Helen in the Editor's Chair

by Roy J. Snell

  CHAPTER X _Behind the Footlights_

  By the first of the following week the near tragedy of the picnic seemedonly a terrible nightmare to Helen and Margaret and they devoted all oftheir extra time to helping Tom get out the next edition of the _Herald_.

  Monday morning's mail brought a long letter from Helen's father, a letterin which he praised them warmly for their first edition of the _Herald_.He added that he had recovered from the fatigue of his long trip into thesouthwest and was feeling much stronger and a great deal more cheerful.The newsy letter brightened the whole atmosphere of the Blair home andfor the first time since their father had left, Tom and Helen saw theirmother like her old self, smiling, happy and humming little tunes as sheworked about the house.

  Events crowded one on another as the school year neared its close. Therewere final examinations, the junior-senior banquet, the annual sophomoreparty and finally, graduation exercises.

  The seniors had been rehearsing their play, "The Spell of the Image," fora month and for the final week had engaged a special dramatic instructorfrom Cranston to put the finishing touches on the cast. Helen had readthe play several times. It was a comedy-drama concerning the finding ofan ancient and valuable string of pearls in an old image. It had action,mystery and romance and she thrilled when she thought that in two moreyears she would be in her own class play.

  The dramatic instructor arrived. She was Anne Weeks, a slender,dark-haired girl of 25 who had attended the state university and majoredin dramatics. Every boy in high school promptly thought he was in lovewith her.

  The seniors rehearsed their parts every spare hour and every evening. Theplay was to go on Thursday night with the graduation exercises Fridayevening.

  Dress rehearsal was called for Tuesday and Helen went down to the operahouse to peek in and see how it was going. She found a disconsolate castsitting around the stage, looking gloomily at Miss Weeks.

  "This looks more like a party of mourners than a play practice," observedHelen.

  "It's just about that bad," replied Miss Weeks. "Sarah Jacobs has comedown with a severe cold and can't talk, which leaves us in a finepickle."

  "Won't she be able to go on Thursday night?"

  "It will be at least a week before she'll be able to use her voice for awhole evening," Miss Weeks said. "In the meantime, we've got to findanother girl, about Sarah's size, to play her part and every member ofthe senior class is in the play now."

  She stopped suddenly and looked at Helen.

  "You're about Sarah's size," she mused, "and you're blonde and you haveblue eyes. You'll do, Helen."

  "Do for what?" asked the astounded Helen.

  "Why, for Sarah's part," exclaimed Miss Weeks. "Come now, hurry up andget into Sarah's costume," and she pointed to a dainty colonial dresswhich the unfortunate Sarah was to have worn in the prologue.

  "But I don't know Sarah's part well enough," said Helen. "I've only readthe play twice and then just for fun."

  "You'll catch on," said Miss Weeks, "if you're half as smart as I thinkyou are."

  "Go on, Helen," urged the seniors. "Help us out. We've got to put theplay across or we'll never have enough money to pay Miss Weeks."

  "Now you know why I'm so anxious for you to take the part," smiled theplay instructor.

  "I'll do my best," promised Helen, gathering the costume under her armand hurrying toward the girls' dressing room.

  Ten minutes later she emerged as a dainty colonial dame. Miss Weeksstared hard at her and then smiled an eminently satisfactory smile.

  "Now if she can only get the lines in two nights," she whispered toherself.

  Helen's reading of the play had given her a thorough understanding of theaction and they went through the prologue without a slip. Scenery wasshifted rapidly and the stage changed from a colonial ballroom to amodern garden scene. Costumes kept up with the scenery and when themembers of the cast reappeared on the stage they were dressed in modernclothes.

  Helen poured over the pages of the play book and because she had only aminor part in the first act, got through it nicely. The second act washer big scene and she was decidedly nervous when it came time for hercue. One of the seniors was to make love to her and she didn't especiallylike him. But the play was the thing and the seniors certainly did needsomeone to take the vacant part.

