… I'll recommend you to the Shah of Persia. … Such a broad dame ought to have quite a pull with him. … "
The waiters burst out laughing, while the barmaid banged her metal tray against the counter.
"Wicek!" called someone from the entrance.
"At your service, Mr. Manager."
"Are they all here for the rehearsal?"
"Oh! They'll all be here without fail!" he answered, laughing roguishly.
"Did you notify them? … Did you go to them with the circular?"
"Yes, they all signed it."
"Did you take the play-bill to the director?"
"The director was still behind the scenes: he was lying in bed and gazing at his toes."
"You should have given it to his wife."
"But Mrs. Directress was in the midst of a tussle with her children; it was a little too noisy there."
"You will go with this letter to Comely Street. … Do you know where it is?"
"A few times over, 'She's quite a respectable dame,' as a certain man in the front row said of Miss Nicolette the other day."
"You will take this, wait for an answer, and come right back."
"But Mr. Manager, will I get something for going?"
"Didn't I give you something on account only last night?"
"Oh … only a copper! I spent it for beer and sardines, paid the balance of my rent, gave my shoemaker a deposit for a new pair of shoes, and now I'm dead broke!"
"You're a monkey! Here, take this. … "
"Blessed are the hands that dispense forty-cent pieces!" he cried with a comical grimace, shuffled his shoes, and ran out.
"Set the stage for the rehearsal!" called the manager, seating himself on the veranda.
The members of the company assembled slowly. They greeted each other in silence and scattered over the garden.
"Dobek," called the stage-manager to a tall man who was making straight for the buffet. "You guzzle from morn till night, and at the rehearsals I cannot hear a word you say. … Your prompting isn't worth a bean!"
"Mr. Manager, I had a bad dream that ran something like this: Night … a well … I stumbled and fell into it … I was frozen stiff with fear … I called for help … no help was near … splash! … and I was up to my neck in water. … Brr! … I still feel so cold that nothing will warm me."
"Oh, hang your dreams! You drink from morn till night."
"That's because I can't drink like others: from night till morn.
Brr! I feel so beastly chilled!"
"I'll order some hot tea for you."
"Thank you, I'm quite well Mr. Topolski, and use herbs only when I'm sick. Must, the extracted juice, the constituent of rye, that's the only stuff that is worthy of the complete man that I have the honor to consider myself, Mr. Manager."
The director entered and Dobek went to the bar.
"Did you assign all the roles of Nitouche?" the director asked.
"Not quite," answered Topolski, "those women … there are three candidates for Nitouche."
"Good morning, Mr. Director!" called one of the pillars of the theater, Majkowska, a handsome actress dressed in a light gown, a silken wrap, and a white hat with a big ostrich feather. She was all rosy from a good night's sleep and from an invisible layer of rouge. She had large, dark-blue eyes, full and carmined lips, classical features, and a proud bearing. She played the principle roles.
"Come here a minute, Mr. Director … there is a little matter I would like to speak to you about."
"Always at your service, madame. Perhaps you need some money?" ventured the director with a troubled mien.
"For the present … no. What will you have to drink, Mr.
Director?"
"Ho! Ho! Somebody's blood is going to be shed!" he cried with a comical gesture.
"I asked what will you drink, Mr. Director?"
"Oh, I don't know. I'd take a glass of cognac, but … "
"You're afraid of your wife? She does not appear in Nitouche, does she?"
"No, but … "
"Waiter! Two cognacs and sandwiches. … You will give the role of
Nitouche to Nicolette, will you not, Mr. Director? Please do so, for
I have a good reason for asking it. Remember, Mr. Cabinski, that I
never ask for a thing in vain, and do this for me … "
"That's already the fourth candidate for the part! … God! all that I have to stand because of these women!"
"Which of them wants this part?"
"Well, Kaczkowska, my wife, Mimi, and now, Nicolette. … "
"Waiter! Two more cognacs," she called, rapping on the tray with her glass. "You will give the part to Nicolette, Mr. Director, I know for a certainty that she will not accept it, for with her wooden voice she could dance, but not sing. But you see, Mr. Director, this is the very reason for giving it to her."
"Well … not to mention my own wife, Mimi and Kaczkowska will tear off my head if I do!"
"You'll not lose much by that! I'll explain the matter to them. We will have a splendid farce, for you see that gentleman friend of hers will be present at to-day's rehearsal. Yesterday she boasted to him that you had her in mind when you announced in the papers that the role of Nitouche will be played by the beautiful and dashing Mme. X.X."
Cabinski began to laugh quietly.
"Only don't breathe a word about it. You'll see what will happen. Before him she will pretend to accept the part to show off. Halt will immediately begin to rehearse her and will make a fool of her before everyone. You will then take away her part and give it to whomever you like."
"You women are terrible in your malice."
"Bah, therein lies our strength."
They went out into the garden hall where several members of the company were already waiting for the rehearsal to begin. They sat about on chairs in little groups laughing, joking, telling tales, and complaining while the tuning of the orchestra furnished an accompaniment to the buzz of voices.
On the veranda an increasing number of guests was assembling and the hum of voices, the clatter of plates and the noisy shifting of chairs grew ever louder.
