Peggy Goes Straw Hat, by Virginia Hughes: a Project Gutenberg eBook

Eight hours after leaving New York City, the rickety old Pathways Bus lurched to a bouncing halt in a small Adirondack mountain town. Peggy Lane rose from her seat and somewhat shakily managed to collect her handbag, a small suitcase, a hatbox, two coats, and her precious tin make-up kit.

“I wonder if I really look like an actress or more like a walking luggage rack?” she thought excitedly as she stepped down from the bus. The scene that greeted her was breath-taking; Peggy gasped aloud with delight. Before her, Lake Kenabeek lay gleaming like a jewel in the afternoon sun. Pine trees rose everywhere and although it was summer there was a delicious nip and tang in the air. Peggy’s heart raced with eagerness and the familiar nervous anticipation she always felt when approaching something new. She had been hired as resident ingénue for eight wonderful weeks with her first summer stock company. Each week she would be playing a different part, gaining invaluable experience, and learning new phases of life backstage.

“And I got the job all on my own!” Peggy thought exultantly. “Just by reading for the producers! That must mean something—at least, it means that I’m really a professional actress now and don’t have to depend on friends and ‘contacts’ for my work!” She smiled happily, taking a deep breath of the fragrant, pine-scented air.

“Miss Lane?” A voice interrupted Peggy’s thoughts. She turned and saw a spectacled, studious-looking boy about seventeen who was wearing dungarees and a paint-smeared shirt. Offering her a slightly stained hand, he grinned shyly. “Scene paint,” he explained, “but it’s clean.”

Peggy could hardly shake his hand, laden down as she was, and the boy stammered with embarrassment. “Oh, I’m so sorry—I was so busy looking at you, I didn’t notice.” He relieved her of some of her bags, giving her a frankly admiring stare. “You sure look like a good ingénue!”

“Just what I had in mind.” He smiled, taking in Peggy’s trim little figure, dark chestnut hair and fresh, mobile face. “I’m Michael Miller, and I have the jeep waiting to take you to your hotel.”

The jeep had been painted bright blue with an eye-catching sign on the hood. Kenabeek Summer Theater, it proclaimed in large white letters.

“Good advertising,” Michael confided as they deposited Peggy’s bags in the rear. “But then, you’re not bad advertising either!” He nodded in the direction of a few bystanders who were casting curious glances at Peggy. Peggy smiled back at the townspeople, and as she climbed into the front seat, her nervousness unexpectedly dropped away. She was really here at last, she realized, an actress with a season’s contract—and suddenly she felt very professional.

As they drove carefully up the winding mountain road, Peggy discovered that Michael was one of three local boys who were to work as apprentices—helping the scene designer, doing odd chores, and playing small parts when needed. Michael’s father was Howard Miller, a retired theater man, who was to do all the older character parts during the season.

“Oh, I’ve heard of him!” Peggy exclaimed. “He’s supposed to be a wonderful actor, and we’re lucky to have him. You know how hard it is to get good character men for stock. Michael,” she went on eagerly, “do you think the theater will be a success?”

Michael considered a moment. “I don’t honestly know,” he replied thoughtfully. “This is a very small town, and actually we don’t have a large enough population to carry a summer theater all on our own. But one of the ideas behind this venture is to bring in more summer resort business.”

Peggy nodded. She knew that Richard Wallace, one of the two young producers, was a resident of Lake Kenabeek, and wanted to help improve his town—both culturally and financially.

“Of course Richard’s Aunt Hetty is vice-president of the Chamber of Commerce,” Michael continued, “and the Chamber of Commerce put up half the financial backing for the theater. So we do have solid support there. But some people here resisted the idea of a group of actors—you know, they think that actors are a strange, Bohemian breed—” He glanced at Peggy and laughed. “Bohemian, huh! All they need is to take one look at you, or any of the other actors who have come up from New York.”

Peggy smiled gratefully. She knew that a lot of people didn’t realize what honest, hard work the theater could be. But obviously this intelligent young boy had a deep feeling for the profession and knew that an actress’ life wasn’t only curtain calls and bouquets after the performance.

“Yes, we do have a lovely group of people,” Peggy agreed earnestly. She had met most of them in New York during the tryouts and been impressed, not only by their acting ability, but by their responsible and intelligent attitude. “And we have a really good director, wonderful plays, and at least half the town is behind us. That should be enough if we work hard!” she concluded with a twinkle.

Michael turned from the twisting, ribbonlike shore line and drew up in front of a large, old-fashioned, rustic building. “Here we are,” he announced grandly, “Kenabeek Inn! But you’re not in the main building; your company is staying in the annex.”

Peggy followed him around the side of the inn, down a little path fringed with fir trees. In a small clearing, well away from the kitchen noises issuing from the rear of the inn, Peggy saw a tiny, two-story building. There was a roofed-over patio outside with two sofas, some chairs, and a table on which stood a hot plate and stacked cups and saucers. Peggy smiled to herself, recognizing the sure sign of an actors’ residence—coffee, coffee, and more coffee.

Rita Stevens came bursting out of the door, a radiant smile transforming her rather plain features. “Margaret, ‘Peggy’ Lane—Star of Stage, Screen, Radio, Television, and Summer Stock! Welcome!” she cried, running up and giving Peggy a hug.

They grinned at each other happily. “Oh, I’m so glad to see you!” Rita bubbled. “I’ve been positively frantic for some female company around here. We’ve been up for three days and Gus has spent every single minute at the theater—”

Rita was married to Gus Stevens, the scene designer—a lucky combination for the company. Although young, Rita had one of those ageless faces and a maturity which made her a perfect character woman. Peggy had liked her the instant they met at the readings in New York.

“Oh, no, my deah,” Rita intoned in a stagy accent. “No, our leading lady is being flown up in someone’s private plane and isn’t expected until tomorrow morning.” She waved a hand airily, imitating perfectly a prima donna.

“No, Mike,” Peggy said with a laugh, “she’s really quite friendly and nice—and a very good actress. Just a little theatrical, but I’m sure you’ll like her.”

“Well, I hope so,” Michael said, obviously still doubtful. “Look, I’ve got to scoot back to the theater. May I leave your things here, Peggy?”

“Oh, I’ll take them, Mike.” Rita grabbed some of Peggy’s luggage and started up the stairs of the little house. “See you later, Mike.”

“He’s such a sweet kid,” Rita commented as they climbed. “A wonderful help to Gus—I have a feeling Michael may make this business his life work. Here’s where you live, Peggy!”

They stepped into a tiny white room, sparsely furnished with only a day bed, a large bureau, a folding screen, straight chair, and a bedside table.

“The manager of the inn must know something about summer stock companies,” Rita observed ruefully. “Obviously he has a good idea of just how much time we’ll be spending in our rooms.”

Peggy looked at her questioningly and Rita laughed. “It’s your first season, I know—but just you wait and see!”

“My trunk!” Peggy interrupted with a sudden disturbing thought. “I sent it ahead by Railway Express. Hasn’t it come?”

“Right here, madame.” Rita folded back the screen and revealed Peggy’s large, black wardrobe trunk, which was somewhat dented and worn, parts of old labels still sticking to it here and there. “You know, for a girl who hasn’t done stock before, or been on the road, this trunk is really strange. What did you do?” she asked with a teasing smile. “Stick on labels, and tear them off, and then jump up and down on it wielding a hammer?”

Peggy hooted. “Rita Stevens, you have a very suspicious mind! I want you to know that this trunk belonged to a friend of my father’s—a wonderful woman who was in the theater years ago.” Peggy’s face softened wistfully. “And I imagine that this battered old trunk has seen more drama—on stage and off—than we can even imagine.”

The girls looked at it thoughtfully, a picture of the old, romantic days of the theater—great plays, great producers, great stars—all the golden history of the stage firing their imagination.

Peggy broke the spell, “Well, anyway, May Berriman gave it to me. She runs the rooming house where I live in New York, you know. And believe me, I’m grateful! Besides needing a trunk, I think of it as a symbol of good luck. Some time soon, Rita, would you mind taking a look at my wardrobe? I think I brought enough, but I’d like to be sure.”

“I’d love to,” Rita said. “But now let me show you where everything is in our little annex, and then you’d better rest awhile. I’m sure you’re tired, and we have a company call tonight.”

Alison Lord would be in the room across the hall from Peggy. Rita and Gus were also upstairs, on the opposite side of the house. Danny Dunn, Chris Hill and Chuck Crosby, the director, were all downstairs. The patio was community property for coffee, line rehearsals, and just plain relaxation. It seemed like a good arrangement. Rita showed Peggy where she could shower and freshen up and said she would call her in time for dinner.

But Peggy was too keyed up to take a real nap. She sat on the edge of her bed, thinking of all the steps that had led her here, to this place, at this time. Her love of acting, the school plays, the productions in college, coming to New York, the long, hard work at the Dramatic Academy and in the Penthouse Theater. She was grateful for a private room where she could be quiet and think.

She remembered her home town of Rockport, Wisconsin, and suddenly had a vision of that other gay little bedroom where she had often sat quietly and thought—much as she was doing now. She remembered her mother’s kind, attractive face and her encouragement and understanding. Her father, too, would be glad to hear of this job, Peggy thought, and would probably run an article about her in his paper, the Rockport Eagle. She smiled, visualizing the headline—Local Girl Signed in New York—or something like that. Thomas Lane was a good newspaper man and would try to “hook” them with the headline. Nothing so simple as Local Girl Makes Good.

Peggy promised herself to write them good long letters as soon as possible. And she should write to May Berriman, and to her housemate in New York, Amy Preston. Well, there was a lot to do—and a lot ahead. Peggy sighed and opened a suitcase to change into something fresh for the evening.

After dinner, Peggy, Rita, and her young husband, Gus, walked up the road to the theater. Gus had joined them for dinner in the little roadside restaurant where the cast had made arrangements for meals at a percentage off the regular cost.

“Mrs. Brady, who runs the place, is anxious to do all she can for the theater,” Rita explained.

“To say nothing of the extra customers she hopes to attract by having real actors in her dining room,” Gus added. “Not that I’m a candidate for glamour, you understand—”

The girls laughed. Gus had hastily donned a clean shirt and a fresh pair of blue jeans, but the unmistakable signs of sheer hard work still showed on his pleasant, tanned face.

Rita squeezed his hand affectionately as they hurried up the road. “I do wish you’d let up a little,” she said. “After all, we do have nine days before opening.”

“And it’s going to take every minute!” Gus nodded emphatically. “You haven’t seen the auditorium yet, have you, Peggy?”

“No, I haven’t. You know,” Peggy confessed, “I was really disappointed when I learned that we were playing in the high school. I had visions of a rustic barn with candlelight, bats in the wings and mice for rehearsals—”

“There is one.” Gus chuckled warmly. “Aunt Hetty has a barn that we can remodel next summer if this season is a success. But we couldn’t afford to do it this year. It’s better to rent the school and see what happens. If it bothers you, Peggy,” he added, looking at her with amusement, “hold on to the thought that we’re helping education! We are, too. The school needs the money.”

The front doors of the school auditorium faced the highway. A large sign for the theater gleamed brightly under the floodlights that played on it. “It’s never too early to advertise,” Gus observed as they walked to the back of the building.

Entering the stage door, they came through the wings and walked out on a dark stage, only a single worklight throwing a white circle on the bare boards. The heavy drapes were pulled back, framing the empty house, the vacant seats ghostlike in the silence.

Gus and Rita roared. “We just thought you’d like to see the stage, Peggy,” Gus laughed.

“You didn’t think we were going to rehearse tonight, did you?” Rita teased, and then took Peggy’s hand. “Come on, dear, we’re only kidding. Everybody’s down here.”

They crossed the stage, descended some stairs, and entered a door that led directly into the school gym. “Here’s our ingénue,” Rita called as she ushered Peggy in, “ready to work!”

Peggy blinked, coming into the sudden light and busy scene. The gym was bright as daytime. A huge canvas ground cloth covered the floor and several people knelt, beside cans, buckets, and paintbrushes, over the scenery flats that were strewn from one end of the gym to the other. Peggy had difficulty recognizing anyone. They were all spotted and paint-smeared, in a variety of strange work clothes.

“Hi!” someone called, raising a hand with a dripping brush. Peggy peered intently at the slight figure and dark hair, and recognized Chuck Crosby, their intense young director. “Get to work,” he ordered with a smile and went back to his painting.

A well-built young man with a heavy mass of light-brown hair rose with his can and beckoned to her. Peggy picked her way through buckets and flats, following him.

“Danny Dunn!” she said with a shock of surprise. “How on earth am I supposed to know you under that disguise?” Danny was to do juvenile and some character parts for the company. Now he looked like a clown as he smiled at her with a paint-dotted mouth.

“Tomorrow is another day!” he quoted dramatically. “Tomorrow and tomorrow—I can hardly wait! By the way, sorry I couldn’t join you all for dinner, but I just had a sandwich here. Tell me everything tomorrow—if I’m still alive.” He made a face, “Here, ingénue, fill a can.”

In a clear corner near the wall, Michael Miller sat hunched over a hot plate with a bubbling pot of melting glue. He looked like an ancient alchemist as he stirred and poured, mixing paint, whiting, and glue into large buckets.

“The white cliffs of Dover,” Michael muttered romantically, taking a bag of powdered chalk and measuring it into his caldron.

“Sure, double, double, and all that,” Danny replied, nodding kindly. “Well, just keep steady, old chap, we’re all a little tired tonight.”

“It really is the white cliffs of Dover,” Michael protested as Danny walked away. “For the ground coat,” he added, peering up at Peggy through his steaming glasses. “Here, have fun.” He waved her away.

For the next four hours Peggy knelt on her hands and knees, laboriously painting flats. These were frames of white pine, over which was stretched unbleached muslin, like a painter’s canvas. They had already been sized with a solution of glue and water until they were drum-tight. Over the ground coat that Peggy was painting, Gus would design wallpaper for interiors, fireplaces, outdoor scenes. Peggy’s back ached as she worked silently. No one said a word.

“A funny way to begin,” thought Peggy, sighing. She had expected a line reading, even some work on stage. “And Chuck hardly said how-do-you-do, and I don’t know half the people here.” She glanced around, guessing that the young boys must be Michael Miller’s friends, and that older man by the other wall his father, Howard Miller. He noticed Peggy looking at him and smiled.

“Well,” Peggy decided, acknowledging him with a sigh, “if a man his age thinks nothing of working like this until all hours of the night, I guess I can do it too!” She worked on with renewed energy. By the time all the flats were finished, it was after midnight.

“Rehearsal promptly at nine o’clock in the morning,” Chuck announced crisply as they cleaned up and prepared to go home.

“Heavens to Betsy!” Peggy thought wearily as she lay in her bed, her back aching, muscles jumping from the unaccustomed effort. “Now I know why everyone was so quiet. They’d been at it all day—and I feel like this after only a few hours!” Her head spun dizzily as she closed her eyes. “Well, I’m part of a company,” she mused dreamily, “and that’s what counts. Even if I don’t like the parts I’m given—even if I have to do other things than act.” Plays and parts and costumes danced before her like a mirage. “I guess this is summer stock, all right!” she thought as she fell asleep.

II
A Serious Complication

“Not quite so serious, Peggy.” Chuck Crosby pulled on a lock of his straight, black hair as he listened to her read. “If you don’t have a slight tongue-in-cheek attitude, it’s not going to be funny. She is an earnest young girl, but it’s got to be exaggerated in a comic way.”

Peggy tried again. “Dad, I’m disappointed in you,” she read. “The world’s on fire and you’re occupied with a cigarette lighter!”

“Thank you,” Howard Miller answered dryly. He was reading the part of Peggy’s father in their opening show, Dear Ruth.

The cast was having its first line rehearsal on the sunny patio of the annex. Peggy had awakened excitedly with the expectation of working on stage, only to find that the company would be at the annex all day. She had wondered, in a resigned way, if she would ever see the stage at all. But now, as they progressed to the second scene of Act One, her disappointment was forgotten. She was concentrating on her part of Miriam, “Dear Ruth’s” younger sister.

“We can use you,” Peggy read on, addressing her father. “We can use anybody we can get!” She read the last line in a hopeless, adolescent fashion, timing it carefully, and the cast spontaneously laughed.

A pretty local girl, Mary Hopkins, who was playing the part of the maid, Dora, didn’t come in on her cue. Everyone looked at her as she nervously rattled her papers, looking quite lost.

“That’s your cue, Mary,” Chuck said patiently. “Miriam says, ‘We can use anybody we can get,’ and you enter.”

“Right here.” Rita was sitting beside her and pointed it out. “Anybody we can get.”

“We’re using sides, Mary,” Chuck said kindly. They were half sheets of paper bound like a small pamphlet. “I have the master script here with the whole play, but you’ll find only about four or five words of the preceding speech printed on your sides. You can fill in the other words if you find it easier.”

Peggy gave Mary an understanding smile. She had been busy writing in speeches herself, as she found the short sides difficult to work from. Peggy liked to think of the play as a whole, but she knew that some actors worked better from short cue lines, and that for stock, with so many different parts to learn each week, sides were often faster.

Rita read the part of the mother with assurance and humor. She made a perfect partner for Howard Miller, and one could tell that she was used to this type of part. Miriam made her exit, and then Ruth appeared for a short scene with her father and mother. Before her next cue, Peggy had time to examine, with a certain fascination, their leading lady.

Alison Lord had arrived that morning, making a grand and breathless entrance at exactly nine A.M. Her luggage was still stacked in the patio, and peering at it, Peggy raised her eyebrows. “And I thought I had a lot!” She wondered how many costumes Alison expected to wear on stage, but judging by the stunning outfit she was wearing for rehearsal, Alison must intend to dress as glamorously off stage as on. Her bright auburn hair was caught up under an eye-catching sun hat of fringed red straw. The color exactly matched the sleeveless blouse she wore over a beautiful pair of beige, basket-weave slacks. With her enormous straw bag, gay sandals, and dark glasses, she looked like a visiting star. And a really beautiful girl underneath all that, Peggy thought, noticing the careful make-up that enhanced Alison’s features.

Peggy glanced down at her simple, peasant skirt and blouse. It was pretty, but hardly spectacular like Alison’s attire. For a moment she wished that she had thought of bringing more colorful everyday clothes—was it good advertising for the theater perhaps?—but then she laughed at herself. “You’re just a little bit envious, Peggy Lane, and you know it! Now just forget about clothes, and tend to your knitting!”

Her cue came, and she jumped back into her part with gusto, really enjoying it now that she had caught the flavor of Miriam. She found that playing with Alison was fun. She was even better than Peggy remembered. She had a certain awareness of herself, a special “here I am” quality that would make an audience notice her. She wasn’t a very deep actress, but she had poise and presence and moved the play along.

Chuck was pleased with the reading. He looked at his watch and called a break. “Take five. Chris ought to be here any minute, and there’s no point in going on now without him.”

The cast paused for coffee, waiting for their leading man to arrive. Chris Hill, who was to play the part of Bill opposite Alison in Dear Ruth, was the only cast member Peggy hadn’t met. He had been held up in New York with a last-minute television show, and was due on the ten-thirty bus.

“What’s he like?” Peggy asked Rita as she broke off a piece of doughnut to share with her. The cast kept snacks in an old-fashioned icebox on the patio.

“Oh, he’s lovely!” Rita grinned mischievously. “He’s quite tall and very blond, tanned and terribly handsome, blue eyes, a great smile, romantic—”

“Really! He’s all that, hm?” Peggy teased back. “Well, all I want to know is, can he act?”