  She screwed up her courage and played the role for all it was worth. Onceshe forgot her lines but she managed to fake a little conversation andthey got back to the regular lines without trouble.

  When the curtain was rung down on the third act Miss Weeks stepped out ofthe orchestra pit where she had been directing the changes in minordetails of the action and came over to Helen.

  "You're doing splendidly," she told the young editor of the _Herald_."Don't worry about lines. Read them over thoroughly sometime tomorrow andwe'll put the finishing touches on tomorrow night."

  When Helen reached home Tom had returned from the office, his work donefor the night.

  "Thought you were just going down the street to see how play practice wascoming?" he said.

  "I did," Helen replied, "and I'm so thrilled, Tom. Sarah Jacobs, who hasthe juvenile lead in the play is ill with a sore throat and Miss Weeksasked me to take the part."

  "Are you going to?"

  "I have," smiled Helen. "That's where I've been. Rehearsing for the playThursday night."

  "Well, you're a fine editor," growled Tom. "How am I going to get out thepaper?"

  "Oh, you don't need to worry about copy," Helen assured him. "Margarethas half a dozen stories to turn in tomorrow noon and I'll have all ofmine written by supper time. And I'll do my usual work Thursdayafternoon."

  "I was just kidding," grinned Tom. "I think it's great that Miss Weekspicked you to fill in during the emergency. Quite a compliment, I say."

  Helen's mother, who had been across the street at the Stevens', came homeand Helen had to tell her story over again.

  "What about your costumes?" asked her mother.

  "The class rents the colonial dress for the prologue," explained Helen,"and for the other acts Miss Weeks is going to loan me some smart frocksfrom her own wardrobe. We're practically the same size."

  "What a break for you," Tom laughed. "You'll be the smartest dressed girlin the class if I know anything about Miss Weeks."

  "Which you don't!" retorted his sister.

  Helen's regular Wednesday morning round of news gathering took her to thedepot to meet the nine forty-five and she found the agent waiting.

  "Remember I promised you a story this week?" he said.

  "I'm ready to take it," Helen smiled. "What we want is news, more newsand then more news."

  "This is really a good story," the railroad man assured her. "Wait untilyou see the nine forty-five."

  "What's the matter? Is it two or three hours late?"

  "It will be in right on time," the agent promised.

  Helen sat down on a box on the platform to await the arrival of themorning local. Resting there in the warm sunshine, she pulled her copy ofthe play book out of her pocket and read the second act, with her bigscene, carefully. The words were natural enough and she felt that shewould have little trouble remembering them.

  She glanced at the depot clock. It was nine forty. The local should bewhistling for the crossing down the valley. She looked in the directionfrom which the train was coming. There was no sign of smoke and she knewit would be late.

  She had picked up her play book and turned to the third act when a mellowchime echoed through the valley. It was like a locomotive whistle and yetunlike one.

  "New whistle on the old engine?" Helen asked the agent.

  "More than that," he grinned.

  The _Herald's_ editor watched for the train to swing into sight around acurve but instead of the black, stubby snout of the regular passengerengine, a train of three cars, seemingly moving without a locomotive,appeared and rolled smoothly toward the station.


  As it came nearer Helen could hear the low roar of a powerful gasolineengine, which gradually dropped to a sputtering series of coughs as thethree car train drew abreast the station.

  "Latest thing in local trains," exclaimed the agent. "It's a gas-electricoutfit with the motive power in the front end of the first car. Fast,clean and smooth and it's economical to run. Don't take a fireman."

  Helen jotted down hasty notes. Everyone in the town and countryside wouldbe interested in seeing and reading about the new train.

  The agent gave Helen a hand into the cab where the engineer obliginglyexplained the operation of the gas-electric engine.

  The conductor called "All aboo-ord," and Helen climbed down out of thecab.

