hesitation, the office where tickets were sold for the evening’s entertainment, inquired, in a low voice, for the manager.
“Who did you wish to see?” inquired the clerk, with some surprise visible in his manner.
The request was repeated.
“The manager? Can’t say whether he’s in or not. You must go to the back entrance and turn to the left. Then knock at the first door.”
Helen looked bewildered.
“Have you been here before?”
“No, sir.”
“Stop a minute, and I will show you, then. I shall close the office directly.”
Helen was very glad of the delay, as it gave her time to assume an outward semblance of calmness.
Mr. Bowers, the manager, was seated in a small room connecting with the stage. He was a man of comfortable proportions, and bore the appearance of one whom the world had used not unkindly. Though, in general, good-tempered, he was, on this particular morning, “out of sorts.” A new play was to be brought out in the evening. The actors had been allowed very little time to “get up” their parts, and, as a natural consequence, the rehearsal of the morning had been, thus far, a series of blunders. In addition to this, the “star” had failed to make his appearance, and the prospect for a successful evening did not look very bright.
Under these circumstances it was not altogether surprising that Mr. Bowers should feel disappointed and irritated.
It was at this inauspicious moment that Helen was ushered into his presence. The manager looked up with visible vexation, serving to add to the embarrassment under which Helen was already laboring.
“Well?” he demanded, in a quick, impatient tone.
Helen felt that it would be a relief if the floor would open and swallow her up, or if she could escape in some other way. The interview, which had seemed comparatively easy in the quiet of her own room, had now become very formidable. She began to wonder at her own presumption in supposing herself capable of pleasing the public with her simple songs, and to feel that Martha’s partiality must have led astray her better judgment.
While these thoughts were passing through her mind, she sat silent, quite unable to frame a sentence. The manager regarded her with surprise, unable to account for her silence.
“What is your business with me?” he inquired, in a tone which indicated that his time was of great consequence, and the sooner he was left to himself the better he should be suited.
Helen understood the tone quite as readily as the words, and, imperative as it was, it assisted in recalling her to herself. She came to the point at once.
“Do you wish to engage any one to sing for you?”
She had said all that was necessary, and then she stopped, half-frightened at her own temerity.
It was the manager’s turn to look surprised. He had not taken the trouble to wonder what the child’s business was. He had only asked as a necessary form, preparatory to dismissing her. He looked more particularly at her now, noticing her childish form and air, and asked, abruptly,—
“Are you inquiring for yourself?”
“Yes, sir.”
She looked up earnestly in his face. Her bonnet had partly fallen back, revealing the rare loveliness of which she was unconscious. She waited breathlessly for the answer.
“Our company is full,” said Mr. Bowers, coldly. He turned again to his desk, and resumed his writing. His manner said, so plainly, “You may go,” that Helen prepared to obey the unspoken but implied direction. Her heart sank within her at this first disappointment. Thoughts of the coming destitution, which she had hoped to ward off by this means, crowded upon her, and she could scarcely keep back the rebellious tears, which, had she been alone would have had free course.
As she passed slowly out, a messenger hurriedly entered the office.
“Well, what now?” asked the manager, somewhat testily. “Any more blunders? It seems as if everything conspired against us. Has – made his appearance?”
“No, sir.”
“And won’t, I’ll be bound. These fellows claim the lion’s share of the profits, and trouble themselves little about the convenience of their employers.”
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