“He certainly can. I’ve worked with him before—” Rita looked at Peggy curiously. “It will be very interesting to see your reaction to Chris. It’s a shame that you didn’t have a chance to meet him before and more or less prepare yourself.”

“Oh, Rita!” Peggy exclaimed, shaking her head in protest. She didn’t know what a picture she was with the sunlight striking her dark hair and framing her pretty face. Rita watched her, noticing the fine, high cheekbones, straight nose, and soft, wide mouth.

“You really have a captivating quality, Peggy,” Rita said thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Chris Hill is quite taken with you.”

“With me?” Peggy blurted in astonishment. “Oh, Rita, I haven’t even met him yet, and anyway,” she added, “I’m not really interested in anyone.” She was remembering Randy Brewster in New York, and all the fun they’d had together in dramatic school and in the off-Broadway production they’d been involved in. Kind, steady Randy, with the marvelous sense of humor. It would have to be somebody quite wonderful to share the special place that Randy occupied in Peggy’s thoughts. “Why, there’s no time for romance here, Rita,” she said. “We’re all too busy. And besides, I should think Alison would be more his type.”

“Um-hm. Maybe,” Rita interrupted rather mysteriously and nudged Peggy. “You’ll soon have a chance to find out.”

Following her glance, Peggy looked up the little path and saw Chris Hill, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, hurrying down with long, energetic strides. His appearance was certainly everything Rita had said and more. She glanced at Rita, her eyes wide, and Rita returned a bland “I-told-you-so” expression.

Chris ran the last few yards, dumped his bag carelessly on the patio, and with a wide, completely engaging smile, announced, “Reporting for duty—on the dot, I hope!” He shook Chuck’s hand. “Svengali, how are you? You picked a beautiful spot—it’s just great. Alison!” He leaned over her chair, planting an audible kiss on her cheek. Peggy’s eyes popped.

“Darling!” Alison replied extravagantly. “What kept you so long? Did you come up by dogcart?”

Chris noticed Rita and ran over, swooping her up in a big bear hug and giving her a kiss, too. “My favorite actress!” he laughed, standing back and looking at her with delight. “And where’s her favorite husband? Don’t tell me—he’s up to his ears in flats! When do I see him? Don’t tell me—probably never!”

Rita laughed. “Such energy, Chris! How do you do it after all night on a bus? Chris, here’s someone you haven’t met—our ingénue, Peggy Lane. Star of Stage, Screen, Radio—”

“Television and Summer Stock!” Chris finished for her. “Don’t mind us, Peggy, it’s an old joke from another summer company. Well!”

He stopped and Peggy couldn’t tell whether he was pausing for breath or from the interest in her which his look seemed to indicate.

“Well!” he said again, and there was something in his voice that caused an unexpected flurry in Peggy’s emotions.

“Hello,” Peggy said tremulously. She would never know what his next words might have been, because just then Chuck interrupted with a call to resume the reading.

The company sat down again, and Peggy forgot Chris Hill, the young man, as she listened to Chris Hill, the actor. He read the part of Bill with so much energy and interest one would think he had just returned from a long vacation instead of a grueling bus trip. He was a good actor, Peggy thought. He brought a special kind of magic to the play, and as they finished the first act, Peggy had a sudden feeling that Dear Ruth would be a hit. Chuck couldn’t have chosen a better opening bill for the cast. It was perfect for their company, and she looked at him with renewed respect.

After lunch the furniture was rearranged on the patio as it would be on stage. Chuck wanted to block the first act. Pencils in hand, they busily scribbled on their sides, marking movements as Chuck directed them. He had blocked the play in advance, but it was still a long process, as, with the actors in front of him, he saw many necessary changes.

Mary Hopkins had to be told that Stage Right was her right, and not the right of the audience. She caught on quickly, though, and very soon Peggy noticed that she was lightly penciling in initials—C.U.L. and D.R., instead of writing out “Cross Up Left” and “Down Right.”

Danny Dunn was enjoying himself enormously. He had the part of Albert, a stuffy, amusing character who is engaged to Ruth before Bill captures her heart. Peggy was struck by this boy’s amazing versatility. She had read with him in New York and knew how well he did juvenile parts. Yet, here he was, playing a slightly older man and doing a perfectly wonderful job. Danny had a face almost like putty; he could do anything with it he wished, and Peggy realized that here was a true actor—who would never be typed, who could play anything he was given.

“Hello, Mother. Hello, Dad.” Danny made his entrance, and Peggy stifled a laugh. He was really very funny.

They finished the second scene of Act One and Chuck called, “Curtain!” There was a sound of hands clapping, and a voice said, “Bravo!” Peggy looked around. She had been so engrossed in her work that she hadn’t noticed Richard Wallace standing near the patio, looking on. Beside him stood a tall, white-haired woman with strong, craggy features, and sparkling blue eyes framed by a network of tiny lines.

“What a wonderful face!” Peggy exclaimed to herself, realizing that this must be the famous Aunt Hetty.

“Bravo!” Richard repeated in a deep voice. He was a large young man, mature for his age, with the same observant blue eyes as his aunt.

“It’s a pity to think that all this work may go to waste,” he said bitterly, coming on to their outdoor stage.

There was a stunned silence. Peggy didn’t know what to think—was this Richard’s way of kidding? Chuck got up to give Aunt Hetty a seat, and plunking herself down heavily, she stated matter-of-factly, “You’re all so good—so much better than I expected—I’ll hate to see you go!”

The cast looked blank. Chuck was struck dumb for a moment, and then he suddenly exploded. “What are you talking about? We’re having a rehearsal here and this is not the time for idiotic jokes!” He looked at Aunt Hetty and controlled himself. “Excuse me, but really, Richard knows better than to interrupt us like this.”

“It’s no joke, young man,” Aunt Hetty said bluntly. “Richard, tell them all about it.” She peered closely at Chuck. “And you ought to know better, Mr. Crosby, than to think we’d intrude for anything less than a very good reason!”

“My!” Peggy thought. “It certainly isn’t wise to cross Aunt Hetty. She’s a stubborn old girl. No wonder she got all that backing from the Chamber of Commerce—they could hardly say no.”

“I imagine you haven’t seen this,” Richard said, holding up a newspaper so the cast could see the front page.

The Kenabeek Gazette, Peggy read on the masthead, and right underneath was a headline: Theater In School Illegal.

“I hate to bring you bad news,” Richard said as the cast gathered around, “but the man who was responsible for this may be right.”

Peggy looked at the bottom of the column and saw that it was signed “Ford Birmingham.”

“No, that’s just the man who wrote it,” Richard said, noticing Peggy’s glance. “Ford Birmingham covers art, music, theater, and local features for the paper—he’s supposed to write our reviews, too. But the man behind this article is either Max Slade or his brother William—or both. The Slade brothers run the local movie house and they’ve opposed this theater from the beginning, thinking it will affect their business—”

“But it shouldn’t.” Peggy couldn’t help interrupting, and Richard agreed with her.

“No, of course, it shouldn’t. Our theater could even help their business by exposing more people to entertainment and thereby drawing them to the movies, too. However, the Slade brothers don’t see it that way.”

“The Slade brothers don’t see much of anything at all,” commented Aunt Hetty brusquely. “Not even their own movies, from what I gather. If they used better judgment in selecting films, they might have better business.”

“Why, I’ve known Max Slade for years,” said Howard Miller, coming over to Aunt Hetty. “I realized that he didn’t exactly approve of the summer theater, but what’s all this about our not being legal?” He ran a hand through his handsome, graying hair, frowning.

“Read it and weep, Howard,” Aunt Hetty responded. “Apparently they’ve found a loophole.”

“The article claims that a high school cannot legally be used by a profit-making organization such as a summer theater,” Richard explained.

“Sure, but the Slade brothers aren’t concerned about the school,” Richard continued. “They’re thinking of themselves and are willing to use any means to get us out of town. This article says that we will be taken to court if we don’t suspend our operation.”

“Can they?” asked Chris Hill. “I mean, wouldn’t the case be thrown out?”

“No,” Richard answered seriously, “I don’t think it would be thrown out, because there’s a chance—a good chance—that they’re right!”

“Marvelous!” Alison Lord exclaimed ironically. “Just wonderful! And I guess we’re just supposed to sit here and take it!”

“No, why should we?” Peggy rushed in with a sudden thought. “Why can’t we stop the case before it even gets to court?”

“Right!” Richard smiled at her. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do, Peggy. I’m flying up to Albany tonight to see the commissioner of education. But,” he said earnestly, “his decision may go against us, and you’ll all have to be prepared for that. That’s really why I’m here. If we can’t play in the school, we can’t play at all this year. I want to know if you’re willing to go on rehearsing on the slight chance that we’ll be able to open. I’ll probably be gone for several days, and you may be working for nothing. It’s up to you.”

Mary Hopkins’ little voice trailed on after everyone else’s, “... and besides all the boxes of crackerjack, I see that the script calls for dozens of bunches of lilacs. I may be able to make them for you”—she faltered, a little embarrassed—“I—I’m kind of good with my hands.”

Everyone applauded, and Aunt Hetty came over to give her a hug. “Good girl, Mary. You sound like the other professionals.” She beamed at the cast, displaying an unexpected warmth, and then, as if remembering a role, barked gruffly, “Back to work, then!”

“Why, she’s really soft and sentimental under that brusque exterior,” Peggy thought, watching Aunt Hetty walk stiffly away. “She’s in love with this theater and it would break her heart to see it fold.”

Everyone wished Richard luck in the state capital as he walked away toward the interview that meant everything to this little group of actors.

Chuck Crosby turned to face them, and with a resolute look that reflected the feelings of all, he firmly called, “Places!”

III
A Broadcast

The next few days were almost a mirage of feverish activity. Never had Peggy worked so hard! Rehearsals morning and afternoon, helping Gus with the scenery at night, and always, in back of everyone’s mind, the big question—would the theater open at all?

“What do you think, Rita?” Peggy asked late one night when the two exhausted girls returned to her room. They had stayed late at the theater helping Gus, for tomorrow with the set finally up, the cast would have its first rehearsal on stage.

“I think we’re going to open!” Rita answered hopefully. “At least I’m working with that idea. It is disturbing not to hear from Richard again, though.”

Richard had wired the company from Albany the disquieting news that the commissioner of education was off on a fishing trip and could not be reached. Now, on top of everything else, a new problem—would the commissioner return in time? And if he did, would Richard be able to persuade him to come to a favorable decision? It was already Sunday, and Dear Ruth was scheduled to open Thursday.

Thinking of all this, Peggy sighed loudly, unconsciously repeating the heavy stage sigh she used in the play.

“All right, Miriam,” Rita laughed, “better be quiet or you’ll wake our leading lady!”

Alison had returned to the annex early after rehearsal, saying that it was about time she had some sleep.

“I do think she might have stayed to help, too,” Peggy whispered indignantly. “After all, we’re all in this together, and I’m sure we’re all equally tired. Gus needed the help—he’s still up there, for goodness sake!”

“Well,” Rita said, “that’s Alison. And maybe she didn’t realize how much was involved here.”

“Then why did she come?” Peggy persisted. “She must have known beforehand that she’d be asked to do other things besides act.”

“Oh, a good company to work with, I suppose, and a good director and parts that she wanted to play. Maybe she’s interested in the leading man!” Rita laughed softly. “If there’s another reason, I’m sure I don’t know it. Peggy,” she added eagerly, “while we’re here, why don’t I take a look at your wardrobe? Unless you’re ready for bed—”

“I couldn’t sleep right now on a bed of down!” Peggy agreed enthusiastically as she opened her trunk. “I’m too tired, and it always takes me awhile to wind down. Gosh! I wonder if I’ll really be using all these things!”

The trunk stood flat against the wall, rather like a second bureau, with drawers on one side and hangers on the other. “I tried to think of everything,” Peggy said. “If we don’t open, this certainly will be a monument to wasted effort!”

The girls worked quickly through Peggy’s wardrobe. She had tried to bring an average of three changes apiece for eight different plays, knowing that summer audiences don’t like to see actresses wearing the same thing twice. Besides appearing in a different costume each time, Peggy had to think of the seasons of the plays and be prepared to dress appropriately for spring, summer, fall, and winter.

Suits, dresses, jumpers, skirts, evening gowns, housecoats, sweaters, blouses, shoes, hats, coats, aprons, scarfs! Rita exclaimed, “My! If there’s anything you haven’t remembered, Peggy, I’d like to know what it is. You’re beautifully prepared. It looks as if I might be borrowing from you! And this would look lovely on Alison.” She lifted a silver-sequined jacket from a bed of tissue paper. “I can just see her in it, making a spectacular entrance!”

“Why, I’d be glad to lend it to her,” Peggy said. “I borrowed it myself. But is that done?” She was surprised. “I mean, we all do borrow from each other at the Gramercy Arms—my home in New York. In fact, that’s how I managed this wardrobe. I just couldn’t have done it without help. But somehow, well,” she confessed, “I didn’t think it would be very professional in stock.”

“Pooh,” Rita chuckled. “Nobody ever has all the things she needs in stock, Peggy. We all borrow from each other.”

“I doubt if Alison will want anything, anyway,” Peggy said, reflecting on the piles of luggage Alison had brought. “Oh, Rita, here we are, talking as if the theater will actually open, and for all we know, Thursday night may come and we’ll all be on the bus going back to New York!”

She sank dejectedly on her bed while Rita carefully folded the little jacket. “We might be,” Rita conceded cheerfully, “but I don’t think we will! You’re forgetting your trunk, Peggy. Remember? Your symbol of good luck!” She patted it with a smile as she left the room, leaving Peggy some of her contagious optimism.

On stage at last! Peggy could hardly believe it. She ran lightly up the steps from the auditorium floor, crossed the stage, tried each piece of furniture, moving back and forth—

“What on earth are you doing?” Alison called from the front row where she was seated, holding a coffee container while she waited for rehearsal to begin.

“Getting the feel of the set,” Peggy called happily as she ran to the stairs up left, crossed down right, and exited. “Where’s the prop phone?” she asked, reappearing from the wings.

“Michael’s out getting props,” Gus answered, coming on stage with a paintbrush to put the finishing touches on the banister.

Peggy ran down to the auditorium floor again, walked up the aisle, and stood looking at the stage. Gus had done a beautiful job, she realized with a thrill. For their opening show an effective set was important, and Gus had transformed the flats with a miracle of paint and imagination. The room was so realistic that Peggy felt she could touch the molding on the walls.

“You’d think you never saw a stage before in your life,” Alison commented lazily, getting up and stretching.

“I feel like this every time,” Peggy said. “There’s something absolutely magical about a good set—like moving into a brand-new home. I love it!”

“Well, let’s just hope it will be home for a week,” Alison remarked. “Personally, I have my doubts.”

“Act One,” Chuck called, and the cast scrambled for the wings. “Places.”

At noon, Aunt Hetty presented herself at the theater and asked for two people to do a radio interview at the station in Merion Falls about twenty miles away.

“Anybody,” she said briskly, “as long as they’re part of the resident company. John Hamilton wants people from New York—and we’ll be gone all afternoon, Chuck, so give me someone you don’t need.”

“I need everybody,” Chuck said with a laugh, “but advertising is important too, so—let’s see.” He looked around at the cast. “Peggy, you’ll go—I need the rest of the family and Albert, but there should be a man along, too—Chris! Your scenes with Ruth are going well—I won’t need you today. Go along with Peggy.”

“Have fun, you lucky people,” Danny called after them. “This may be your first and last day off!”

“And don’t let on that there’s any doubt about opening!” Chuck reminded Chris and Peggy. “Tell them we’re doing fine!”

“Just fine!” Alison echoed, smiling grimly. Looking back at her, Peggy realized with sudden surprise that Alison wanted to go too! Why? Peggy wondered. Surely she didn’t think a local radio show was that important to her career? And then Peggy recalled what Rita had said. She looked curiously at Chris as he walked along beside her to Aunt Hetty’s car. Maybe Rita was right and Alison was interested in the leading man! Oh, well, it wasn’t any of her business, anyway, Peggy told herself as she got into the car.

“Sorry to take you off like this so suddenly,” Aunt Hetty was saying, “but it’s quite important. I promised Richard to get in as much advertising as I could while he’s gone, and John Hamilton requested this interview on the spur of the moment.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. I imagine he’ll just want you to talk about what you’ve done in the theater—personal stuff. Now you two hush and don’t bother me with questions. I like to keep my mind on the road!”

Peggy and Chris exchanged amused glances. Aunt Hetty drove as carefully and slowly as if she were on eggshells. Peggy could see why they would indeed be all day getting to Merion Falls and she sat back with resignation to enjoy the scenery. Chris winced as he watched Aunt Hetty at the wheel, holding it so tightly with both hands that her knuckles were actually white. He was itching to drive himself, and Peggy smiled as she watched his inner struggle—whether or not to ask. Aunt Hetty won. Looking at her determined shoulders from the back seat, he evidently decided that she would never relinquish the wheel. Chris sighed in defeat and slumped back. As he met Peggy’s twinkling eyes, they both had to cover their laughter.

A good while later, when they finally reached Merion Falls, there was barely time to find the radio station and John Hamilton’s studio. Aunt Hetty plumped herself down in the booth with the engineer, and Peggy and Chris took seats at a little table with Mr. Hamilton and a microphone.

Looking at the large clock over the booth, Mr. Hamilton shook his head. “Four minutes to go,” he said anxiously. “I wish we had more time to prepare, but this will have to do. I’ll just ask you both about your background, and then you can plug your theater all you like. We want to hear about your players and something about the plays if there’s time—”

“Can I hear some voices?” the engineer’s voice interrupted him from the booth.

Peggy and Chris spoke into the microphone while the engineer tested sound. “Okay. Fine,” he said. “One minute—” They watched his hand, held up in the air while the minute hand of the clock made a full circle, and then he brought his arm down sharply.

“Good afternoon. This is John Hamilton again, with another interview of interest for residents of the lake area—”

Peggy was impressed, listening to this suave young man and the competent way he handled himself at the microphone. She felt a beginning, just a twinge, of mike fright, but then Mr. Hamilton introduced her, and as she said a few words, Peggy felt easier. As the interview went on, she was fascinated to hear details of Chris Hill’s background that she hadn’t known.

“Then you’ve really been a professional actor for only two years or so?” Mr. Hamilton was asking Chris.

“Yes, since I was discharged from the Army—but before that, of course, I did a lot of work in college and little theaters—and in the Army I was attached to Special Services overseas.”

“Partly, but my main job was ferreting out good civilian actors to work with us—to bring about a better feeling between the local population and the Army.”

John Hamilton laughed. “Sounds as if you were doing shows in two languages—”

“Oh, no,” Chris said easily. “They had to be English-speaking, of course. It was a wonderful experience all around, but then I was in a skiing accident in Bavaria. Broke my leg. That finished both the job and the Army for me, and I came straight to New York.”

Mr. Hamilton handled the questions and conversation so skillfully that soon Peggy and Chris almost forgot this was a radio interview. They spoke about theater and sketched the plot of Dear Ruth, talking up Alison Lord as the star of the show.

“And the idea behind this theater, as I understand it,” Mr. Hamilton said, “is to attract more visitors to our area, isn’t that right?”

“Then certainly it should be a good thing for Lake Kenabeek,” Mr. Hamilton went on, “and I want to wish you a lot of luck. But I’ve heard a rumor recently that you two might set straight while we have the opportunity here. People are saying that you are operating illegally in the high school—”

“—and that you may not be able to open at all!” he continued. “Now, what about this rumor? I’m sure our listening audience would like to hear.” He sat back and looked at them—“as if we were two fish on a hook,” Peggy thought, aghast at his question.