  The gasoline engine sputtered as it took up the load of starting thetrain. When the cars were once under way, it settled down to a steadyrumble and the train picked up speed rapidly and rolled out of town onits way to the state capital.

  "What do you think of it?" asked the agent.

  "It's certainly a fine piece of equipment," said Helen, "but I hate tosee the old steam engines go. There's something much more romantic aboutthem than these new trains."

  "Oh, we'll have steam on the freight trains," the agent hastened to add."Give us a good write up."

  "I will," Helen promised as she started for the _Herald_ office to writeher story of the passing of the steam passenger trains on the branchline.

  Margaret came in with a handful of school stories she had written duringan assembly hour.

  "Congratulations," she said to Helen. "I've just heard about your part.You'll put it across."

  "I'm glad you think so, Marg, for I'd hate to make a fizzle of it."

  Helen finished writing her copy for the paper that afternoon after schooland before she went home to supper with Tom wrote the headlines for themain stories on page one.

  "Did you write a story about the sophomore picnic and what happened toMargaret?" asked Tom.

  "It's with the copy I just put on your machine," Helen replied. "Everyoneknows something about it and of course there is a lot of talk. I've seenDoctor Stevens and Margaret and they both agree that a story is necessaryand that the simple truth is the best thing to say with no apologies andnothing covered up."

  "Doc Stevens is a brick," exclaimed Tom. "Most men would raise the verydickens if such a story were printed but it will stop idle talk which iscertainly much worse than having the truth known."

  "That's the way he feels," Helen said.

  Margaret came over after supper to go down to the opera house with Helenfor play practice.

  "I'm getting almost as big a thrill out of it as Helen," she told Mrs.Blair, "only I wouldn't be able to put it across and Helen can."

  Miss Weeks had brought three dresses for Helen to wear, one for each actin the play. They were dainty, colorful frocks that went well withHelen's blondness.

  The stage was set with all of the properties for the prologue and Helenhastened into the girl's dressing room to put on her colonial costume.When she returned to the stage, Miss Weeks was addressing the cast.

  "Remember," she warned them, "that this is the last rehearsal. Everythingis just as it will be tomorrow night. Imagine the audience is heretonight. Play up to them."

  The main curtain was dropped, the house lights went off and the batteryof brilliant electrics in the footlights blazed.

  The curtain moved slightly; then went up smoothly and disappeared in thedarkness above the stage. The play was on.

  The prologue went smoothly and without a mistake and when the curtaindropped the stage became a scene of feverish activity.

  "Five minutes to change," Miss Weeks warned them as they went to theirdressing rooms.

  For the first act Helen was to wear a white sport dress with a blazingred scarf knotted loosely around her neck. She wiggled into her outfit,brushed her hair with deft hands, dabbed fresh powder on her cheeks,touched up her lips with scarlet and was ready for her cue. She said herlines with an ease and clearness that surprised even herself and was backin the wings and on her way to the dressing room almost before she knewit.

  In the second act Helen had her big part and Miss Weeks had provided ablack, velvet semiformal afternoon gown. It was fashioned in plain,clinging lines, caught around the waist with a single belt of braidedcloth of gold and with the neckline trimmed in the same material. Goldenslippers and hose and one bracelet, a heavy, imitation gold band,completed the accessories.

  Between acts Miss Weeks came into see how the costume fitted.

  "Why, Helen," she exclaimed. "You're gorgeous--beautiful. Every boy intown will be crazy about you."

  "I'll worry about that later," Helen replied. "But I'm so glad you thinkI look all right."

  "You're perfectly adorable."

  The praise from Miss Weeks buoyed Helen with an inner courage that madeher fairly sparkle and she played her part for all it was worth. Againshe forgot her lines but she managed to escape by faking conversation.

  When the rehearsal was over, Margaret hastened to the stage.

  "You'll be the hit of the show," she whispered to Helen. "And think ofit, one of the sophomores running away with the seniors play."

