough away from it to stand off andobserve how it behaves and can imitate it better than if we still had it.That is one reason I was interested in your Rose last night. You playedlike a little girl as Rose should. You looked like a little girl. But youcouldn't have given it that delightfully sure touch if you hadn't been alittle bit grown up. Do you understand?"

  Tony nodded.

  "I think so. You see I am--a little bit grown up."

  "Don't grow up any more. You are adorable as you are. But to business.Have you seen my Madge?"

  "In the 'End of the Rainbow?' Yes, indeed. I love it. You like the parttoo, don't you? You play it as if you did."

  "I do. I like it better than any I have had since Rose. Did it occur toyou that you would like to play Madge yourself?"

  Tony blushed ingenuously.

  "Well, yes, it did," she admitted half shyly. "Of course, I knew Icouldn't play it as you did. It takes years of experience and a real artlike yours to do it like that, but I did think I'd like to try it and seewhat I could do."

  Miss Clay nodded, well pleased.

  "Of course you did. Why not? It is your kind of a role, just as Rose is.You and I are the same types. Mr. Hempel has said that all along, eversince he saw your Rosalind. But I won't keep you in suspense. The longa
nd short of all this preliminary is--how would you like to be myunderstudy for Madge?"

  "Oh, Miss Clay!" Tony gasped. "Do you think I could?"

  "I know you could, my dear. I knew it all the time while I waswatching you play Rose. Mr. Hempel has known it even longer. I went tosee Rose to find out if there was a Madge in you. There is. I told Mr.Hempel so this morning. He is brewing his contracts now so beprepared. Will you try it?"

  "I'd love to if you and Mr. Hempel think I can. I promised Uncle Phil Iwould take a year of the school work though. Will I have to drop that?"

  "I think so--most of it at least. You would have to be at the rehearsalsusually which are in the morning. You might have to play Madge quiteoften then. There are reasons why I have to be away a great deal justnow." Again the shadow, darkened the star's eyes and a droop came to hermouth. "It isn't even so impossible that you would be called upon toplay before the real Broadway audience in fact. Understudies sometimesdo you know."

  Miss Clay was smiling now, but the shadow in her eyes had notlifted Tony saw.

  "I am particularly anxious to get a good understudy started inimmediately," the actress continued. "The one I had was impossible, didnot get the spirit of the thing at all. It is absolutely essential tohave some one ready and at once. My little daughter is in a sanitariumdying with an incurable heart leakage. There will be a time--probablywithin the next two months--when I shall have to be away."

  Tony put out her hand and let it rest upon the other woman's. There wascompassion in her young eyes.

  "I am so sorry," she said simply. "I didn't know you had a daughter. Ofcourse, I did know you weren't really Miss Clay, that you were Mrs.Somebody, but I didn't think of your having children. Somehow we don'tremember actresses may be mothers too."

  "The actresses remember it--sometimes," said Miss Clay with a tremulouslittle smile. "It isn't easy to laugh when your heart is heavy, MissAntoinette. It is all I can do to go on with 'Madge' sometimes. I justhave to forget--make myself forget I am a mother and a wife. CaptainCarey, my husband, is in the British Army. He is in Flanders now, or waswhen I last heard."

  "Oh, I don't see how you can do it--play, I mean," sighed Tony aghast atthis new picture the actress's words brought up.

  "One learns, my dear. One has to. An actress is two distinct persons.One of her belongs to the public. The other is just a plain woman.Sometimes I feel as if I were far more the first than I am the second.There wouldn't be any more contracts if I were not. But never mind that.To come back to you. Mr. Hempel will send you a contract to-morrow. Willyou sign it?"

  "Yes, if Uncle Phil is willing. I'll wire him to-night. I am almostpositive he will say yes. He is very reasonable and he will see what awonderful, wonderful chance this is for me. I can't thank you enough,Miss Clay. It all takes my breath away. But I am grateful and so happy;you can't imagine it."

  Miss Clay smiled and drew on her gloves. The interview was over.

  "There is really nothing to thank me, for," she said. "The favor is onthe other side. It is I who am lucky. The perfect understudy like abecoming hat is hard to find, but when found is absolutely beyond price.May I send you a pass for to-morrow night to the 'End of the Rainbow'?Perhaps you would like to see it again and play 'Madge' with me from abox. The pass will admit two. Bring one of the lovers if you like."

  Tony wired her uncle that night. In the morning mail arrived Max Hempel'scontract as Miss Clay had promised. Tony regarded it with superstitiousawe. It was the first contract she had ever seen in her life, much lesshad offered for her signature. The terms were, generous--appallingly soit seemed to the girl who knew little of such things and was not inclinedto over-rate her powers financially speaking. She wisely took thecontract over to the school and got the manager's advice to "Go ahead."

  "We've nothing comparable to offer you, Miss Tony. With Hempel and MissClay both behind you you are practically made. You are a lucky littlelady. I know a dozen experienced actresses in this city who would givetheir best cigarette cases to be in your shoes."

  Arrived home at the Hostelry, armed with this approval, Tony found herUncle's answering wire bidding her do as she thought best and sendingheartiest love and congratulations. Dear Uncle Phil!

  And then she sat down and signed the impressive document that made herCarol Clay's understudy and a real wage-earning person.

  All the afternoon she spent in long, delicious, dreamless slumber. Atfive she was wakened by the maid bringing a letter from Alan, awonderful, extravagant lover-note such as only he could pen. Later shebathed and dressed, donning the white and silver gown she had worn thenight when she had first admitted to Alan in Carlotta's garden that sheloved him, first took his kisses. It was rather a sacred little gown toTony, sacred to Alan and her own surrender to love. He called it herstarlight dress and loved it especially because it brought out thespringlike, virginal quality of her youth and loveliness as her othermore sophisticated gowns did not. Tony wore it for Alan to-night,wanted him to think her lovely, to love her immensely. She wanted totaste all life's joy at once, have a perfect deluge of happiness. Youthmust be served.