In the booth, Aunt Hetty had turned beet red and looked as though she might explode. Chris’s mouth tightened and Peggy found that she was becoming angrier by the moment. Of all the dirty tricks—John Hamilton asking them here to “plug” their theater, and then bringing out this issue! But Peggy had had enough experience with her father’s newspaper to know how newsmen operated—and she knew how to counter. Before Chris had a chance to reply, and in the face of Aunt Hetty gesturing frantically from the booth to say nothing, Peggy lashed back.

“Oh, yes,” she said quite calmly. “We saw that little piece in the paper. Rather childish, wasn’t it? Do you know that if we weren’t renting the auditorium the high school wouldn’t make a penny this summer? I’m sure you’ve heard of the great need for a new science lab. By the way,” she went on in a new vein, “I wouldn’t be surprised if you could help raise funds for the school, too—with your radio program. I’m sure people would be glad to donate to a cause like that!”

It was John Hamilton’s turn to flush, which he did, as they looked at each other like two sparring partners in a contest. Ignoring Peggy’s thrust, he came back firmly to the question. “Is it true that the theater may not open at all?”

In the booth, Peggy could see the engineer signaling thirty seconds to go. If she hesitated, a lot of potential theatergoers might tune out this program thinking of the Kenabeek Summer Theater as a myth, as a good idea that failed. She couldn’t lie, but perhaps there was another way. She thought quickly, and her pretty voice sounded young and gay as it traveled through the microphone.

“The theater is scheduled to open this Thursday night, curtain at eight-forty, for Dear Ruth. We’ll be looking forward to seeing you, Mr. Hamilton, and we hope your listening audience will be there, too.”

Peggy had timed her speech carefully, and Mr. Hamilton had barely time to say, “This is John Hamilton, good day.” The red light blinked off, and they were off the air!

John Hamilton took out a handkerchief and wiped his brow. Then he looked at Peggy, laughed good-naturedly, and shook her hand. “You were a charming guest! And a tough opponent! But you win, I won’t say another word about your theater until you do open—and then I’d like to have you both back.” He shook Chris’s hand. “I know you were angry, but that’s the news business. Sorry. I’ll be there for your opening if I can make it.”

Aunt Hetty looked grimly at Peggy as they walked out the studio door. “I hope you knew what you were doing, young lady,” she said under her breath. “You shouldn’t have said a thing! If we don’t open, you’ll have made a laughingstock of my nephew’s name and mine—to say nothing of the theater!”

Aunt Hetty drove back in a silence so thick that Peggy and Chris didn’t have the courage to break it. Peggy felt acutely miserable. Had she done wrong? She leaned over to Chris and whispered, “What else could I do? But maybe she’s right. Maybe I should have let you speak instead. Now I’ve probably messed everything up!”

“But I would have said the same thing!” Chris whispered back. “I was mad!” He nodded at Peggy warmly, and she smiled back. She liked Chris Hill, there was no question about that. He was impulsive, but wonderfully kind and engaging.

Aunt Hetty dropped them off in front of the high school and was about to drive away when Danny Dunn came racing out of the stage door.

“Wait a minute!” he yelled, tearing over to the car and waving a piece of paper in the air. “We opened it,” he panted, handing Aunt Hetty the telegram. “It’s to you and all of us, but we couldn’t wait. Where’s that brilliant girl!” He gave Peggy a tremendous pat on the back. “We listened to you—and we nearly had heart failure when he pinned you down. There wasn’t time to call you at the studio, but—”

“I suppose I owe you an apology,” Aunt Hetty interrupted, handing the telegram to Peggy, “but I still think you were taking a terrible chance. Terrible,” she repeated, but her eyes were twinkling.

“Oh, thank goodness!” Peggy cried. She could have almost wept with relief, but Danny’s excitement affected them all, and instead of tears there were hugs and handshakes and Danny pulling Peggy back to the theater to display “the most intelligent girl who ever graced a stock company!”

“Have everybody come to my house after rehearsal,” Aunt Hetty called. “We’ll celebrate the good news. That’s a nice girl,” she remarked to Chris, who was still standing by the car. “Even if she is a little hasty. Not that you wouldn’t have said the same thing.”

Startled, Chris stared at Aunt Hetty, who gave him an understanding smile. Even in a whisper, it seemed, there was very little that Aunt Hetty missed.

IV
A Favorable Decision

When Richard returned from Albany the next day he couldn’t find enough words to praise Peggy for what she had said on the radio.

“But your aunt was upset,” Peggy exclaimed, “and she might have been right! Just suppose we couldn’t have opened—”

“It wouldn’t have made a bit of difference,” Richard said. “But if you had said we might not open, think of all the audience we would have lost!”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking of,” Peggy declared happily. “That’s why I went ahead.”

Richard called the cast together on stage to tell them what had happened in Albany. “I got panicky when I heard that the commissioner was out of town—almost decided to hire a guide and try to trail him in the woods! But then he sent a wire from some little town saying he’d return Monday, so I decided to wait.”

“By the way,” Chuck interrupted, “you know we have dress rehearsal tomorrow night, and the next night we open! Have you sent anything to the papers yet? Does the town know we’re going to open?”

Richard gave Chuck an amused “where-do-you-think-I’ve-been” look. “Mr. Crosby, I sent out at least six press releases Monday afternoon from Albany. Not only to Lake Kenabeek, but to the New York papers, too. The Albany paper is running a long article on this—it’s an interesting issue, you know. I wouldn’t be surprised if we get a good press all around. The Slade brothers may have actually helped this theater!”

“Oh, certainly! They’ll be here with bells on Thursday night,” Alison drawled.

Michael Miller was listening, too, covered with scene paint as usual, and wearing his carpenter’s apron stuffed with tools. “I’ll bet anything that when they hear about this, we’ll be hearing from them again! Those boys don’t give up so easily!”

“Oh, now, Michael,” his father remonstrated, “they’re not as bad as all that—”

“I want to hear what happened!” Rita urged Richard. “We don’t know how you wangled this or what the commissioner said—”

“Well, I explained our problem to him,” Richard began. “That someone had questioned the legality of operating a profit-making business in a school, and that we were threatened with court proceedings if we continued. I told him who was behind it and why—the brothers Slade and their movie house—and I also explained that we were helping the school by our rent. Of course, he couldn’t have agreed more with that, knowing as much as he does about educational funds! And I ranted—really ranted—about what the Kenabeek Summer Theater could do for this town—and the whole area—and the school.” Richard was declaiming now as he walked back and forth in front of the stage, and the cast was highly amused.

“So, the commissioner promised to look into the matter some time soon.” Richard stopped dramatically. “Some time soon,” he repeated, obviously enjoying the effect on the cast.

“Well, you should have seen me,” Richard continued, laughing himself. “I got up from my seat, leaned over the desk, stared him straight in the eye, and said, as if this was the biggest thing since the end of the Ice Age, ‘The Kenabeek Summer Theater opens on Thursday. This Thursday!’”

“He decided that he’d better do something about it!” Richard laughed. “He was galvanized! He told his secretary to drop everything, and together we went through a list of all the companies operating in the state. We found that two other companies were playing in high schools! If we couldn’t go ahead here, those theaters would have to fold, too!

“Well, it didn’t seem fair, and yet, since no one had ever before questioned the legality of playing in a school, there was no precedent to go by. And no time to get a court decision!” Richard was very serious now, and the cast listened interestedly, hanging on every word. “So, the commissioner decided that the only thing he could do legally was to postpone a decision until Labor Day! If anyone raises the question again, they will be informed that nothing can be done about it until after Labor Day—and by that time, of course, all the theaters will have finished their seasons!”

“Yes, but there’s one other little thing,” Richard added. “It was also decided, in order to squelch any rumors or new questions, that this theater will operate on a non-profit basis.”

“We are indeed,” Richard replied. “Any money left over at the end of the season, after expenses, goes to the Kenabeek High School toward their new science lab.”

“Oh, what a pity!” Rita cried. “Then you two won’t make any money this summer!” She knew that Chuck and Richard were working for nothing beyond their living expenses. They weren’t even on regular salaries like the rest of the company. Every penny would be poured back into the theater to pay back the Chamber of Commerce and the individual investors.

Chuck laughed. “I had hoped to have something left over at the end of the season, but I can’t imagine that we need the profits as much as the school does. Actually, I’m glad about this arrangement!”

“There probably won’t be too much left over, anyway,” Richard added. “Did you ever hear of a summer theater making a real profit on a first season? I agree with Chuck. We just want to have a season successful enough to warrant a return next year.”

“We won’t have a season this year if we don’t get back to work!” Chuck declared. “We have a lot to clean up today. Places for the second act, everybody, Scene Two.”

“Congratulations, Richard,” Peggy said as she took a seat in the auditorium. She had some time before she was due on stage, and she wanted to watch the other actors. “I think you did a wonderful job!”

“The Chamber of Commerce is going to be awfully pleased with the way this turned out,” Mr. Miller said, shaking Richard’s hand. “And the School Board will be delighted.”

“Thanks, Mr. Miller,” Richard said. “I hope Max Slade will change his mind about us now, too.”

“He might,” Mr. Miller agreed. “He just might. If I have an opportunity, I’ll try to speak with him about it. Well, back to work, now. Congratulations again, Richard.”

Watching him go, Peggy was struck again by the company’s good fortune in having Howard Miller. He was such a finished actor and lent dignity to the theater by his position with the Chamber of Commerce and the School Board. “Mr. Miller did a lot in the theater in his time, didn’t he?” Peggy whispered to Richard as the act began.

“Do you think he might be able to work something out with Max Slade?” Peggy asked.

“It’s possible, but if he can’t,” Richard whispered with a twinkle, “maybe I’ll sic you on the job! You did just fine with John Hamilton.”

Peggy laughed. “Oh, Richard! All I said was that Dear Ruth would open Thursday. What on earth would I say to Max Slade?”

“I would leave that entirely up to you!” Richard teased. “I’m sure you’d think of something!”

“No, no, certainly not until after Thursday!” Richard agreed, chuckling. “We couldn’t take a chance on losing you opening night! He might lock you up in the movies!”

“And I’d have to look at one of those awful pictures twelve times.” They both laughed. “But isn’t it exciting, really?” Peggy said. “I mean the opening—only two more days! It doesn’t seem possible.”

“Two more days,” Richard echoed thoughtfully, “and there’s such a lot to do.”

“NO!” Chuck suddenly shouted from the orchestra, and Peggy and Richard both jumped. “No! How many times do I have to tell you—you cannot throw that line away!”

He ran up on stage and motioned Danny out of the way, saying, “Now watch this! I hate to show you how to do your part, but we can’t get hung up on this every time we play the scene!”

“You pause after you say, ‘I got to the turnstile,’ etc. Then you say, ‘I didn’t have a nickel’—and you don’t throw it away! You’ll kill your next line if it isn’t just right. Now watch.”

“This is not Chekhov we’re playing, it’s a Norman Krasna comedy!” Chuck said, speaking to everybody. “Now suppose we get to work! And stop playing Alison Lord and Chris Hill and Danny Dunn—and Peggy Lane, radio heroine.” He pointed straight at her. “Let’s play Dear Ruth!”

He jumped off the stage and resumed his place down front. “Take it again,” he called, “from the beginning!”

And he was right. Watching him, Peggy knew that it was time to get down to serious work. In two days they had to have a play ready. Really ready, not half-way. And Chuck, like all good directors, was giving them the impetus and the drive to do it.

V
Opening Night

Thursday! Peggy woke up with a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach and for a moment wondered why. Then she remembered—opening night!

“Oh!” she groaned and turned over, feeling the butterflies come and go somewhere in the region of her chest. “Oh,” she moaned again and turned over on her back.

“Good morning!” There was a knock at her door, and Rita entered bearing a steaming cup of coffee. The cup rattled a bit in the saucer as she put it down, spilling coffee over the sides.

“That’s nothing!” Peggy scoffed. “Look at this!” They compared hands, and indeed, Peggy’s was much the shakier.

“Well, you haven’t been up as long as I have,” Rita said. “Wait awhile.”

“I know. It’ll get better, and by noon I’ll feel fine, and by dinnertime I’ll wish I’d never thought of being an actress in the first place. Oh dear!” Peggy steadied herself with a sip of coffee. “I wonder how Alison feels.”

“I’d better wake her up, too,” Rita said and went out for more coffee. In a moment she was back, and Alison, beautifully sleepy-eyed, joined them in Peggy’s room.

“Why, oh, why did I ever decide to be an actress in the first place?” Alison muttered over her coffee.

Peggy and Rita went off into gales of laughter while Alison looked at them indignantly. “It isn’t funny,” she said. “I don’t feel funny in the least.”

“We know!” Peggy laughed. “It’s just exactly what I said a minute ago—I mean what I said I would be saying about eight o’clock tonight!”

“Well, but you don’t have to carry the show,” Alison said, still glum. “I’ll blow up, I know I will—or I’ll trip over the stairs coming down—I’ll probably fall flat on my face on my first entrance. Oh, I wish it were over! Heavens, my hair! I’ve got to wash and set my hair!” She gulped down the last of her coffee and fled to the shower.

Peggy and Rita watched her go with real compassion—they knew exactly how she felt!

Chuck Crosby knew what he was about when he called the cast together for a morning reading of next week’s play, Angel Street. By the time the cast had finished, they had forgotten their anxiety about opening night. It helped to be reminded that Dear Ruth was not the only play of the season. There would be other opening nights, too. But this was the big one—everyone felt that as the day wore on and nervousness slowly returned.

The company gathered together at a large table for an early dinner at Mrs. Brady’s. They seldom ate en masse like this, but tonight they did, almost huddled together for support.

“It feels like the last meal!” Danny mourned as he stirred his soup listlessly.

“I can’t even stand the thought of food!” Alison declared, looking at her bowl with distaste.

Even Chris was nervous. Peggy couldn’t help giggling as she watched him break cracker after cracker into his soup until it looked like a snowbank. He didn’t have the slightest idea of what he was doing. Rita plowed into her food, grimly determined to put something into her stomach, and urged Peggy to do the same.

“I can’t,” Peggy said, still giggling. “I just can’t. There’s something absolutely ridiculous about food at a time like this! Imagine—tomato soup and Dear Ruth—they just don’t mix!” She started laughing again, and everyone looked at her accusingly. “I can’t help it.” She giggled helplessly. “I always do this—it’s just nerves. It’ll stop in a while!” She took a deep breath, trying to calm down, but then another thought sent her off again. “What do you imagine your husband is having for dinner tonight?” she asked Rita. “I can just see him up at the theater, decorating the set and eating lilacs dipped in crackerjack!”

“Oh, Peggy, please stop!” Danny protested as he choked on a mouthful of soup. “Stop talking and eat.”

“Please!” everyone echoed, and Peggy subsided, trying to force down some food. It was worse, though, than nervous giggles. The palms of her hands were first icy and then hot, her stomach felt as if a thousand birds were migrating through, and the very thought of walking on stage gave her a shiver from head to toe.

“Well, the worst is over!” Rita said with relief as they finished dinner and left, with Mrs. Brady’s good wishes following them.

And she was right. Somehow the food, the sparkling night air, the familiar feeling of the auditorium, and the good smell of grease paint in their dressing rooms relaxed everyone. This was their job—it was opening night. In half an hour when they walked on stage, they would be fine—and everybody knew it.

“It’s funny how the anticipation is always worse than the fact,” Rita mused as she started to put on her make-up. “And that dinner is the most dreadful thing of all. It’ll never be that bad again.”

“Aren’t you nervous?” Mary Hopkins asked innocently from her table. The girls all shared one large dressing room, and the men another.

“That’s because you’re not a professional,” Alison said. “If you ever become one—just watch. You’re not nervous at first, but the more you work, the more nervous you get.”

“I think that’s because in the beginning we all think we’re just wonderful,” Peggy said, “but after a while, we realize how much we have still to learn.”

“Zip me up, please?” Alison asked Peggy. She looked perfectly beautiful, Peggy thought, in her pretty two-piece dress, and marvelous make-up. Alison sat down again and took a little black candle out of her make-up kit. She lit it and tilted it over a small tin cup.

“Is that some kind of a ritual?” Peggy asked in amazement. “What on earth are you doing, Alison?”

“Eyelashes,” Alison replied, dipping a brush in the cup and carefully lifting it to her eyes. “I always do this last.”

“Eyelashes!” Peggy exclaimed—and looked into the little cup. It held black wax melted by the flame, which thickened when Alison applied it, making her lashes look thick and long.

“I don’t like to wear false lashes,” Alison explained, “and this works just as well if not better.”

“If you’ll put a little white at the outer corner of your eyelid, Peggy,” Rita offered, “it will give you a young effect—and a dot of red in the inner corner helps, too.”

“No line under your eyes,” Rita said. “That makes you look older, and you have to shave off about five years since Miriam is supposed to be about fourteen. Now, bring your rouge up a little closer to your eyes and not so far out on your cheek—you want to have a round effect. There!” Rita looked at Peggy appraisingly. “What do you think?”

Peggy looked at herself and was pleased. She would appear about fourteen on stage, she thought. She hadn’t been quite satisfied with her make-up at dress rehearsal. She put on her little navy-blue jumper and white blouse, brushed on her powder and was done.

“We are, come in,” Rita said, and Richard came through with a stack of yellow envelopes, handing them to the girls.

“I have to get out front,” Richard said, “but I know you’ll be terrific. Break a leg!”

“It means good luck,” Peggy explained as she put her telegrams in front of her mirror. “Theater people always say that, or something like it—it’s an old superstition.”

“Of course,” Peggy laughed, “but it’s another old superstition—like whistling in the dressing room!”

“Where’s the music?” Chuck asked, coming by. “Get that turntable going, Gus—and better check the door buzzer again.” He came into the room. “Alison, don’t worry about the orange juice—if you’re shaky about drinking it tonight, let it go. Peggy, let’s see your make-up. Good! That’s much better! Now listen—I know it’s opening night and I know it means a lot—to all of us. And I know we’re all excited and nervous—but I know you’re going to be just fine!

“Remember—pace it! Keep it moving! It’s a terrific comedy and it ought to carry you along. It will, if you just keep it moving. I’ll be watching, but I don’t think you’ll see me until after the show unless there’s someone I can’t hear. Mary, watch that. I couldn’t hear you in the last row last night.” He paused a moment. “What else? Guess that’s it. Break a leg, everyone!”

As Chuck left, the girls heard the music begin, and Gus came by, calling, “Five minutes!”

There was a sudden silence in the dressing room as everyone felt the mounting tension. It was a different excitement, though, from their morning nerves. Peggy began to yawn while Rita took very deep breaths and Alison did a bending exercise. All these things helped their systems adjust to the impending effort.

Peggy felt that she had to move. Movement always helped and it was time, anyway. She walked backstage and took her place in the wings.

“Thanks, Michael,” Peggy replied shakily. “Do you know what kind of a house we have?”

“I think it’s pretty good—there’s a peephole in the curtain if you want to look.”

“Have fun, Dad,” Michael said to his father as Howard Miller took his place beside Peggy.

“House lights!” they heard Gus call to Michael, who was at the lightboard. “Music! Spots!”