  "But I don't intend to do that," Helen replied. "I'm only here to helpthem out. Besides, I may forget my lines and make some terrible mistaketomorrow night."

  "You'll do nothing of the kind," Margaret insisted, as they left thetheater.

  Thursday was Helen's busy day. Final examinations for two periods in themorning and then to the office after lunch to help Tom fold and mail theweek's edition of the _Herald_.

  Tom had put the two pages for the last run on the press before going homefor lunch so when they returned the press was ready for the afternoon'swork.

  Advertising had not been quite as heavy as the first week and Tom hadused every line of copy Helen had written, but the paper looked clean andreadable.

  Helen stacked the papers on the makeup table and started folding. WhenTom finished the press run he folded while Helen started stamping thenames of the subscribers on the papers. By four o'clock every paper wasin the postoffice and half an hour later they were ready to call it a dayand lock up the office.

  When Helen reached home her mother made her go to her room and rest foran hour before supper.

  They were eating when Margaret hurried in.

  "Here are your tickets," she told Mrs. Blair. "I managed to get themexchanged so we'll all be together."

  "But I thought you had decided not to go to the play?" Helen said to hermother.

  "That was before you had a part in it," smiled Mrs. Blair.

  "Where are you going to sit?"

  "You don't want to know," put in Tom. "If you did, it would make younervous. It's bad enough to know that we'll be there."

  The cast had been called to meet on the stage at seven-fifteen for lastminute instructions. The curtain was at eight-fifteen and that would givethem an hour to dress and get into makeup.

  Miss Weeks had little to say when she faced the group of seniors and thelone sophomore.

  "Remember that this is no different from last night's rehearsal," shetold them. "Play up to each other. If you forget a few lines, fake theconversation until you can get back to your cues. You will disappoint megreatly if you don't put on the best senior play ever given in Rolfe."

  Then they were swept away in the rush of last minute preparations for thefirst call. The girl's dressing room was filled with the excited chatterof a dozen girls and the air was thick with the smell of grease paint andpowder. Colonial costumes came out of the large wardrobe which filled oneside of the room and there was the crisp rustle of silk as the girlsdonned their costumes. Miss Weeks moved through the room, adding a touchof makeup here and taking off a bit where some over-zealous young actresshad been too enthusiastic.

  "Ten minutes," Miss Weeks warned the girls. "Everyone out and on thestage."

  There was a general checkup on costumes and stage properties. Through theheavy cur
tain Helen heard the high school orchestra swing into theoverture. The electrician moved the rheostat which dimmed the houselights. The banks of electrics in the flies about the stage awoke intoglaring brilliance as the overture reached its crescendo. The stage wasvery quiet. Everyone was ready for the curtain.

  All eyes were on Miss Weeks and Helen felt a last second flutter of herheart. In another second or two she would be in the full glare of thefootlights. She was thankful that she had only a few lines in theprologue. It would give her time to gain a stage composure and preparefor her big scene in the second act.

  Miss Weeks' hand moved. The man at the curtain shifted and it startedslowly upward. Helen blinked involuntarily as she faced the full glare ofthe footlights. Beyond them she could see only a sea of faces, extendingrow on row toward the back of the theater. Somewhere out there her motherand Tom would be watching her. And with them would be Margaret and herparents.

  The play was on and Helen forgot her first nervousness. Dainty colonialdames moved about the stage and curtsied before gallant white-wiggedgentlemen. The prologue was short but colorful. Just enough to revealthat a precious string of pearls had been hidden in the ugly little imagewhich reposed so calmly on a pedestal.

  As the curtain descended, a wave of applause reached the stage. It wasardent and prolonged and Miss Weeks motioned for the cast to remain intheir places. The curtain ascended half way and the cast curtsied beforeit descended again.

  "You're doing splendidly," Miss Weeks told them. "Now everyone to thedressing rooms to change for the first act. Be back on the stage ready togo in five minutes."