  Alan, graceful for being forgiven so easily, fell in with her mood andwas at his best, courtly, considerate, adoring. He exerted all themagic of his not inconsiderable charm to make Tony forget that otherunfortunate night when he had appeared in other, less attractivecolors. And Tony was ready enough to forget beneath his worshipinggreen eyes and under the spell of his wonderful voice. She meant toshut out the unwelcome guests of fear and doubt from her heart, letlove alone have sway.

  They dined at a gorgeous restaurant in a great hotel. Tony reveled in thesplendor and richness of the setting, delighted in the flawless service,the perfection of the strange and delectable viands which Alan orderedfor their consumption. Particularly she delighted in Alan himself and theway he fitted into the richness and luxury. It was his rightful setting.She could not imagine him in any of the shabby restaurants where she andDick had often dined so contentedly. Alan was a born aristocrat,patrician of the patricians. His looks, his manner, everything about himbetrayed it. Most of all it was revealed in the way the waiters scurriedto do his bidding, bowed obsequiously before him, recognized him as theauthentic master, lord of the purple.

  "So Carson really has gone to Mexico," Alan murmured as they dallied overtheir salads, looking mostly into each other's eyes.

  "Yes, he went yesterday. I hated to have him go. It is awfullydisagreeable and dangerous down there they say. He might get a fever orget killed or something." Tony absent-mindedly nibbling a piece of rollalready saw Dick in her mind's eye the victim of an assassin's blade.

  "No such luck!" thought Alan Massey bitterly. The thought brought a flashof venom into his eyes which Tony unluckily caught.

  "Alan! Why do you hate Dick so? He never did you any harm."

  Tony Holiday did not know what outrageous injury Dick had done hiscousin, Alan Massey.

  Alan was already suavely master of himself, the venom expungedfrom his eyes.

  "Why wouldn't I hate him, _Antoinetta mia_? You are half in lovewith him."

  "I am not," denied Tony indignantly. "He is just like Lar--." She brokeoff abruptly, remembering Dick's flare of resentment at that familiarformula, remembering too the kiss she had given him in the dimly-lit hallin the Hostelry, the kiss which had not been precisely such a one as shewould have given Larry.

  Alan's face darkened again.

  "Oh, yes, you are. You are blushing."

  "I am not." Then putting her hands up to her face and feeling it warmshe changed her tactics. "Well, what, if I am? I do care a lot aboutDick. I found out the other night that I cared a whole lot more than Iknew. It isn't like caring for Larry and Ted. It's different. For afterall he isn't my brother--never was--never will be. I'm a wretched flirt,Alan. You know it as well as I do. I've let Dick keep on loving me,knowing all the time I didn't mean to marry him. And I'm not a bit sure Iam going to marry you either."

  "Tony!"

  "Well,
anyway not for a long, long time. I want to go on the stage. Ican't put all of myself into my work and give it to you at the same time.I don't want to get married. I don't dare to. I don't dare even letmyself care too much. I want to be free."

  "You want to be loved."

  "Of course. Every woman does."

  Alan made an impatient gesture.

  "I don't mean lip-worship. You are a woman, not a piece of statuary. Comeon now. Let's dance."

  They danced. In her lover's arms, their feet keeping time to thesyncopated, stirring rhythms of the violins, their hearts beating to amightier harmony of nature's own brewing, Tony Holiday was far from beinga piece of statuary. She was all woman, a woman very much alive and verymuch in love.

  Alan bent over her.

  "Tony, belovedest. There are more things than art in the world," he saidsoftly. "Don't you know it, feel it? There is life. And life is biggerthan your work or mine. We're both artists, but we'll be bigger artiststogether. Marry me now. Don't make me wait. Don't make yourself wait. Youwant it as much as I do. Say yes, sweetheart," he implored.

  Tony shook her head vehemently. She was afraid. She knew that just nowall her dreams of success in her chosen art, all her love for the dearones at home were as nothing in comparison with this greater thing whichAlan called life and which she felt surging mightily within her. But shealso knew that this way lay madness, disloyalty, regret. She must bestrong, strong for Alan as well as for herself.

  "Not yet," she whispered back. "Be patient, Alan. I love you,dear. Wait."

  The music came to an end. Many eyes followed the two as they went back totheir places at the table. They were incomparable artists. It was worthmissing one's own dance to see them have theirs. Aside from his wonderfuldancing and striking personality Alan was at all times a marked figure,attracting attention wherever he went and whatever he did. The publicknew he had a superlative fortune which he spent magnificently as aprince, and that he had a superlative gift which for all they were awarehe had flung wantonly away as soon as the money came into his hands.Moreover he was even more interesting because of his superlatively badreputation which still followed him. The public would have found it hardto believe that at last Alan Massey was leading the most temperate andarduous of lives and devoting himself exclusively to one woman whom hetreated as reverently as if she were a goddess. The gazes focussed uponAlan now inevitably included the girl with him, as lovely and young asspring itself.

  "Who was she?" they asked each other. "What was a girl like that doingin Alan Massey's society?" To most of the observers it meant but onething, eventually if not now. Even the most cynical and world-hardenedthought it a pity, and these would have been confounded if they couldhave heard just now his passionate plea for marriage. One did notassociate marriage with Alan Massey. One had not associated it too muchwith his mother, one recalled.