Peggy took a deep breath and adjusted the little beret she wore for her entrance. Suddenly her knees felt like water. “What’s my first line?” she thought frantically. “I don’t remember what I’m supposed to say—”

There was dead silence for a moment, and then Peggy heard a gasp from the audience followed by a wave of applause for the set. It was evident they hadn’t expected anything so charming and good.

Five more lines before Peggy’s entrance. She was desperately trying to remember her first line....

“... and that’s the last box of Kleenex,” Mary said. That was it—Peggy’s cue.

Almost in a trance she made her entrance. “Good morning, Dora,” she said, the words coming from somewhere—and the minute she spoke, bathed in the bright lights of the familiar, homey set, everything connected, everything fell into place.

Peggy began to act easily, feeling out the audience, trying to sense its mood. It was a curious, rather tight house in the beginning. She felt the spectators were silently saying, “Show me!”

Mr. Miller and Alison got nice hands on their entrances, but nothing seemed to “zip” yet—the audience still seemed too polite. Peggy watched from the wings when Chris made his entrance—and then it happened. That magical moment when a play suddenly comes to life. Chris entered with exuberance and power, carrying the audience right along with him, and the play began to move. It did have pace and rhythm, just as Chuck had said. The whole cast could feel it and the audience began to laugh. At the end of the first act there was a resounding wave of applause.

Chuck couldn’t wait out front as he had said he would. He came running backstage with a huge grin. “It’s great,” he cried, slapping everybody on the back. “It’s great—just great! Keep it up—keep it moving—it’s great!” Vocabulary had apparently deserted Chuck Crosby, and his praise made the actors very happy. They knew how he felt out there, watching his actors, as nervous as they were, and probably praying that they would come through. Directing was a big responsibility.

There were six curtain calls! Richard presented Alison Lord with a big bouquet of flowers from the Chamber of Commerce—a nice gesture for a special opening, and by the way the applause went on and on, the cast knew that this audience didn’t want to leave. A sure indication that they had really had a wonderful time!

Gus finally turned on the music, the curtains closed on the company, and opening night of Dear Ruth was over.

Almost over. There was to be a party later in the dining room of the Kenabeek Inn, and now there were congratulations and backstage visitors, and the exhilaration that always follows a good show.

As she rubbed cold cream on her face in the dressing room, Peggy finally read her telegrams. BREAK A LEG LITTLE ONE, from her big brother, David, now off in San Francisco on an assignment for his news service. BEST WISHES FOR A GRAND OPENING STOP WE KNOW YOU AND THE COMPANY WILL BE WONDERFUL, from Mother and Dad. A wire from May Berriman and all the girls in New York; and another from Randy Brewster, THINKING ABOUT A VERY SPECIAL ACTRESS.

The telegrams brought family and friends backstage as if they were right here, congratulating her now. Peggy looked at Rita, remembering the way they had felt in the morning. “Did I ever say I didn’t want to be an actress?” she asked, and they laughed, comparing absolutely steady hands this time.

VI
Chance Encounter

There was no review of Dear Ruth in the Kenabeek Gazette the next day! The cast sat around the patio after blocking the first act of Angel Street, glum and disheartened. The wonderful elation of last night’s opening had left them.

“Isn’t Ford Birmingham going to review us at all?” Peggy wondered unhappily. “Isn’t it his job? Doesn’t he have to?”

“Oh, he’ll probably write a token piece—it would be too obvious if he didn’t,” Chuck answered grimly. “But I imagine he won’t do it until the middle of the week when we’re almost finished with Dear Ruth. By that time we’ll have lost an audience—people will lose interest in our theater.”

“But didn’t he like the play?” Alison demanded. “Everyone else simply loved it!”

“He wasn’t there,” Chuck said shortly. “He didn’t come last night, and I doubt if he’ll come at all. Max Slade must have that man wrapped around his little finger! We had an audience last night only because of our own advertising and publicity. But people expect reviews! And if Birmingham doesn’t give us one next week on opening night—I’ll write one myself!”

“Oh, you can’t!” Peggy said anxiously. “If you do, he’ll be sure to bring it out in the paper, and then we’ll seem like amateurs!”

Chuck sighed. “I know, Peggy. I wouldn’t, of course, but I just don’t see any other way!”

“Well, for heaven’s sake!” Alison protested. “He can’t write a review unless he comes to see a play!”

“Sure he can,” Chris Hill returned. “Easy. He’ll write about two lines to the effect that Dear Ruth opened at the high school last Thursday, and in the cast were..., et cetera and et cetera. By saying nothing he’ll create the impression we were terrible!”

Peggy looked uneasily at Chris. He was terribly angry. She had a momentary vision of him storming into the offices of the Kenabeek Gazette and demanding to have it out with Mr. Birmingham. She wasn’t far wrong.

“Why don’t I go to see him?” Chris fumed. “I’d love to see that guy and—”

“—tell him just exactly what you think of him!” Chuck finished. “Yes, I know. So would I, but that’s probably what they expect us to do, so we’d better not. Better sit tight.”

“Just what is the connection between Max Slade and Birmingham?” Peggy persisted. “It seems very mysterious to me. I can’t imagine why a newspaperman would be working hand in glove with a theater manager—it doesn’t make sense. Newsmen usually just want news! Period!”

“Who knows?” Chuck shrugged. “All I know is that we’ll be able to judge from the house tonight how it’s going to go from now on without a review. It’s too early to tell—maybe people will come anyway. But if they don’t, I can tell you this theater isn’t going to last long!”

Watching Chuck, Peggy felt worried. She noticed that Chris was looking at their director too, and catching his eye, she knew that he felt as she did. This meant so much to Chuck, and he had worked so hard. If there were only something she could do....

“Peggy,” Chuck said, as if in answer to her thought, “would you mind going with Danny and Mike Miller this afternoon to hunt for furniture?” He was going to work on the second act of Angel Street, in which Peggy didn’t appear. “You don’t have to—I know you need a rest—but if you feel like it, it would be a great help.”

“I’d love to!” Peggy beamed cheerfully. “Really, I would. It’ll give me a chance to see the town.”

“Anything that’s Victorian?” Peggy asked as she collected her sides and pencil, dropping them into the large knitting bag she carried to rehearsals.

“Mike has the furniture and prop list up at the theater,” Chuck said. “I’d like you to keep an eye out for decoration. Knickknacks and pictures and maybe a statue—you know.”

“They shouldn’t be hard to find here,” Peggy called gaily as she left the annex. “These houses look as if they’re stuffed with Victorian antiques!”

“Thanks, Peggy.” The cast went back to rehearsal, and Peggy started up to the theater.

“We need a chaise longue, a desk, two tables, four straight chairs, two easy chairs, and a hall table plus extras.” Danny Dunn checked the list as Michael Miller turned the little blue jeep out of the school driveway and down the main road.

“Are you sorry not to be in Angel Street?” Peggy asked him. Danny would not be playing next week and had taken the job of stage-managing instead, giving Gus an opportunity to concentrate on the set alone.

“Not a bit!” Danny grinned. “You know I’ve played Sergeant Rough before, and although I enjoyed doing it, I felt I was a little young. It will be a real treat to see Howard Miller in the part. I think he’ll be fabulous!”

Peggy chuckled. Danny’s remarks were always liberally peppered with words like fabulous, terrific, fantastic, out of this world. Danny asked why she laughed and Peggy told him.

“Well,” he pronounced expansively, “the theater is a little bit out of this world—and I’m in the theater. So where am I?”

“Passing the office of that ‘fantastic’ paper, the Kenabeek Gazette,” Michael informed him, laughing. “There it is, children, look your fill.”

Peggy and Danny whipped around in their seats to look. “The building looks just like my father’s newspaper in Rockport,” Peggy said, “only a little smaller. I wonder if Ford Birmingham is in.”

“Well, you won’t have a chance to find out,” Michael said. “I’m taking you across town to see Mary Hopkins’ mother. Mary said they might have some things we could use.”

Peggy looked eagerly around the little town of Lake Kenabeek as they drove through. It was only a few buildings on either side of the main highway. A post office, drugstore, general store, and sporting goods shop, the newspaper building, and a couple of restaurants. The residents’ houses and cottages were almost all off the main highway, on twisting roads, hidden behind the profusion of pine trees and thick forest growth.

Peggy wished she could have just a few minutes to stroll around. “Goodness,” she said, “I’ve been here ten days, and this is the first time I’ve been into town since I got off that bus!”

“You mean ten years!” Michael retorted. “I’ve felt at least ten years go by since I first saw you that afternoon!”

Danny and Peggy laughed. Looking at Michael, though, Peggy realized that he wasn’t far wrong about himself. He had grown up in the past week! And he seemed to be having more fun. He wasn’t as serious and shy as he had been at the start. For his sake, Peggy was glad of the change.

“The jeep has aged, too,” Danny commented. “Don’t I detect a cough in the engine?”

“Oh, no, that’s only her way of saying hello.” Michael patted the wheel as if the jeep were alive. “Look—there it is—the ogre!” Michael pointed to the movie house and shook a fist playfully as they drove by.

“Well, you certainly don’t seem too worried about the state of affairs!” Danny commented.

“I’m not!” Michael responded. “I have absolute faith in the ultimate triumph of the Kenabeek Summer Theater! Hey!” Michael suddenly braked the jeep and pulled to the side of the road. “Bladen’s Antiques! I’d forgotten about them. This is the one antique store in the area, Peggy.”

They looked at the little house at the side of the road. Outside, by the gate, was a huge iron elk carrying the shop’s sign on his antlers. The yard was strewn with marble pedestals, bird cages hanging from trees, and a huge red sleigh with massive iron runners. There was even a small weather-beaten totem pole leaning rather precariously to one side.

“Well, if it wasn’t when they put it up, it’s certainly an antique by now! No, it’s not a real Indian one, Peggy. It’s a fake, like a lot of souvenir items up here. But we don’t pretend they’re real.”

“Think we might borrow one of those pedestals?” Peggy asked. “We could use one on the set.”

“Couldn’t carry it back—they’re too heavy,” Michael answered. “Why don’t I drop you here, Peggy, and you can browse around inside? We’ll pick you up on our way back from Mrs. Hopkins’.”

“Well, all right,” Peggy agreed doubtfully, climbing out. “But suppose they don’t want to lend us anything?”

“Make a big pitch about the program credit. Say it’s great advertising! See you later.” They drove off, leaving Peggy feeling even more dubious. She had never been very good at this type of thing—program credit or not. She remembered a time when she had been asked to sell advertising for the high school yearbook at home, and how shy she had felt about it. Acting was one thing, but this was another.

Some people didn’t realize that actors and actresses didn’t always make good salesmen, she thought, as she entered the gate and walked up the little flagstone path to the shop. She wished that Richard Wallace were with her. He could talk anybody into anything! But then, Peggy recalled, he seemed to think the same of her. She smiled, remembering how he had kidded about sending her to see Max Slade. Well, even if that had been a joke, at least she could try to do something useful here.

Chimes rang above her head as she opened the door, and Peggy blinked, coming into a room so stuffed with bric-a-brac and furniture that she could hardly see her way. There was a narrow path of clear space, only about a foot wide, that led to the counter. She had to avoid things hanging from the ceiling: bunches of toy bark canoes on strings, birds carved out of wood that danced merrily in the air at the breeze from the door. Leaning down from the wall behind the counter and staring at her roundly was a huge, stuffed owl, his eyes gleaming strangely in the dim light. Peggy stared back at the owl, fascinated.

“Yes, may I help you?” For a moment Peggy almost thought the owl had spoken, but then she saw a little splinter of a man, so fragile and old that it seemed as if he might break into a thousand pieces at any moment.

“Oh dear!” Peggy thought. “He’s so old, and probably can’t hear very well, and won’t know what I’m talking about!” But she had to begin somewhere.

“Why, yes,” she said, speaking clearly in hopes he could hear. “I’m Peggy Lane from the Kenabeek Summer Theater, and we hoped you might be able to help us. We’re doing a Victorian play next week—Angel Street—and we thought you might have some furniture or decoration we could use on our set....” Peggy stopped lamely while the old man just smiled and said nothing. Obviously, he hadn’t understood a word.

“We couldn’t pay you for them, of course,” she rushed on, determined to finish at any rate. “But if you’d be interested, we’d give you a good credit in our programs, and that’s free advertising for you, you know.”

Peggy felt bumbling and awkward, at a loss for words. Well, there was only one thing left to say. She would finish and leave quickly. “We would take very good care of whatever you lent us,” she mumbled faintly—it didn’t matter, he couldn’t hear anyway. “Well, I’ve certainly made a mess of this,” Peggy thought. “They should have sent somebody who knows the old man and how to talk to him!”

“Ah, yes. Angel Street is an excellent play!” Peggy could hardly believe her ears as the old man spoke. “Quite a thriller, yes, indeed. I made a special trip to New York to see that play once—type of thing I like. I was waiting for you to say something about taking care of anything I might lend you,” he went on. “You see, some of my things here are quite valuable and I would have to be sure they were in responsible hands.”

“If you hadn’t mentioned that, I might not have said anything at all! Might have let you leave thinking I was deaf as a stone!” He cocked his head humorously on one side, giving Peggy a wink that reminded her of the wise old owl.

“I’m Mr. Bladen,” the old man said as he came out from behind the counter and threaded his way among the piles of stuff on the floor, crooking a finger for Peggy to follow. There was hardly room to squeeze through, but she valiantly held her breath and went sideways, picking her way carefully around the vases, picture frames, statues, tables, and chairs.

“Been here forty years,” he added, leading her over to one wall under a window. He drew back the curtains and a dust cloud rose as he pinned them back to get some light. Peggy sneezed. “Gesundheit!” Mr. Bladen said.

“Think I’m a funny old codger, don’t you?” he said, his eyes twinkling. “And you’re right—I am—I am! Can’t get to be as old as I am and not be funny somehow! Now look—” He started removing a pile of odds and ends that were burying a piece of furniture covered with a dusty red shawl. “Take this and put it somewhere.” He handed Peggy a plaster cast of a nymph blowing a conch shell. Peggy looked around and placed it on a table already filled with other figurines. “And this—and this—” He gave her pictures, frames, little boxes, lamps. Peggy was hard pressed to find a place for them, but somehow she managed. Finally they reached bottom and Mr. Bladen pulled off the shawl. After the cloud of dust had subsided, among more sneezes and Gesundheits, Peggy looked at the “buried treasure” and gasped. It was a perfect Victorian chaise longue with a curving, dark mahogany frame, beautifully upholstered in red and gold striped satin.

“It’s perfect!” Peggy cried excitedly. “Oh, Mr. Bladen, it’s simply perfect! We couldn’t find anything better if we looked for a million years! Oh, may we use it, really?” She clasped her hands eagerly.

“Of course!” Mr. Bladen laughed, his thin, sensitive fingers patting the edge of the sofa. “I know it’s perfect. Just like the one they used in New York—noticed it myself when I saw the play. Been waiting, really, to find a use for it. Nobody would ever discover it under all this stuff!”

Peggy looked around, wondering how many other lovely pieces were hidden under the incredible litter.

“Yep,” Mr. Bladen said, “I have a lot of nice things here, but can’t ever find the time to straighten things up so they can be seen. Too old, I guess—and then there’s my work.”

Peggy’s surprise was evident. His work? Wasn’t this his work? Mr. Bladen answered her unspoken question with another conspiratorial wink.

“Write poetry, you see—only thing worth doing at my age. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Peggy was charmed. She hadn’t met anyone so delightful as Mr. Bladen for a long time. Wouldn’t her parents love to hear about this wonderful old man with his fantastic little shop and his poetry!

“Then of course you’d know about the theater and plays and everything,” she cried with sudden understanding. “No wonder!”

“Yes,” Mr. Bladen answered cheerfully. “And it’s nice to know that someone’s bringing the theater to us here. Town needs it—wish you a lot of luck. Anxious to help all I can. Now, let’s see if we can’t find some little extras for that set—” He poked around, and like a magician drawing rabbits out of a hat, triumphantly produced pictures, ornaments, a student lamp, and two beautiful porcelain vases.

“Think you’ll need these,” he told Peggy, holding up the vases. “Seems to me I remember something special about a vase—”

“That’s right.” Peggy smiled. “The rubies are hidden in a vase. But those are much too good, Mr. Bladen!”

“Nonsense,” he scoffed. “You want to be realistic, don’t you? Now you just take these vases and scoot along. I’ll put them in your care. Here, take this along with you now, too.” He balanced the student lamp precariously between the vases that Peggy held in each hand. The china shade was just under her chin.

“Send somebody back for the rest of the things.” Mr. Bladen ignored her protest. “I’m here all the time,” he said as he opened the door.

“Worry about that later—have to get back to work now. Run along and good luck.”

Mr. Bladen closed the door firmly, the chimes ringing good-by as Peggy found herself outside. She hadn’t even thanked him, she realized, looking back at the house. Why was he in such a sudden hurry, she wondered? And then she remembered—poetry! Peggy laughed softly. Mr. Bladen must have had a new idea and wanted to write it down quickly. She wondered if the poem would be about the theater, or Angel Street, or if the sofa could have given him an idea, or the vases. It could be anything! Peggy smiled broadly as she stepped down the little path to the gate, carefully holding the vases and lamp. What a surprise to find someone like Mr. Bladen in Lake Kenabeek! It proved that it paid to get into town once in a while—there might be other fascinating people to meet in this resort.

Peggy leaned forward to open the gate and the lamp started to tumble. Grabbing it, she almost let go of one of the precious vases which started to slide out of her hand. It kept slipping and she couldn’t get a secure grasp on it. In a flash she saw an awful picture of shattered porcelain, and Mr. Bladen’s disappointment at having entrusted something so valuable to her. Just as it was about to fall entirely and crash on the pavement, two hands reached over the gate, grabbed the vase, and removed the lamp from her arms.

“Now maybe you’ll be able to see where you’re going!” A handsome young man in a conservative summer suit stood there smiling, and Peggy sighed with relief.

“Thank you so much!” she said gratefully. “I don’t know what I’d have done if they’d been broken. You’ve really saved the day—I can’t thank you enough!”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” the young man said, grinning, “It may be enough to know that I’ve saved the day! How have I saved the day, by the way?” He looked amused and interested, and Peggy laughed.

“By the way, you’ve saved the day and helped the play!” she rhymed. “Really you have. And you’ve also saved one of Mr. Bladen’s precious antiques!”

He raised an eyebrow, turning the vase over in his hand. “Is it really good?” he asked. “And what does it have to do with a play?”

“We’re going to use them in Angel Street,” Peggy explained. She liked this friendly young man who somehow made her feel as if she’d known him for years. Was he another interesting resident, she wondered. “I’m Peggy Lane from the Summer Theater,” she said, “and next week’s play is Angel Street.”

“Oh,” he said slowly, and Peggy was surprised to see him frown slightly. But then he smiled again, handing back the vase. “How are you going to manage all this?” he asked, still holding on to the lamp. “I don’t think you can carry them all without breaking something. Can I drop you somewhere?”

Peggy noticed a car parked a few feet away and shook her head, declining, “No, thank you—”

“I realize we haven’t met formally,” he said, bowing a little, “but in Lake Kenabeek we’re not very formal. I’d be glad to drive you to the theater.”

He hadn’t introduced himself, Peggy realized suddenly, but he seemed so well-mannered that she imagined it was just a slip. “No, thanks again, but the jeep is coming back for me. I’d better wait.”