  The girls flocked to the dressing room. Colonial costumes disappeared andmodern dresses took their place. Helen slipped into her white sportoutfit with the scarlet scarf. Her cheeks burned with the excitement ofthe hour. She dabbed her face with a powder puff and returned to thestage. The scenery had been shifted for the first act and the curtainwent up on time to the second.

  Helen felt much easier. Her first feeling of stage fright had disappearedand she knew she was the master of her own emotions. She refused to thinkof the possibility of forgetting her lines and resolved to put herselfinto the character she was playing and do and act in the comingsituations, as that character would do.

  Helen was on the stage only a few minutes during the first act and shehad ample time to change for the second. The dressing room was almostdeserted and she took her time. The heavy, black velvet dress Miss Weekshad loaned her was entrancing in its rich beauty and distinctiveness.

  She combed her blond hair until it looked like burnished gold. Then shepulled it back and caught it at the nape of her neck. It was the mostsimple hair dress possible but the most effective in its sheersimplicity.

  Other girls crowded into the room. The first act was over. Miss Weekscame in and Helen stood up.

  "Wonderful, Helen, wonderful," murmured the instructor, but not so loudthat the other girls would hear.

  There was the call for the second act and Helen went onto the stage. Thesenior she played opposite came up.

  "All set?" he asked.

  Helen smiled, just a bit grimly, for she was determined to play her partfor all it was worth.

  The orchestra stopped playing and the curtain slid upward. She heard hercue and walked into the radiance of the lights. She heard the senior, heradmirer in the play, talking to her. He was telling her of his recentadventures and how, at the end of a long, moonlit trail, he had finallycome upon the girl of his dreams.

  Then she heard herself replying, protesting that there was no such thingas love at first sight, but that ardent young Irish adventurer refused nofor an answer and Helen backed away from him.

  She heard a warning hiss from the wings but it was too late. She walkedbackwards into a pedestal with a vase of flowers.

  There was a sudden crash of the falling pedestal and the tinkle ofbreaking glass.

  The audience roared with laughter.

  Helen was stunned for the moment. In her chance to make good in highschool dramatics she had clumsily backed into the stand and upset it,breaking the vase. Tears welled into her eyes and her lips trembled. Thesenior was staring at her, too surprised to talk.

  The laughter continued, and Helen seized the only chance for escape.Could she make it appear that the accident was a part of the play, adeliberate bit of comedy?

  "Smile," she whispered to the senior. "We can make it look like a part ofthe play. Follow my cue." He nodded slightly to show that he understood.

  The laughter subsided enough for them to continue their lines and Helenmanaged to smile. She hoped it wouldn't look too forced.

  "Look what you made me do," she said, pointing at the wreckage of thevase.

  "Sorry," smiled the senior. "I'm just that way about you."

  Then they swung back into the lines of the play and three minutes laterHelen was again in the wings.

  Miss Weeks was waiting for her and Helen expected a sharp criticism.

  "Supreme comedy," congratulated the dramatic instructor. "How did youhappen to think of that?"

  "But I didn't think of it," protested Helen. "It was an accident. I wasscared to death."

  Miss Weeks stared at her hard.

  "Well," she commented, "you certainly carried it off splendidly. It wasthe best comedy touch of the show."

  The third act went on and then "The Spell of the Image" was over. Thecurtain came down on the final curtain call. The orchestra blared as theaudience left the hall while parents and friends trooped onto the stageto congratulate the members of the cast.

  Helen suddenly felt very tired and there was a mist in her eyes, but shebrightened visibly when her mother and Tom, followed by the Stevens,pushed through the crowd. She listened eagerly to their praises and toTom's whole-hearted exclamations over her beauty and charm.

  Then the lights of the stage dimmed. She had had her hour as an actress;she knew she had acquitted herself well. The smell of grease, paint andpowder faded and she was a newspaperwoman again--the editor of the_Herald_.