He gave her a regretful glance and put the lamp carefully on the ground. “Well, I’m sorry,” he said. “It would be a pleasure to help you. A real pleasure,” he added softly, almost under his breath. “But perhaps we’ll meet again sometime.” He looked at her as if about to add something, but then, apparently changing his mind, gave her a peculiar smile and walked to his car. “Good luck,” he called as he got in, leaving Peggy thoroughly puzzled.

The little blue jeep was coming back just as the young man drove away, and they passed each other on the road. Michael turned and pulled up in front of Peggy, exclaiming when he saw the lamp and vases.

The back of the jeep was crammed with chairs and tables. “Mrs. Hopkins has taken care of the table and chair department, and all we have left now of any real importance is that couch. Can’t seem to find one,” Danny said.

“I’ve found it!” Peggy declared. “And wait until you see it! But we have to come back for it later. Oh, I have such a lot to tell you!” She handed Danny the lamp and climbed into the front seat, carefully holding the vases.

“By the way,” Michael said as they drove back to the theater, “did you see one of the ogres? He drove right past you—back there in front of Bladen’s.”

Peggy certainly did remember, and her heart sank as she guessed what Michael’s next words would be.

“Max Slade!” Peggy breathed softly. “Why, it doesn’t seem possible....”

“No, not Max,” Michael corrected. “That was his shadow—his younger brother, Bill.”

Peggy had such a peculiar expression that Danny worriedly asked, “What’s the matter, Peggy? You all right?”

“Why, I don’t know,” she said slowly, hardly hearing as she recalled Bill Slade’s parting words—

“Oh, Michael,” Peggy cried, “I’ve got to see your father and Richard Wallace right away! There may be a lot more to all this than we realize! There may even be a way to help the theater!”

VII
Unfair Play

“I think you should send someone to see him. I’m sure he’d really like to help!” Peggy was saying. She had dropped into Aunt Hetty’s home with Richard and Mr. Miller to discuss her meeting with Bill Slade. “I had the feeling when he spoke that he doesn’t approve of what his brother’s doing, doesn’t like this feud—”

“Whether he approves or not, there’s nothing he can do about it!” Aunt Hetty said firmly. “They both run the movie house, but it’s Max who makes the decisions and Bill just follows along.”

“That’s right, Peggy,” Howard Miller agreed. “I’d hate to stir up any friction between those two brothers. I spoke at length to Max the other night, and I’ve never heard him so unreasonable about anything in all the years I’ve known him! He won’t even discuss the problem. He’s so terrified that we’re going to ruin his business that he just clams up.”

Mr. Miller nodded. “And he didn’t say a word. I hate to disappoint you about Bill, Peggy, but he’s never been strong enough to stand up to his brother; and no matter how he impressed you, I don’t think this issue is the one to change his character.”

Peggy sighed. “Well, I guess that’s that,” she said regretfully. “I’m sorry—for a while I thought something could be done. He seemed so nice—and sad somehow. It’s a shame.”

“How’s Angel Street going?” Aunt Hetty asked, tactfully closing the subject of Bill Slade.

“Wonderful,” Richard said. “It’s going to be even better than Dear Ruth—if that’s possible! Come on, Peggy,” he said, “I’ll walk you home.”

“Thank you for the coffee and the cake,” Peggy said to Aunt Hetty. “It was wonderful to have something homemade for a change!”

“Yes—it all does,” Peggy said wistfully, looking around the comfortable living room with the beamed ceiling, fireplace, and gay chintz coverings on the furniture. “But then,” she laughed, “anything like this is a startling change from the annex! It makes me wonder if I shouldn’t go home for a visit after the season is over....”

“Yes, I want to go over some things with your aunt, Richard. We have to give a report soon to the Chamber of Commerce.”

“And I want to talk over some more promotion ideas with you,” Richard said, “if you’ll be here when I get back.”

“Your aunt and Mr. Miller make a nice couple,” Peggy observed as she and Richard started back to the annex. “Have you ever noticed?”

Richard grinned at Peggy. “You mean that just occurred to you? Why, I guess everybody in town has seen that for years. We’re all just waiting for Aunt Hetty and Mr. Miller to wake up and notice it, too!

“I’m sorry that we had to squelch your idea of appealing to Bill Slade,” Richard went on seriously, “and believe me, we wouldn’t if there were the slightest chance of his making any headway with his brother. But I’m afraid Mr. Miller’s right. Bill Slade is a pretty weak character. If he really felt strongly about this, he’d do something about it on his own. Don’t you think so, Peggy?”

“Yes, I do,” Peggy said thoughtfully. “And do you know, Richard, I wouldn’t be surprised if he did do something! Maybe he isn’t as weak as all of you think. I just have a feeling—”

“Woman’s feelings!” Richard laughed. “For once, I’m afraid your intuition is wrong, Peggy!”

And as the week wore on, it seemed that Richard was right. By the night of dress rehearsal for Angel Street, the cast was terribly dispirited, having seen audiences diminish little by little each night for Dear Ruth. Apparently Max Slade was talking down the theater at every opportunity—calling them amateurs, and saying that if Ford Birmingham wouldn’t even bother to go, the townspeople could certainly judge from that. Unfortunately, the company hadn’t been playing long enough to secure the loyal audience that could keep it going regardless.

Alison Lord, who was playing the very demanding lead of “Mrs. Manningham” in Angel Street, was particularly upset.

“It’s bad enough to be under the strain of doing this part,” she said tearfully to Chuck. “Sometimes I wonder why I bother at all—why not just quit? It doesn’t seem worth the effort!”

“It will, tomorrow night, when we open,” Chuck reassured her. “You’re doing a beautiful job, Alison, and, of course, it’s worth while!”

“Cheer up, Mrs. Manningham,” Howard Miller said, patting Alison on the shoulder, “you and I are going to have a wonderful time out there, audience or not. Right?”

“I guess so.” Alison dried her tears and smiled ironically. “I’m unhappy enough really to feel like Mrs. Manningham, anyway. If this keeps up, I won’t have to work very hard!” She went to the dressing room to change into her costume. Peggy followed, worried about Alison’s mood. “Mrs. Manningham” was on stage almost constantly and really carried the show. If some of Alison’s fire was gone, even the fine performance that Howard Miller was giving wouldn’t be enough to save the play.

“How is your costume?” Peggy asked Alison, thinking that clothes and make-up always seemed to have a magical effect on the leading lady. “Have you unpacked it yet?” The large boxes of costumes had arrived earlier in the afternoon from New York. Because Angel Street was a period piece, everything had to be rented. Measurements had been sent, and now the girls could only hope that everything fitted properly. If not, there would be last-minute sewing—a difficult project to fit into the next few short hours.

“It’s dull,” Alison replied disinterestedly, “but it fits. At least I don’t have to worry about that!” She put on a smock and sat down at the table to apply her make-up. Watching her draw in the tiny lines on her forehead, and apply blue shadow under her eyes, Peggy had to giggle.

Alison stared blankly into her mirror and then had to smile at herself. Gone was the bright, vivacious “Ruth,” and even beautiful Alison. In her place was a wan, haunted woman about thirty, with circles under her eyes and an expression of fear. “For once I look just the way I feel,” said Alison, and as Peggy and Rita laughed, even she had to join in.

“I really should be a blonde for this,” Peggy considered as she put up her hair, arranging it in little curls on the top of her head. She was playing the pert, saucy maid, Nancy.

“You could spray your hair,” Rita told her, “but it’s a mess, and I wouldn’t advise it. I think you’re all right just like that.”

“Except that my skirt is too long,” Peggy noticed as she walked about the dressing room, strutting a bit as “Nancy” did, with a rustle of taffeta. “I’ll trip on it, I’m afraid.”

Finally, dressed in their costumes and make-up, the girls walked out on stage for an inspection under lights.

“What base are you using, Alison?” Chuck called from the aisle. “You’re too yellow under all this amber light. Gus, kill that spot and let me see what happens. Now, will you walk over and sit on the sofa, Alison? And Peggy, let me see you up by the fireplace.”

The girls moved around the stage while Gus worked with the lights, changing filters and spots until Chuck was satisfied. It was a wonderful, eerie set, Peggy thought. Gus had stenciled a wallpaper design on the flats, and with the couch that Mr. Bladen had lent them, and the other Victorian pieces and bric-a-brac, the room had a heavy, mysterious quality. The atmosphere affected Peggy strongly. She felt as if some dire event was going to take place. She walked down to the auditorium to look at the stage.

“Now try the bracket circuit,” Chuck called. “Let me see how they dim. Where’s Mr. Miller? Get him and take that bit in Act Two, Alison, where the lights go down.”

Already nine o’clock, and dress rehearsal hadn’t even started yet. It would go on until the early hours of the morning, Peggy knew. Missing props would be found and put in place, movements changed, and last-minute touches made to the set. Peggy settled down, curling up as comfortably as she could on the hard seat, as she waited for rehearsal to begin.

Chris Hill walked out on stage, his appearance completely transformed with the mustache, small beard, and sideburns that he used for Mr. Manningham. Even his attitude was different, Peggy noticed. He seemed a lot older and his voice was deep and serious as he checked his make-up with Chuck.

Finally, at nine-thirty, they were ready. The curtains were drawn, Alison settled herself in her chair, Chris stretched out on the couch, and Peggy took her place in the wings. Even a dress rehearsal, she thought, as she mentally prepared for her entrance, had a feeling of excitement and pressure. Well, this was their one chance to feel the play as it would be on opening night—to rehearse with continuity.

“I’m not going to stop you,” Chuck called. “I’ll be taking notes and we’ll iron out the flaws later. Ready, Danny?”

The first half of Act One went well. Peggy had a very small part and was able to watch almost continuously from the wings. Chris was really sinister, she thought, shivering as she observed his scene with Alison. And Alison was wonderful. She was a little young to play Mrs. Manningham but her own personality had disappeared in the part, and she was completely believable.

“How I would love to play that part someday!” Peggy dreamed. “Or something like it. I wish I had just one dramatic part to do this summer!” She sighed as she thought of the season ahead—one comedy part after another.

Chris made his exit with a slam of the door, and Rita, as the housekeeper, came on to announce the arrival of Sergeant Rough. Peggy drew up a box near Gus at the switchboard, and leaned forward excitedly to watch. With his old-fashioned cape-coat and painstaking make-up, Howard Miller was the very picture of a Scotland Yard Inspector. Peggy tensed as the suspense mounted; even Gus at the lights was so engrossed in the play that he almost forgot to dim the lights at the right time.

He started, quickly dimmed the lights, and then shook his head sheepishly. “Thanks, Peggy!”

“I’m afraid you are married to a tolerably dangerous gentleman,” Sergeant Rough said to Mrs. Manningham, and as she stood there, slowly realizing his meaning, the curtain closed on Act One.

“House lights,” Chuck called. “Open the curtain, Danny, and everybody on stage.”

“I thought we were doing a straight run-through” Alison complained crossly. “I need it, Chuck, to get a feeling of the continuity!”

“I know, Alison,” Chuck said, “I’m sorry. But something’s come up that you’ll all know about tomorrow, and it might ruin opening night. I’d rather tell you now so you can work it out during rehearsal. Better a bad dress rehearsal than a dreary opening.”

“What now?” Peggy wondered. She had never seen Chuck so depressed or listless. All his energy seemed to have left him as he walked forward and looked up at everybody.

“You’re all wonderful,” he said slowly, “and you’re doing a job that’s worthy of Broadway—honestly, you are.” He watched Alison closely as he spoke, letting the words sink in. “Now, I don’t want this to throw you. Just hear it quietly, and then we’ll finish rehearsal. Aunt Hetty dropped in a minute ago—she’d been in town and happened to drive past the movie house. She saw the advertisement for the new bill which opens tomorrow night.”

“I’m afraid so, Chris,” Chuck said quietly. “They are showing the movie of Angel Street this week. Under another title, of course, but everybody knows it’s the same play. The story’s too famous. Slade is counting on the stars of the film to draw audiences away from our production.” Chuck tried to think of something else to say, but it was no good. Everyone recognized the seriousness of this move, and what it could mean. “I—I’m sorry.” Chuck concluded lamely.

Alison was standing stiffly, her hands clenched and her mouth tight as she tried to control her tears. But then she broke. “I told you it wasn’t worth the effort,” she sobbed. “I’m not going to ruin my health and nerves doing this part and then have nobody in the audience! They can all go to the movies as far as I’m concerned! This whole theater has been a fiasco from the beginning, and the sooner we close the better. You can give the part to somebody else—I’m through!” She ran off the stage and to the dressing room as the rest of the cast looked after her unhappily.

Rita started to follow her, but Chuck shook his head. “Let her go,” he said. “She doesn’t really mean it, and she might as well get it out of her system. The part is a terrific strain, and I’m not surprised at her reaction!”

Peggy dropped onto the couch beside Howard Miller, who was sitting there twirling his hat thoughtfully. “I had a feeling something was going to happen,” Peggy said sadly, “but I never dreamed it would be this. Guess I really was all wrong about Bill Slade. If he didn’t make an effort to stop his brother this time, I guess he never will. Maybe he’s just as opposed to the theater as Max.”

“I don’t know, Peggy,” Mr. Miller replied, “I’m beginning to wonder if we shouldn’t have had someone go to see him as you suggested. Perhaps any try would have been better than none at all. This move of theirs may ruin the theater for good. We can’t possibly stay open if business drops off any more.” He frowned. “The Chamber of Commerce will never want to hear of a summer theater again, and we can’t afford the loss of money either.”

“Do you think it’s too late?” Peggy questioned intently. “Too late to see Bill Slade?”

“I’m afraid so,” he said. “I’ve already spoken to Max. Aunt Hetty is so furious that she won’t talk to either one of them, and they won’t speak to Richard or Chuck.” He smiled ruefully. “Impasse. Like nations trying to get together without a common language.”

Peggy was silent, remembering that Bill Slade had seemed to speak her language. Could she have been so very wrong about that, after all? Why couldn’t she see him herself? Why did it have to be one of the directors of the theater or of the Chamber of Commerce? If the Slades were too stubborn or unreasonable to talk with “authority,” maybe they—or at least Bill—would be freer with her. She laughed softly to herself, thinking of the Hatfields and McCoys. This feud was every bit as unreasonable and silly—and in the stories, it was always the younger generation that somehow managed to work things out! Feeling a little like a heroine in a legend, Peggy decided to try.

But how? All through the rest of the rehearsal—with Alison back and working just as Chuck had predicted—Peggy thought about it. She couldn’t call and ask for an appointment. It had to be subtler than that. She would have to arrange something that seemed quite accidental. Yes, a chance meeting with Bill Slade! But how?

VIII
An Explanation

“Chuck, are you up yet?” Peggy knocked cautiously on the door of his combination office-living quarters on the lower floor of the annex. It was eleven o’clock and the tired company hadn’t turned in until three-thirty in the morning.

“Come in, Peggy.” Chuck opened the door and motioned her in. His desk was covered with work, and crumpled wads of paper littered the floor. “Been up for hours,” he said. “I was just going over the budget.” His eyes were hollow and ringed from lack of sleep. “The answer is, what budget?” He tore up the piece of paper he was holding and dropped it in the waste-basket. “It doesn’t look good, Peggy.”

“Oh, Chuck, I’m sorry!” Peggy felt dreadful, realizing the enormous amount of work that he had put into the theater, and the possible futility of it all. But she couldn’t reveal her plan, much as she would like to, even to offer him some hope. It might not work out after all, and Chuck was so depressed that he would probably try to dissuade her from seeing Bill Slade. She had determined to try, at any cost, and she must do it very quietly and all alone.

“Could I possibly be excused from the reading today?” Peggy asked. “There are so many things I need from town, and I haven’t had a chance yet to catch up on shopping—”

“Go ahead,” Chuck answered dully. “There isn’t going to be a reading, anyway. I don’t know if we’ll even be open after this week, so I’m not going to work you any harder than I have to. Today everyone gets a rest; tomorrow we’ll begin again.”

“Thank you,” Peggy said, wishing she could wave a magic wand and set everything right. “Is there anything I can get for you while I’m in town?”

“No, thanks, Peggy. By the way, we will have a line rehearsal before the show tonight. Five o’clock here.”

Five o’clock. Peggy calculated. Yes, that would work out. She could be about her business and get back in plenty of time. She left quietly, hoping that nobody noticed her as she walked up the little path around the side of the inn and down the hill to the highway.

The weather was changing, Peggy noticed, as she walked along. When she had arrived a hint of spring had still been in the air, but now it was hot and beginning to feel like real summer. Wouldn’t it be fun to enjoy some of the pleasures of the resort, she thought, looking at the beautiful blue of the lake dotted with sails and speedboats. Michael had promised to take her out in his boat someday. Someday! Everyone had been so busy that even Michael hadn’t had an opportunity to be out on the water that he so dearly loved.

“When we get settled into a routine,” the company had dreamed optimistically. “In a few weeks, after things are going smoothly, well, then we’ll have time to swim once in a while and go boating!”

Peggy sighed, taking off the little jacket that topped her gaily flowered summer dress. It could still work out, she thought, things could run smoothly if everyone knew that the theater would stay open. This uncertainty, though, was terrible for everyone’s morale and left no time for play. Actors needed relaxation, too, she mused. The theater was fun, but it was hard work as well.

“And today I’m free for a while!” She smiled with a sudden sharp enjoyment at being outdoors and away from the theater.

As Peggy passed the offices of the Kenabeek Gazette, she paused for a moment. She needed a newspaper and wondered if she should go in. But no, she decided, somebody might recognize her, so she hastened on and walked into the drugstore. There were several copies of the paper left and Peggy bought one along with some cosmetics she needed. Outside again, she flipped through the paper, seeking the information she wanted. There it was—the first showing of the movie today would be at noon. She had just enough time. Hurriedly, she walked on, nodding back at several people who smiled at her, apparently part of their grateful, if small, audience.

“Oh, Miss Lane—” A middle-aged woman, smartly attired in sports clothes, stopped her on the sidewalk. “I just want to tell you how much my husband and I enjoyed you in Dear Ruth. We saw it on Broadway years ago and I must say we were surprised at the professional excellence of your cast. Tell me, who did that lovely set?”

“Oh, thank you.” Peggy smiled. “Our set designer is Gus Stevens. He’s the husband of the girl you saw playing the part of the mother. And she was awfully good, wasn’t she?”

“Wonderful,” the woman agreed warmly. “Just wonderful. You know, we’ve been coming up here to Lake Kenabeek for years—our son goes to a camp nearby. This is the first summer that we’ve had any real entertainment! You tell your director that we wish him a lot of luck—and the whole cast. We hope you’ll be here every year from now on!”

Peggy left her thoughtfully, realizing that if the theater should have to close, it would affect more than just the company and the Chamber of Commerce. People here really wanted entertainment. Surely there was room for a summer theater and the movies to exist side by side!

She bought her ticket for the film, hoping that the woman in the booth didn’t recognize her. Probably not, Peggy thought. It might be a sin for anyone employed at the movies to go to the Summer Theater! She shook her head impatiently and went into the dark interior. Now that she was here, Peggy wondered if her plan had been so ingenious after all. Perhaps Bill Slade wouldn’t even be here today. Perhaps instead of finding him, she would run smack into his brother Max! And that was a prospect she didn’t particularly want to face.

Peggy took a seat in the first row at the side of the balcony. Here she was close enough to the mezzanine to get up frequently and look around the lounge where a sign on a door announced, Office of the Manager. Looking at it doubtfully as she left her seat for what must have been the tenth time, Peggy wondered if anyone was inside. She might have to stay here all day, seeing the film several times as she waited for someone to emerge. Two ushers walked by and Peggy heard one of the girls say, “No, Mr. Slade isn’t here yet. He said he’d be in around five-thirty. But you’re off duty then, aren’t you?” They went on, leaving Peggy feeling that her brilliant idea hadn’t been so brilliant after all! She was just about to go back and watch the end of the movie, when the door opened and Bill Slade walked out!

Bill Slade saw her standing there, and an incredulous expression suffused his face. “Why—why, it’s you!” he blurted, in utter astonishment.

“Oh, Mr. Slade! How nice to run into you again!” Peggy’s acting experience came in handy right now. She hoped she seemed genuinely surprised.

“And you know my name now, it seems,” he said, reddening slightly as he came over to her. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t dare introduce myself that day, not knowing how you’d feel about it.”

Something tugged at Peggy’s heart. She felt she had never met anyone so basically nice or so unhappy with a situation.

“What on earth are you doing here?” he asked, frowning a little as if he had only just realized where they were.

Peggy had planned the answer. “Why, I was having a little difficulty with my part this week,” she said easily, “and I thought I’d take a look at the movie to see how it was done.” From the balcony, the sound of the closing music of the film swelled around them, followed by the martial strains of music for the news-reel.

“Oh, that doesn’t matter.” Peggy was slightly flustered. “I’m not in the end, anyway. I’m just playing the maid.” She hoped it sounded logical.

Bill laughed. “No wonder you were having trouble,” he said. “That’s miscasting if I ever heard of it!”

“Oh, no, it isn’t.” Peggy smiled back. “You just come to see the play and you’ll see what a good character actress I can be!”

Again she noticed that sad expression come into his eyes, but then he brightened and said, “Miss Peggy Lane, why don’t we do something utterly insane and go out for some lemonade or something together? Do you have time?”

Peggy glowed. This invitation was exactly what she had hoped for! “I’d love to,” she agreed happily.

Bill Slade walked with her back to the drugstore and they took one of the little booths in the rear, well away from curious eyes. In the middle of the afternoon there were few people in the store, and they could speak freely without being overheard.

“I wish you would come up to the theater just once,” Peggy implored. “I think you’d enjoy seeing a play for a change.”

“Peggy!” he agreed. “All right. But we might as well not beat about the bush. You know how my brother feels about the theater! I’ve talked to him, Peggy, believe it or not.” He looked at her pleadingly, and she wondered how an attractive, intelligent young man like this could bear to remain so entirely under his brother’s influence. Bill Slade looked as though he should have a more independent role.

“But what does your brother have to do with it?” Peggy asked, hoping to jolt him a little. “Surely, if you would like to be on our side—and I gathered from the way you spoke that day that you would—?”

“Well, then,” Peggy urged, “why not take a stand? Come up to the theater and let your brother know exactly how you feel.”

“I don’t see why we have to be in competition,” Peggy went on earnestly. “Don’t you think the two forms of entertainment could complement each other? For instance, we’re doing a melodrama this week, and if instead of choosing the same story, you had run a comedy film, both our businesses would have benefited. Or don’t you agree?”

She looked at him anxiously over her glass of lemonade, her large eyes serious and her pretty dress making a splash of color against the dull gray of the seat. Bill Slade smiled, saying, “You make an incongruous picture, Peggy! You’re much too young and pretty to be carrying the weight of rival businesses on your shoulders. Tell me—” he leaned forward intently—“did anyone ask you to come and see me about this? I can’t quite believe your story about the movie!”

Peggy decided to be completely honest with him. “No, no one asked me to come—but I did hope to see you. I came with that intention. I thought perhaps if we talked together, you might see our point of view and persuade your brother to put an end to this silly feud!”

“I have tried to persuade him, Peggy,” Bill said uneasily. “I’ve argued about it from the beginning. Then when he decided to run this particular movie this week—well, it was almost the last straw!”

“Well, then,” Peggy cried, “why not let it be the last straw? Why don’t you choose a picture for once instead of your brother? He doesn’t have everything to say about your business, does he?”

Bill looked at her unhappily. “There’s a lot you don’t know, Peggy,” he said. “We are partners, yes, but partners in name only. You see, when we bought that theater, Max was the one who put up the money. He was older, and had been in a very successful public relations business in New York. His dream had always been to come back here to live, with a business of his own. I had just come out of the Army and didn’t have any money to invest.”

“And your brother bought the theater all on his own?” Peggy asked. “My! He must have saved a lot!”

“No, not entirely on his own,” Bill said. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this, Peggy—” he smiled as her wistfully—“I guess it’s because I want you to like me, and I want to clear myself. But please promise me that anything I say will be a confidential matter between us.”

“Of course,” Peggy agreed warmly. She was glad to know that Bill Slade trusted her, and thought that it was probably a very good thing for him to talk to somebody. She had an impression that he was very lonely.

“Max couldn’t have done it all on his own,” Bill confided. “He had another investor—a silent partner whom almost nobody knows about. Not that there’s anything wrong about it, but—”

“Ford Birmingham!” Peggy guessed excitedly as the pieces began to fall into place.

“That’s right. Ford put up the rest of the money. He keeps his partnership silent because of his job on the paper. He loves the newspaper business and writing, and manages to carry both jobs very well. However, if people knew he was a partner, they might think his movie reviews were prejudiced!” Bill laughed. “They’re not, of course. Ford is a painfully honest critic!”

“And he goes right along with your brother’s attitude about us?” Peggy asked incredulously.

“Well, you see, I’m afraid that Max has said some pretty awful things about your theater to Ford.” Bill seemed almost ashamed. “Not about the people personally,” he added hastily, “but professionally. Max honestly thinks you’re all amateurs and he’s persuaded Ford of that.” He shook his head ruefully. “And Max resents a little company of newcomers coming into the town and possibly drawing away his business. He—he’s not a very happy man, Peggy, and he is my brother. I have to understand how he feels.”

“Of course,” Peggy said sympathetically. “I know some people like that in my home town. They’re terrified of anything new and become completely unreasonable about it.”

Bill nodded. “If Max would just let me choose some of the films, as you said, I think our own business would pick up. It’s been terrible lately, but I know why. It isn’t the Summer Theater, as Max thinks. It’s his choice of old, dull movies that nobody wants to see. This is the first good one we’ve shown in a long time!” He sighed ironically. “And it took your theater to make him choose it—for all the wrong reasons!”

They were silent, each thinking of the seemingly impossible situation. Now that she saw the design more clearly, Peggy couldn’t think of a way out. Apparently, neither could Bill. He frowned and shook his head again. “I’m sorry, Peggy, but there just doesn’t seem to be anything I can do. I wish I could. Believe me, I wish I could!”

Peggy walked back to the annex for the line rehearsal, feeling disconsolate and subdued. It was really almost hopeless, she thought, mulling over all the problems. Without any real authority in the business, Bill couldn’t be of much help. But she had been right about one thing. Bill Slade was certainly not the weak, spineless creature that people imagined! He had good reason for his actions, and actually, it was wonderfully loyal and brave of him to stick by his brother in the face of a lot of criticism. Peggy didn’t doubt that more persons than those concerned with the Summer Theater regarded Bill as his brother’s younger shadow—possibly even Ford Birmingham!

Peggy thought of the little paragraph Mr. Birmingham had written on Dear Ruth toward the end of the week—just as Chuck had predicted. Chris had been right, too. It had said almost less than nothing—a mere notice, in fact! Well, it was all a shame, Peggy thought sadly, a terrible and unnecessary shame!

IX
A Lifeline

Fortunately, Alison was so engrossed in her work that she was not aware of the ridiculously small audience until curtain calls, when they showed their intense appreciation of the play by standing while they applauded and shouted, “Bravo!” It was indicative of the fine performances the actors had given and a deliberate gesture of support. Almost everyone in the audience came backstage after the show, congratulating the company and telling Alison and Howard Miller in particular how wonderful they had been. Aunt Hetty was singularly impressed. “I knew you were a good actress, Alison,” she complimented her, “but I really had no idea you could do a demanding, difficult part like this so well!”

Overhearing, Peggy couldn’t help wishing again that she could have a chance to sink her teeth into a dramatic part, too. Not that she was at all envious of Alison—or was she, Peggy wondered? No, she didn’t think so. It was just that seeing someone else in a serious role opened up a part of Peggy that hadn’t been tapped this summer and wished to be used.

There was something else to it, too, Peggy thought, smiling secretly. Something that almost nobody outside of the theater knew. And it wasn’t such a bad idea to keep audiences in ignorance about it—otherwise their enjoyment might be lessened. The secret was that in many ways it was really easier to play a dramatic part than a comedy role. Comedy was the hardest thing of all.

Peggy suddenly saw Mr. Bladen, who was popping about on stage like a sprightly old bird, nodding with satisfaction at the set. The friendly woman Peggy had met on the street that morning had come with her husband, and they were speaking with Richard Wallace. She noticed Peggy and smiled, beckoning her to come and join their group.

“I’d like you to meet Mr. and Mrs. Cook, Peggy,” Richard said. “They’re interested in our theater and in some of the furniture we’re using this week.”

“Oh,” Peggy exclaimed. “Well, I met part of the family this morning.” She smiled at Mrs. Cook. “And if you’re interested in the pieces on stage, you might speak to Mr. Bladen. He’s here somewhere—”

“I noticed in the program that he loaned the couch,” Mr. Cook said. “We think it’s such a beautiful piece that we’d be very interested in buying it.”

“Well, wait a minute, and I’ll find him for you.” Peggy beamed and hurried away. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if the theater could be of assistance to Mr. Bladen, too! She found him behind a flat, looking curiously at a prop table and, pinned above it, the list of scenes in which the things were used.

“Neat. Very neat,” Mr. Bladen said. “Haven’t been backstage since I was a boy. It smells wonderful!”

Peggy laughed. She knew exactly what he meant. There was a very special aroma about backstage. It had a hint of glue, paint, make-up, and even the peculiar, musty odor of ropes and pulleys.

“I think you’ve sold your chaise longue,” Peggy told him happily. “That is, if you’re interested in selling it!” She brought him back to meet the Cooks, and soon all were engrossed in a discussion of antiques. Peggy saw that it might indeed be a fruitful night for Mr. Bladen. When the boys returned the props and furniture after Angel Street was over, maybe they would be willing to clean up Mr. Bladen’s shop a bit. It was little enough to do in return for the things he had lent them. Peggy made a mental note to remind Michael and his friends.

The audiences for the rest of the week were uniformly small. Either people were going to the movie instead of the play, as Max Slade had hoped, or his comments about the company were having their effect. The absence of anything in the paper except their own advertisements was keeping people away, too. If only Ford Birmingham would break down and come to the theater, Peggy thought!

The company began rehearsals for the next play, Charley’s Aunt, not knowing if they would even have an opportunity to play it! Rehearsals had never gone so badly. All the fire had left Chuck’s direction, and the cast responded just as dully. Toward the middle of the week, Richard and Chuck called everyone together and announced that the theater would definitely have to close unless everyone took a cut in salary. If the actors were willing to do this and work just for expenses, they might be able to pull through another week.

Rita and Gus looked at each other gloomily. Peggy knew that they had counted on saving something this summer to take a long-dreamed-of vacation. In the four years they’d been married, they had never had a honeymoon! Still, Rita and Gus were the first to say they’d be glad to forego their salaries.

Rita even laughed about it. “It’s fate, that’s all. We might have known it! And if we did leave now, we’d only have to go back unemployed to New York. It’s too late to get other jobs this summer. Might as well stay here another week and enjoy the scenery!”

Everyone else felt the same way. There was little point in not making one last effort, even though they knew the theater couldn’t last long.

“Maybe I can talk the manager of Kenabeek Inn into letting us stay for a few days after we close,” Chuck added glumly. “Then you could all at least have a little leisure and swimming after your work!”

“Do you remember when we had all that space in the paper after the commissioner of education made his decision about the theater?” Chris Hill asked. “It probably accounted for the good house we had opening night of Dear Ruth. Couldn’t we somehow find something else that would bring us space in the paper—maybe to be mentioned in some of the social columns—anything, as long as they write about us!”

“I’ve tried,” Richard said. “I’ve been to see everyone on that paper who could do us the slightest bit of good, and Aunt Hetty has used her influence, too. We do get things in. But the social columns aren’t the answer, Chris, as long as people regard us as amateurs. They don’t want to spend money on anything that isn’t professional! That’s why we only get the same small audience over and over again. Even people who bought season tickets before we opened aren’t using them! They’re beginning to regard their investment as some kind of charity to help the town! No, Chris, I’m afraid we’re licked.”

And for the first time, Peggy thought so, too. Until now she always had felt a stirring of hope, an optimistic sense that the theater would pull through somehow. But now everything looked too bleak. It would be unrealistic to hope for a miracle at this point.

Peggy began to visualize the letters she would shortly have to write home: “Sorry, we folded! How would you like a visitor for a while?” If, she thought dismally, she could even manage a ticket home now with the cut in salary. It would be too defeating to ask her parents for that. Maybe she wouldn’t be able to go home after all!

On the last night of Angel Street a pall hung over the entire theater. It was so thick the company could almost taste it. All the magic had deserted the dressing rooms and the stage, and Peggy realized anew how much the theater was a two-way romance. Plays needed an audience. One couldn’t work to a vacuum. Still, there was a job to be done, and although the actors had long since lost their excitement, they began the play with a determination to do the best possible job, and with that inexplicable feeling of loss that always occurred on the last night of a show. It was sad, saying good-by to a part and a story. Angel Street wouldn’t live again until some other company somewhere took it and molded it into being.

The curtain fell to loud but scattered applause, and the actors, too enervated to rush to their dressing rooms tonight, stood about on stage longer than usual. Peggy was talking to Rita about Charley’s Aunt, when a movement in the wings caught her eye, and she turned to see a sight so astonishing that she literally dropped onto Mr. Bladen’s couch.

Bill Slade, accompanied by two other men, was walking onto the stage and heading straight for Chuck Crosby with a purposeful air and a broad smile.

Peggy gasped, unwilling to trust her eyes! The men were all talking to Chuck now, and he seemed as flabbergasted as Peggy.

“That’s Bill Slade, one of them,” Peggy said. “I don’t know who the others are.”

Suddenly the little group laughed, and Bill turned to smile at Peggy. “I took your advice, you see,” he said, coming over to her. “I know I’m a little late getting here, but I wanted to bring someone with me. Peggy, this is Ford Birmingham!”

Ford Birmingham! Everyone heard the name and stared openly. Mr. Birmingham was an interesting, distinguished-looking man, younger than Peggy had imagined, with streaks of premature gray in his hair. As he spoke to her, Peggy felt a quality of integrity in everything he said.

“I’m so sorry that I didn’t come on my own initiative sooner. I feel that I owe you all an apology—particularly in view of the superb play I saw tonight! I’m afraid I misjudged you. I had no idea it would be like this.”

He was kind enough to see each member of the company personally and offer his apologies. Peggy was struck by the graciousness of the gesture. It couldn’t be easy for him.

“So that is Ford Birmingham!” she exclaimed to Bill. “He’s so—so entirely different from my picture of him!”

“Thought you’d like him.” Bill smiled. “And I think there’s another surprise for the cast, Peggy!” He indicated the other member of the trio, who was still deep in conversation with Chuck.

“Who is he?” Peggy asked curiously. But before Bill could answer, Chuck, grinning from ear to ear, asked the cast to gather around.

“Someone here has a proposition for us,” Chuck said, introducing Mr. Eugene Vincent, the entertainment director for Lake Manor, a huge resort hotel three miles down the highway.

“If you people would be interested,” Mr. Vincent said, his plump face wreathed with good humor, “I’d like to have you play one night a week down at the Manor! It would be a wonderful addition to our program, and you wouldn’t have to worry about a thing. We’d do our own sets for your plays, take care of moving your props, and transport you back and forth. All you have to do is act!” He beamed at them. “How does that sound to you?”

“It might mean that we’d be able to continue our season,” Chuck broke in anxiously. “I’m not sure yet, but the additional money might carry us through—”

“And there’s one other inducement,” Mr. Vincent added. “You’d come early for dinner on performance days, and have the recreation facilities available for your use at any time. Swimming, Ping-pong, volleyball....” He raised his eyebrows and peered at them like a genie offering infinite temptations.

They couldn’t believe their ears. After a stunned silence, Chris Hill was the first to give a mighty whoop. “Mr. Vincent,” he exclaimed, pumping his hand furiously, “I have always believed in Santa Claus, and now that you have come along, I know it’s true!” He turned to the company. “What about the rest of you? Don’t you believe in miracles?”

“You mean it’s true,” Danny said, with a perfectly blank expression. Then as it sank in he grinned, and grabbing Peggy, began to waltz about on stage.

“It’s true,” he sang, “it’s terrific, it’s fantastic, it’s the most amazing ever!”

The cast merrily congratulated one another, showering Mr. Vincent with handshakes and praise, and finally dragging him and even Ford Birmingham into an impromptu conga line about the stage. Gus turned on the music and it wasn’t long before a real party developed. Michael Miller went out to bring back sandwiches and soft drinks, and the set of Angel Street changed, miraculously, from a gloomy room to one of brightness and gaiety.

“How did it all happen?” Peggy asked Bill Slade breathlessly during a lull in the dancing.

“Simple,” he answered, smiling. “It occurred to me after our talk that there was one effort I could make in your behalf. I had never spoken seriously to Ford about the theater. I took it for granted that he knew how I felt, but then I remembered that I’d never actually told him so. He’d only heard Max’s side of the story. So”—he grinned at her—“after I saw you that day, I went to see Ford. It took all week to persuade him to come up here, but I finally managed.”

“But what did you say to him?” Peggy questioned, her eyes alight with interest. “It must have been good!”

“I appealed to his sense of honor,” Bill said. “Since we’re all in the same business, I felt he should make an effort to understand your side of the question, too. And after enough insistence that you were really professional, and that he ought to check that for himself, well—he agreed. You know,” Bill added rather sheepishly, “I was terribly impressed. I really didn’t think the play would be as good as it was. Will you forgive me?”

“No.” Bill shook his head shyly. “Just a coincidence, Peggy. Ford was having dinner with him—”

“And you persuaded both of them to come!” Peggy cried. “Now don’t deny it, Bill Slade, I know you did!”

“Well,” he admitted reluctantly, “I just said that it might be interesting.”

“Oh, Bill, how will we ever be able to thank you!” Peggy’s face was flushed with gratitude. “And I’ll bet Chuck and Richard don’t know a thing about this—” She got up with every intention of telling them, but Bill put out his hand to stop her.

“No, please don’t, Peggy,” he pleaded. “They think we came out of simple curiosity and were pleasantly surprised. If the real story should get back to Max, it might hurt him dreadfully. I’d rather keep the whole thing as quiet as possible.”

“Of course,” Peggy agreed, sitting down again. “I hadn’t thought of that. Bill, what are you going to do about your brother? I’m sure he thought the theater would close, and he’ll be furious at this new development.”

“Well,” Bill said slowly, “he’s bound to know I had something to do with it, but he doesn’t have to know how much—until I prove to him that your theater isn’t the problem! I’ve already talked with Ford and together we’re going to try to improve our choice of films. Ford’s on my side about that.” He smiled ruefully. “If I’d only spoken to him before, Peggy! I guess it took a nudge from you to open my eyes!”

“Say! When’s this set coming down?” Gus Stevens asked everyone. “Do you people know what time it is?”

And it was late—so late that no one could think of leaving Gus and the boys to work all alone. Everyone, including Ford Birmingham and Mr. Vincent, pitched in to help. The wonderful night ended as the last flat was stacked away and Mr. Vincent, dusting himself off, waved good-by with the cheery promise, “Be seeing you next week at the Manor!”

Bill said good-by to Peggy, holding her hand for a moment as he reminded her, “Don’t forget, Peggy, if you’re grateful to me, that I have a lot to thank you for, too. A lot!”

“Well,” Chris observed as he watched Bill drive away with his friends, “I think there’s more to this than meets the eye! You two seem to know each other very well!” He looked at Peggy curiously as they started the walk back to the annex together under a bright night sky so clear that it looked like a canopy of diamonds.

“Oh, well, you heard the story of my meeting Bill Slade when I went to Mr. Bladen’s that day,” Peggy reminded him, hoping that it would satisfy Chris. She didn’t want anyone to know of their further talk.

“And you two became such fast friends in all of about five minutes?” Chris raised his eyebrows. “Oh, now, Peggy! I watched you together tonight and I still say—there’s more to this than meets the eye!”

“Well”—Peggy was glad of the night that effectively covered her blush—“he’s really nice, Chris.” She wasn’t very good at evasion and wished that she could tell the whole story, but for Bill’s sake she mustn’t.

“I see,” Chris said softly. “Yes, he is a pleasant fellow, Peggy, but you know there are other people around, too. I hope you won’t forget that when you’re thinking of Mr. Slade.”

“What does he mean?” Peggy wondered in silence all the way home. Could Chris possibly be putting a different interpretation on her friendship with Bill Slade? “Oh dear,” Peggy thought, “I may have helped untangle the theater, but I’ve certainly tangled up my personal affairs!” She sighed, remembering a little nervously that tomorrow For Love or Money would go into rehearsal and she would be playing a romantic lead opposite Chris Hill!

X
Friends—New and Old

“‘Last night a group of professional actors, backed by years of experience on Broadway, television, and radio, presented a stunning performance of Angel Street to an audience of fewer than twenty persons. It is this reviewer’s duty to apologize publicly for having neglected the Kenabeek Summer Theater. Until now he has not had the pleasure of viewing one of its productions. It is his loss. And he would like to say that the Summer Theater is one of the finest additions to our town in many years. It deserves all the support our local residents and out-of-towners can give it.’

“Oh, just listen to that!” Peggy interrupted herself and squealed with delight as she read Ford Birmingham’s review in the Gazette to Rita, Alison, and Chris. They were having dinner together before the opening of Charley’s Aunt. Ford Birmingham had timed the appearance of the review to coincide with the opening of the new play, and tomorrow there would be yet another review in the Gazette.

“‘Angel Street was so electrifying,’” Peggy continued, “‘that despite the small house, your reviewer was sitting—literally—on the edge of his hard seat in our high school auditorium. (That he was unaware of his discomfort is another indication of the quality of the performance.) Do not make the mistake of assuming that a production given in the high school is an amateurish effort. The set was excellently executed by Gus Stevens, a young man, who, we suspect, will shortly be designing for Broadway.

“‘Alison Lord, as Mrs. Manningham, gave a controlled, vibrant performance that was a delight to watch. As that colorful inspector, Sergeant Bough, our own Howard Miller was simply superb.’” As Peggy read on, the wonderful words of praise made everyone glow with a feeling of success and satisfaction.

“‘Peggy Lane, in the small role of the maid Nancy, was pert and charming, leaving us with the notion that we’d like to see her do something else—’”

“Well, they will,” Chris interrupted, giving Peggy a wink. “Next week, Peggy the Star!”

“Oh, Chris,” Peggy laughed. “I’m not really the star—it’s you—and Alison, too.”

“Leave me out,” Alison said mockingly. “I had my big chance and no audience. It’s your turn next, Peggy, and it looks as if you’ll be luckier.” There was a hint of envy in Alison’s tone that surprised Peggy. Only last week she had been complaining about having two big leads in a row. Peggy had thought Alison was looking forward to the smaller but very good part she had in For Love or Money.

“Doesn’t he say anything about me?” Chris asked. “Go on, Peggy, I can’t believe he isn’t going to offer any criticism at all.”

Peggy resumed reading: “‘Rita Stevens was excellent as the housekeeper; so believable in fact, that one might tend to overlook a program note which explains that she is much younger than she appeared.’

“Oh, and here you are, Chris,” Peggy said. “‘Chris Hill, a romantic leading man if ever we saw one, made a valiant effort to create the difficult, heavy role of Mr. Manningham. That he didn’t quite succeed is no slur on his ability. He was very good indeed and there were moments in the play when he was truly spine-chilling. We suspect, however, that underneath those sideburns Mr. Hill is basically just too nice a fellow. We’re looking forward to him in Charley’s Aunt where, we understand, he will be playing something closer to his type. This should be a real treat for the young women of the area, and we assure you, if you’re interested, that you needn’t look further for a living, breathing matinee idol!’

“Why, Christopher Barrymore Hill!” Alison giggled. “I had no idea you were such a heart throb!”

“Heavens! You won’t be able to walk down the street alone after that!” Rita teased, as Chris got redder and redder and looked as if he would like to vanish into the floor.

“Oh, no,” he groaned. “And I was beginning to think that Ford Birmingham was a pretty nice guy! Why did he have to do this to me?”

“Because it’s wonderful publicity, that’s why!” Peggy cried. “Oh, Chris, don’t you see? Look at everything he said—about the quality of the actors, and then establishing you as a draw. Why,” she declared brightly, “we’ll have everybody in town rushing up to see you! And they’ll bring their friends. It’s a beautiful idea!”

“Umphm,” Chris moaned dismally. “It’s a hideous idea! However, he was right in his criticism. There were moments when I did feel distant from the part.”

“After this, you won’t even have to act any more.” Alison laughed. “Just be yourself while everyone swoons!”

“Oh, Alison, cut it out!” Chris pleaded, looking around as if a thousand eyes were fastened on him. “I wish Birmingham had settled on you for a drawing card instead.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Alison smiled, preening a little. “As a matter of fact, I’d probably love it!”

“I’ll bet you would,” Chris muttered, while Peggy frowned uneasily. The conversation was taking an unpleasant turn, she thought, noticing the look Alison gave Chris.

“Well,” Peggy said cheerily, trying to change the subject, “who’s looking forward to Monday besides me? Personally I can’t wait!”

Monday was the day that Mr. Vincent had asked the company to give their first performance at Lake Manor. It would be the last night of the play each week, as Chuck and Richard had decided to move the opening up one day to Wednesday instead of Thursday. This meant also that there would be one day less than usual to get For Love or Money into shape.

Talking excitedly about the Manor, the group finished dinner in good spirits and left the restaurant with Mrs. Brady’s wish for good luck trailing after them.

From the first night of Charley’s Aunt, Ford Birmingham’s review made its effect felt. There was a difference in everyone’s attitude now that the theater had gained status. Audiences improved nightly, and Richard said that if things kept up like this, the theater might even be able to recoup some of its losses.

“And this is the way summer stock should be,” Peggy thought as she greeted each day with the anticipation of a good rehearsal and a satisfying show. Now she could concentrate more fully on her part in For Love of Money. “A good thing, too, that I’m not worried about the theater at a time like this,” she realized. For as the week wore on, Peggy saw more and more that Alison had been right about the role of Janet. It was a long, demanding lead, and Peggy worked furiously, knowing that next week she would have to carry the show.

She found it a strange sensation to work opposite Chris. He was so good in his part and made it all seem so real that Peggy often caught herself wondering if she were in a play or doing something right out of life. At times she forgot herself completely. She was Janet Blake, a young girl who was gradually growing deeply fond of Preston Mitchell.

Alison was quite evidently annoyed at the developing friendship between Chris and Peggy. “Don’t forget, dear, that you’re supposed to be playing comedy,” she said to Peggy one day at rehearsal. “Sometimes I get a feeling that you think you’re doing Camille.”

Peggy was worried and hurt, wondering if Alison was right. “Do you think I’m funny enough?” she asked Rita privately. “Alison is finding fault with everything I do.”

“Well, are you going to listen to her or to your director?” Rita demanded. “Chuck seems satisfied with your work. Look, Peggy, Alison is jealous because you’re playing opposite Chris. I wouldn’t pay any attention to anything she says. My own private opinion is that you’re more interested in Chris than you think—”

“Rita!” Peggy blushed furiously. “Here we go again! It’s just that I like Chris enormously and—well—it is exciting to work with him!”

“I know!” Rita teased her. “It seems to me I told you something like that ages ago! Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Peggy Lane! Before you know it, you’ll have a dyed-in-the-wool crush on our new matinee idol!” Both the girls laughed, remembering how uncomfortable Chris had been with the role Ford Birmingham had assigned him.

The week flew by and when Monday arrived, Peggy noticed an excitement she hadn’t felt since the theater opened. Something new was in the air; they were to face a fresh audience in unfamiliar surroundings. None of the cast had seen the famous Lake Manor, and all were intensely curious as they rode along in the station wagon the Manor had sent for them.

“This is more like it!” Danny observed gleefully. “Our own private chauffeur and dinner awaiting—I always did like to live in style!”

“How could I have missed the Manor on the way up by the bus?” Peggy wondered as they drove down the highway. “This is the way I came—”

“Ah, yes, but you don’t see the Manor from the road,” Danny replied poetically. “It is hidden, like all goodies, a surprise package lurking in the midst of tall trees and sparkling waters. And as we leave the highway,” he intoned in travelogue fashion, “we find ourselves driving under an arch of fir trees, their graceful fronds meeting as they embrace above the roadway—”

But he wasn’t to be deterred. “And around a winding road which curves gracefully through acres—and acres—and acres—”

The cast laughed and joined in the joking as they drove through the spacious grounds that belonged to the Manor.

“And finally,” Danny said as the Manor came into view, “as we reach our destination—Oh, my gosh! It’s a palace!” he concluded abruptly, forgetting his travelogue as the car stopped under the awning in front of the entrance.

“It really is a palace,” Peggy marveled as she stepped out of the car, “or the next thing to it!”

The main house of Lake Manor was a huge white building frosted with turrets and bay windows and surrounded by cottages and a few other sprawling buildings that appeared to be recreation halls. Peggy saw stables, tennis courts, and a swimming pool off in the distance. Ping-pong tables, croquet courts, and lawn chairs dotted the velvet-green grass.

“Oh, it’s absolutely beautiful!” Rita exclaimed. “I had no idea anything like this existed here!”

Just then Mr. Vincent appeared and, smiling broadly, took the cast on a short tour of the Manor.

“It’s early,” he said, showing them the stage in one of the recreation halls where they would play, “and dinner won’t be served until six o’clock. Come along and I’ll show you your dining room. We have several, and I don’t want you to get lost! Then please do anything you’d like to amuse yourselves. We want you to have a good time!”

“How about some Ping-pong, Peggy?” Chris asked after Mr. Vincent had left them.

“I’d love it,” Peggy said, “but I wish we could look at the stage again first—Mr. Vincent took us through so quickly.”

“Don’t you ever think of anything besides the stage, Peggy?” Alison asked waspishly. “Really, it gets a little boring after a while!” She turned and left the group in a sudden huff.

“What’s the matter with her?” Danny asked wonderingly. “I thought she was all a-flutter about playing at the Manor.”

“Maybe she was all a-flutter about playing before the show,” Rita said softly with a knowing look at Peggy.

Peggy suddenly realized what she meant. Alison was disappointed that Chris had asked Peggy instead of her. “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she thought wearily, “how could Alison possibly be upset over a little thing like a game of Ping-pong!” When a group of people lived so closely together, Peggy was beginning to realize, little things could cause undue friction. A word or a glance could be magnified out of all proportion. Hadn’t she even been a little guilty of that herself when Alison had criticized her performance?

“Your serve, Miss Lane,” Chris reminded her. “Where are you anyway—off in a dream?”

“Yes,” Peggy smiled, “I guess I was!” She couldn’t help observing how handsome Chris was with his wonderful tan and his blond hair gleaming in the sun. He did look like a movie star, and several people stopped to watch them play together. Peggy felt almost ashamed to realize that she was proud to be seen with him. “And a minute ago you were condemning Alison for the same thing!” she chided herself fiercely. “I think it’s about time you had a long talk with yourself, Peggy Lane!” She slammed the ball hard, and it hit the far corner of the table, out of Chris’s reach.

“You don’t deserve to know,” he grinned. “You’re off on a cloud somewhere. Come on, ingénue, let’s go for a walk.”

They strolled through the lovely grounds, finding that one winding path led to another even more charming. Most of the landscaping was designed to offer the best possible view of the lake, and Peggy felt actively envious watching the boats dart back and forth like large birds.

“I’ve wanted to tell you, Peggy,” Chris said as they sat down on a large rock that jutted out over the water, “what fun it is working with you. So far I’m enjoying For Love or Money more than any other play we’ve done. It means more to me than just a play,” Chris went on seriously. “I feel that we do awfully well together—in almost anything.” He stopped, looking at her intently as Peggy caught her breath. She didn’t know what to say. Finally, a moment later, she tremulously suggested that they had better get back to dinner.

“Dinner!” Chris exclaimed with humorous disgust. “At a time like this, with romance in the very air around you! Honestly, Peggy, you’re enough to try anybody’s patience!”

Peggy wished with all her might that she knew what her real feelings were in regard to Chris. It was all so confusing, she thought, as they found their way back to the dining room through the maze of pathways.

Dinner was a sumptuous affair and a refreshing change from the good but rather plain food at Mrs. Brady’s.

“Cheddar cheese soup!” Michael Miller peered at his bowl like a hungry owl. “Haven’t seen this since Dad took me to New York last year!”

“Personally, I prefer turtle Madeira,” Alison said languidly, taking a few sips of the delicious broth.

“Listen to the prima donna,” Chris whispered to Peggy. “She was fine as long as she had all the leads, but now wait and see. For the rest of next week she’ll be impossible. I know—I’ve seen it happen before.”

“But I thought you liked her,” Peggy said softly. She had decided she might as well find out how things stood between Chris and Alison.

“I do,” Chris answered, slightly surprised, “I like her a lot. She’s a very good actress.”

Thoughtfully, Peggy wondered if Chris judged people by their acting ability—if that was the basis of his sudden pronounced interest in her. Peggy was very conscious of his presence beside her as they finished dinner together.

Charley’s Aunt was riotously received by the Lake Manor audience. The actors had to be unusually alert to restrict their movements sufficiently to work on the smaller stage. There were several times when Peggy, almost bumping into another player, came close to breaking up and laughing out loud. And when an angry bee somehow found his way on stage and got lost in the tea things, all the cast had a difficult time controlling themselves. Microphones were suspended overhead to overcome the poor acoustics in the hall, and the buzz of the bee came loud and clear over the actors’ voices. The audience loved it! They roared and applauded when the bee finally made a grand exit over their heads and out the rear door.

Weak with laughter, Peggy made her way back toward the tiny, dark dressing room that was stacked with boxes of costumes and props. The hall was usually reserved for the individual comedy acts that the Manor booked for its guests.

“I’m sure they think we’re just another variation on the same theme!” Peggy giggled. “That silly bee! He sounded like a dive bomber!”

“They loved it!” Chris cried exuberantly, whirling Peggy around in the small hall. Chris was always like this after a show, Peggy noticed. Excited and gay and ready to go on for the rest of the night.

“Miss Lane?” one of the stagehands called to her. “There’s someone outside to see you.”

“Aha!” Chris intoned dramatically. “An admirer, no doubt. Come along, Peggy—take me to your stage-door Johnny and I’ll protect you!” Laughing, they stepped out of the door into the courtyard of the building.

“Peggy!” A tall, lanky, redheaded boy grinned down at her, stretching out both hands in greeting.

“Randy Brewster!” Peggy cried, “Randy—of all people! Well, how on earth—why—how did you—oh, Randy!” She was so excited and pleased that she stuttered.

“I loved the show,” Randy declared happily, hugging her, “and I was so surprised to see you down here at the Manor! I thought I’d have to wait to surprise you up at the theater.”

“Oh, Chris,”—Peggy remembered him—“I’d like you to meet a very dear friend of mine—I met him when I started in dramatic school. This is Randy Brewster—Chris Hill.”

“I certainly enjoyed your performance,” Randy congratulated him. “Very funny. You have a lot of vitality. Hope I’ll do as well here—”

“Oh,” Peggy exclaimed with sudden understanding, “is that why you’re here? The Manor hired you?”

“Yep,” Randy said. “I’ll be here for a week doing a new comedy routine. I hope we’ll be able to see each other often. I was so pleased, Peggy, knowing you’d be in the neighborhood.” He grinned at her with that funny, warm, crooked smile that Peggy remembered so well.

“I’m coming to see your opening day after tomorrow,” Randy went on. “Wouldn’t miss it for anything. I’m glad that I’ll be here while you’re playing a lead.”

“Well,” Chris said mysteriously, “I don’t know how much fun it will be for you, but you should certainly find it interesting! You’re familiar with the old saying, ‘All’s fair in love and war’?” He flashed a teasing smile at Randy. “Well, we’ll look forward to seeing you, Mr. Brewster—yes, indeed!”

Chris left them gaping after him while Randy shook his head. “That’s a strange fellow,” he puzzled. “He’s very charming, but I’d swear that he doesn’t like me one little bit! I wonder why! What have you been up to, Peggy?”

He looked at her curiously while Peggy wondered if things could conceivably get any more complicated! She had been so happy to see a friend from New York—and especially Randy. Now, she realized suddenly, she would have to play her big lead with the knowledge that Randy was in the audience, watching her and Chris. “Well,” she thought, shivering slightly, “that will be quite an experience!”

XI
Quick Thinking

Peggy sat at her dressing table applying her make-up carefully. For the first time this summer she had to be just as beautiful as possible with no little tricks or different hair styles for characterization. This time she could look just like Peggy, only more so. After she had put on the gown she wore for her entrance, she combed out her thick, glowing hair that had grown in the past few weeks until it just touched her shoulders. It framed her face in soft waves, and as she looked at herself in the mirror, she was pleased.

“You look absolutely lovely, Peggy,” Rita said, “dreamy, in fact. I think the audience will go into a tail spin—to say nothing of your friend Randy.”

The minute she mentioned his name, Peggy’s knees began to shake. “Here I go again,” she said nervously. “Opening night! Clammy hands and butterflies!”

“Well, don’t worry about it,” Rita said gently. “It’s only because you’re doing a lead. It’ll go away.”

But privately, Peggy wasn’t so sure. Was she nervous because of the play or Randy in the audience? “Oh, I wish he hadn’t told me,” Peggy thought desperately. “Now I’ll be thinking of him out there—”

“Break a leg, leading lady,” Chris whispered as he walked by, “and don’t worry about a thing.” He grinned at her encouragingly and Peggy thought again what a wonderful person Chris was. She wished he hadn’t teased Randy in that manner, but then Chris did everything all the way. No half measures for him! Peggy watched him close his eyes for a moment, getting into character and collecting his energy. Chris would be good, Peggy had no doubt. “And what about me?” she wondered. “I hope I can concentrate and not be distracted by my own private thoughts.”

Peggy didn’t make her entrance until the second scene of Act One. Now she wished that she had stayed in her dressing room instead of watching from the wings. By the time she walked on she was more nervous than ever, but fortunately, Janet was supposed to be in an excited state, too. Peggy was just beginning to relax and feel comfortable, timing her laugh—when the phone didn’t ring on cue!

Peggy looked at Chris and Chris looked at Peggy. There was dead silence for a moment. Something must have gone wrong with the phone bell or, worse, someone had forgotten! They couldn’t go on, either, until it rang. The call was necessary to the action.

“Well”—Peggy plunged in with an improvisation—“I’ve heard of sea gulls that are supposed to be angels of ships at sea.” Preston and Janet had just been talking about gulls—perhaps they could continue until the phone rang. But Chris didn’t pick it up. He looked perfectly blank, and Peggy read in his eyes that desperation that means an actor is completely at a loss. In theater terms, Chris had “gone up”—higher than a kite.

“I think there was an article about sea gulls in the Reader’s Digest,” Peggy ad libbed valiantly while Chris stayed silent as a tomb. If only he would come back a little and help her out! Peggy got up from the couch and strolled around the room as if seeing it for the first time. If she could disappear in the wings for a moment, she might be able to signal someone. “I hadn’t noticed what a lovely place you have here, Mr. Mitchell,” she went on, making her way upstage to the hall. “Is this the way to the kitchen?” She was out in the hall now and disappeared for a moment, waving her hand frantically in the wings.

Chris suddenly came to life and realized what she was doing. “Why, don’t tell me you’re hungry,” he called after her. “But if you want to snoop around—go ahead.”

“I’m not snooping!” Peggy reappeared for a second. This was better—at least they were improvising in character. “I’m just naturally curious, that’s all.” She disappeared again, desperately whispering, “Sst—sst—where’s the phone?”

Michael signaled her that they were working on it, the battery was dead! “Well, use the doorbell then—anything!” Peggy whispered. She came back on stage, her ingenuity giving out—but there it was, the ring! Chris dived for the receiver. Gus had used the doorbell but they managed to cover well enough and finished the first act with relief.

“Whew!” Chris said when the curtain closed. “Thanks a lot for pulling me through, Peggy. When that bell didn’t ring, I blew completely. First time that’s happened in ages.”

“You were wonderful, Peggy,” Rita said. “I don’t think the audience noticed a thing!”

“Gosh, I’m sorry.” Gus came up apologetically. “We should have used the doorbell right away instead of tinkering with the phone. That was quick thinking, Peggy.”

“So I did have my mind on my work after all!” Peggy thought happily. “How silly of me to worry about it.”

But as the play progressed to the last act where Preston finally embraces Janet, Peggy was amazed to find that the simple scene had suddenly acquired enormous value. All she could think of was Randy out in the audience! As they took their curtain calls she looked anxiously for him, wondering what he was thinking.

“Terrific!” Randy congratulated her with a friendly hug when he came backstage. “You were funny and wonderful and perfect and you looked like a vision!”

“Why don’t you introduce me, Peggy?” Alison asked as she came by. “This must be your famous friend—”

“Randolph Clark Brewster,” Peggy said gaily, relieved that Randy had taken the play as a play. “He’s a wonderful comedian, but his heart isn’t in it. He wants to be a playwright.”

“Really!” Alison drawled. “You aren’t related to the Brewsters of Long Island by any chance?”

Randy frowned and sent an appealing look to Peggy. He hated anyone to know about his wealthy family as he was trying his best to be successful on his own. “Well, uh, yes,” he muttered reluctantly. “Look, Peggy, change your things, and let’s go out for a snack. This is my night off and I want to make the most of it!”

“I always did like that strong, silent type,” Alison said as they entered the dressing room, “and besides having that wonderful face and red hair, he comes from a very prominent family. I don’t blame you for leaving Chris in the lurch for your old friend.” The barb sank in, and Alison’s contrived innocent smile did nothing to relieve it.

“Well,” Peggy thought miserably as she took off her make-up, “if people can’t understand a thing like friendship, then let them think whatever they like!”

“Hey, open up, Peggy.” Peggy got up to open the door and saw Bill Slade standing there. “You were great, Peggy. You’ll have to do another lead this summer. Want to go out for some coffee?” He smiled, accepting her silence as consent.

“Peggy—a small tribute to a great leading lady!” It was Chris, and he handed her a huge bouquet of roses with an elegantly mocking little bow. “But let’s eat. I’m famished.”

“That’s a really fine set,” Randy commented, returning from a tour of the stage. “Are you ready yet?”

Peggy hastily excused herself and closed the door while the three boys waited in the hall, each assuming that she was his special date for the evening.

Rita looked at Peggy’s perplexed expression with undisguised amusement, finally breaking into laughter. “The only solution, as I found out long ago, is marriage!” she chuckled. “You’d better start thinking about it, Peggy!”

“That is the last thing in the world I’m going to think about—for a long time!” Peggy said emphatically. She picked up her bag and sighed heavily, wondering how to handle the situation.

Alison was grimly combing her hair and putting her make-up away. “I don’t blame her for feeling left out,” Peggy thought. “Playing a lead does seem to make a difference in people’s interest—although it shouldn’t. And taking a back seat isn’t easy for Alison.” Peggy wondered how Alison would react if she asked her to join them. It would simplify everything, but she mustn’t appear to do it out of kindness.

“Why, to go to Mrs. Brady’s or the inn—or wherever we’re going. I think we ought to let the boys decide.” Peggy treated it as if it had been understood from the beginning. “Are you and Gus coming along, too?” she asked Rita.

“I’m sorry, we can’t, Peggy. We have to go over the prop list for You Can’t Take It with You. It’s a difficult show on the backstage end, and I want to help all I can.”

Peggy nodded. Next week was going to be a challenge for everyone. “Better hurry, Alison,” she said. “We can’t stay out too late. We have an early call tomorrow.”

It worked out just as Peggy had hoped. They went to the inn for sandwiches and Alison attached herself to Chris, leaving Peggy free to enjoy Randy’s company. Bill Slade had a marvelous time with all of them. Alison’s presence prevented Chris from kidding Randy, which, Peggy suspected, Chris would have loved to do. Just once in the evening, when Alison excused herself for a moment, Chris leaned across the table and said, “Say—how’d you like that last act, Randy? Think it was realistic?”

Randy looked from Chris to Peggy and back again. “Well,” he said with a slow smile, “it wasn’t exactly the way I would have played it, a little too theatrical for me. But then, Preston Mitchell was an actor! I’d be inclined to take that scene too seriously, I’m afraid.” He looked steadily at Peggy and she thought she understood. Randy was telling her that Chris’s interest in her was a professional mood—something she had guessed already. But more important, he was saying that his own feelings went deeper. Peggy felt comforted and secure. Whatever happened with their friendship, it would always be a lasting one. Peggy smiled at him understandingly.

“You Can’t Take It With You! And it’s going to be a job! We have to use a lot of townspeople because it’s such a large cast—”

“And the most awful thing, Randy,” Peggy continued, “is that I won’t be able to see your act down at the Manor.”

“Well, at least you can say good-by.” Randy smiled. “The day you play there is the day I leave.”

“Leave!” Peggy suddenly had an inspiration. “Oh, Randy, why don’t you stay here for another week? We’re going to need so many people in You Can’t Take It with You—I’m sure Chuck and Richard would love to have you.”

“The Russian!” Alison cried. “Everyone’s been biting their nails, wondering who could play the Russian!”

“Oh, yes, you’d be perfect, Randy,” Peggy urged. “And I’m doing Essie, the little ballerina. We could work together—do say you’ll stay!”

“You’re absolutely sure?” Chris asked, raising an eyebrow. “I mean, we wouldn’t want you to miss anything in New York—” He looked at Peggy for a moment, and noticing her pained expression, laughed good-naturedly, leaning across the table to shake Randy’s hand. “Okay. You win, Mr. Brewster! I can’t compete with old school ties and all that. You would be great for the part and we’d love to have you.”

The boys shook hands, grinning at each other, while Peggy looked on, happy and relieved. Chris had evidently decided to “bury the hatchet.”

Alison seemed a little mystified. “What’s going on with you two? You look as though you had a deep, dark secret.”

“Deep, but not dark, Alison,” Chris laughed. “Light as summer. Which reminds me, who knows something good for mosquito bites? They’ve decided all of a sudden that I’m a particularly delectable morsel!”

“Oh, oh, you’ve come to the right place,” Bill Slade offered eagerly. “Take it from an old hand—”

“But I found something brand-new—” Peggy started, and then everyone laughed, plying Chris with their favorite remedies. Randy promised Peggy that he’d speak to the producers the next day, and the party broke up with happy expectations of next week’s show.

XII
Varied Explosions

Just as Peggy had expected, the producers were delighted to have Randy stay an extra week and play the Russian ballet teacher, Kolenkhov, in You Can’t Take It with You. With Randy in the cast and everyone working comfortably together, Peggy couldn’t remember ever having such fun at rehearsals! And what a cast! The play needed so many actors that everyone was pressed into service. Michael Miller and the apprentices all had small parts, Chuck Crosby played the part of Peggy’s father as well as directing, Mr. Miller brought some friends of his to fill in, and even Aunt Hetty was persuaded to play. Mary Hopkins brought a friend to try out for the part of the Grand Duchess. June Tilson was a lovely young girl who turned out to have a really fine talent.

“Where have you been all summer?” Chuck asked when he heard her read for the first time. “We could have used you before!”

“She’s been in hiding,” Mary laughed, “or I would have brought her long ago.”

“I’ve been at the music camp, actually,” June explained. “You know—the group of folk singers who have a summer session nearby.”

“Oh, yes.” Chuck nodded. “We’re giving them the auditorium one night for a benefit performance. Let’s see—it comes during the week of Guest in the House, I believe.”

“Oh, will I be glad when we do that play!” Alison said. “I love the part!”

“Don’t count too much on having the same part this time,” Chuck cautioned her. “I’m not sure yet how we’re going to cast the play.”

Alison shrugged. “Well, of course, I’m doing Evelyn,” she commented blithely. “That was one of the reasons I came up here!”

“We’ll discuss it later,” Chuck said firmly. “And now, let’s get to work. By the way, does anyone have an idea on how to handle the fireworks?”

The script of You Can’t Take It with You calls for a display of fireworks onstage and an explosion offstage during the show. Michael Miller assured Chuck that he could easily take care of it.

“I have a workshop, you know, and it won’t be any trouble—be fun, in fact!”

“And don’t make it too realistic.” Peggy giggled. “Just a loud noise. We don’t want the auditorium down around our heads.”

“That Michael Miller is quite a character,” Randy commented to Peggy during a lull in rehearsal. “He seems so serious and yet sometimes I catch a gleam of sheer mischief under those horn rims. You don’t think he’ll do anything silly with the explosion, do you?”

“Of course not!” Peggy laughed. “Michael’s much too intelligent for that!”

Rehearsals went along as smoothly as could be expected with such a large cast. It was amazing, Peggy thought, that the local people were able to work so professionally with the rest of the company. Aunt Hetty was a delight to watch. She was enjoying herself hugely in her small but important role, and took all the direction that Chuck gave her with the greatest good humor.

“She’s a wonderful sport,” Peggy thought, watching her with amusement, “and I think she really loves this.”

Randy was so good that it seemed as if he might steal the show. It was hard for him, too, playing late at the Manor every night and then rushing to the high school each morning.

“What a schedule!” he sighed. Randy and Peggy were having a picnic lunch on the school grounds together. “But after tonight it will all be over.” It was Randy’s last night at the Manor.

“For you,” Peggy said, “but not for us. Tomorrow we play For Love or Money at the Manor, then comes the dress rehearsal and opening of You Can’t Take It, and after that we start on the old-fashioned melodrama. I wish you could be here for that one, too!”

“So do I—” Randy smiled affectionately—“but I really will have to get back to New York soon. Let’s not talk about it now, Peg, we still have a whole week! And you have two more nights as Janet.”

For Love or Money had been the most successful play of the season. People came in droves all week and money flowed into the box office.

“You think it would have happened anyway, after Mr. Birmingham’s review,” Randy told her seriously, “but that isn’t the whole story. I don’t think you realize how good you actually are in that part, Peggy. People are coming to see you—I’ve heard the comments around town!”

“Oh, Randy!” Peggy beamed at the delicious compliment. Randy was very cautious with his praise, and coming from him, the words made Peggy doubly happy.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if Richard and Chuck gave you another fat lead to do this summer,” Randy went on. “As a matter of fact, they’d be foolish if they didn’t.”

“But there isn’t another lead I could do,” Peggy said, surprised. “There’s just the little part in the melodrama and then, I suppose, the model in Guest in the House—”

“Oh,” Peggy laughed, “that’s Alison’s part. She’s been waiting for it all summer!”

Randy nodded and said nothing while Peggy suddenly remembered what Chuck had said to Alison—not to count on the part. Her heart skipped a beat as she wondered if Chuck had meant that he might give it to her! Oh! Peggy took a deep breath, feeling a little giddy. It just couldn’t happen, it was too good to possibly be true! No, she simply wouldn’t let herself think about it. She looked at Randy and caught him smiling at her.

“Yep,” he agreed with her unspoken thought. “Don’t think about it. You’re quite right. Put it entirely out of your mind!” They laughed happily and went back to rehearsal.

Opening night of You Can’t Take It with You made a permanent place in the history of Lake Kenabeek. With so many local people in the cast, the auditorium was overflowing with relatives and friends as well as summer guests. It was the best house the theater had had.

Michael Miller arrived with a little package carefully wrapped in cotton wool and asked Chuck where he should set it off.

“Set what off?” Chuck demanded, distracted and intent on getting things settled backstage as well as remembering his own part.

“My Kenabeek Special!” Michael answered. “You know, the explosion.” He hadn’t brought it to dress rehearsal with the explanation that there was only one firecracker. It hadn’t mattered—everyone was too busy to care. At this point, Chuck was crossing his fingers and trusting to luck that everything would turn out all right.

“Very,” Michael assured him. “At least I hope so—I followed instructions to the letter.”

“What instructions?” Chuck almost yelped. “Didn’t you just make an ordinary firecracker?”

“Good heavens no! You can’t trust those things. This is very special and safe!”

“Well, put it in an ashcan out on the stairs and set it off there. Be sure you’re careful!” Chuck called after him.

The play went unbelievably well. None of the props were missing, everyone came in on cue, the action zipped along, the audience was in stitches at the comedy. The end of Act Two approached and Peggy was onstage with Randy, Chris, Mr. Miller, the apprentices, and June Tilson. They had paced the show furiously, warming up to the big scene. Mr. Miller gave the cue for the explosion. A moment of silence—and then they heard it.

It sounded as if the roof of the auditorium had been blown off. Huge, billowing clouds of smoke poured on stage, almost obscuring the actors as they finished the scene amid coughs and tears, with a hysterical audience laughing as if their sides would split as the curtain closed.

The applause was deafening, but the actors hardly heard as they rushed backstage to see what had happened. There stood Michael Miller, black with smoke and ashes, peering at them helplessly from glasses that were absolutely opaque with grime.

“I put it in the ashcan, Chuck, just like you said,” Michael offered timidly. “I think it blew the top off.”

The ashcan was a crumpled mass of tin. The top had been blown across the stair well and ashes were strewn about, several inches deep.

“I guess you didn’t look in the can first,” Chuck said very quietly, his eyes still smarting.

“I was very careful, but I guess maybe I should have just used a firecracker.” Michael sat down sorrowfully on the stairs, looking like a lump of coal in a bin.

Peggy couldn’t restrain herself any longer. She burst out laughing. “Oh, Michael,” she gasped, “and you worked so hard! It couldn’t have been funnier if you’d tried!”

Nobody could control himself any longer, and they all laughed until their sides hurt. The play ended without another mishap and the audience left, still talking about the “bomb.”

“Your place in folklore is assured, Michael,” his father told him dryly. “But next time I suggest you take a simple little walk to the store!”

The week flew by so quickly that Peggy didn’t know where the time had gone. They were rehearsing the melodrama, Love Rides the Rails, and during the day Randy would come to the theater to watch and cue the actors.

“Only one more day,” Peggy said incredulously, “and then you’ll be off to New York and we’ll only have three more weeks here! Oh, the summer is going so fast!”

“I’ll miss all this,” Randy admitted, “the theater and the lake—and you!”

Randy decided to go back to New York on the night bus that left the Manor right after the last performance of You Can’t Take It with You. Peggy walked with him to the gates to say good-by, feeling that the nicest part of the summer was going with him.

“It’s been fun, Randy,” she said shyly. “I’m awfully glad you were here—”

“I am too,” he said seriously, taking her hand. “I think maybe I came along at the right time. Chris is an awfully nice guy, but—well—this is summer stock, Peggy. Funny things can happen when you act with people. If you’re really interested in him, I hope you’ll see him in a different environment—maybe back in New York.” He smiled and suddenly leaned down and kissed her. “In the meantime, don’t forget me!”

Randy started to get on the bus and then paused with another thought. “And don’t forget that you’re an awfully good actress,” he said. “I have a lot of faith in you. I’d like you to remember that for the next few weeks.”

The bus pulled away, leaving Peggy with a funny lump in her throat. She’d be seeing Randy again in a little while—why did she feel so strange, she wondered. She suddenly had an acute appreciation of the difference between Randy’s loyal and generous attitude and the impulsive, surface interest of Chris Hill. That was it, she realized. She was a little ashamed of herself for having been swept up in a current by a dashing leading man, nice as he was. She watched Randy’s bus turn the corner and disappear, knowing that nobody could quite take his place.

The annex seemed strangely quiet the morning of the day Love Rides the Rails was to open. Rita and Gus were down first as usual, having coffee and relaxing on the patio before rehearsals started. Peggy joined them, having hastily dressed in pedal pushers and a halter.

“It’s getting hotter and hotter,” she remarked, looking for a shady place to sit down and have her breakfast.

“But so peaceful after that hectic show,” Rita said lazily. “Really cozy! Will you ever forget Michael’s bomb?”

“I thought my hair would stand on end.” Gus laughed. “But it turned out to be a wonderful show. Your friend Randy certainly did a remarkable job!”

“I’m hoping that at last I get to play a nice young woman my own age.” Rita stretched out luxuriously on the wicker couch. “It doesn’t happen to me very often, you know!”

Rita nodded. “The wife to Chris Hill’s husband.” She grinned mischievously at Gus. “That is, if Gus approves!”

“Oh, certainly certainly.” Gus smiled and rumpled her hair as he rose. “Chris may be the Kenabeek heart throb, but I think my place is assured at home. See you all later—I have to go build a house!”

“He must really love his work,” Peggy sighed as she watched him go. “I think he’s worked harder than any of us this summer.”

“Except maybe Richard and Chuck,” Rita agreed. “I’m going to make him take a vacation after we’re through here, whether he likes it or not!”

One by one, the other actors appeared, and after breakfast Chuck started to hand out the sides for Guest in the House. Peggy felt unusually nervous. She had promised herself not to think of the possibility of playing Evelyn, but as the moment approached when her part was to be handed her, Peggy’s heart beat faster and her hand trembled. Chuck gave her the sides without a word, and after closing her eyes for a moment, Peggy took a deep breath and looked.

Evelyn! He had given it to her! She hugged the little pamphlet as if it were a long-lost friend. Here it was at last—a wonderful, rich, dramatic role, far, far different from all the ingénues she had played all summer!

Rita noticed her ecstatic expression and peeked at the sides. “Well,” she breathed softly, “I kind of thought so. I’m awfully glad, Peggy. You should play it!”

“Just a minute!” Alison’s voice was shrill in the quiet patio. “I’m not playing the model, Chuck. You gave me the wrong part!”

“No,” Chuck said firmly. “Peggy is going to do Evelyn and I want you to play Miriam Blake. You’re right for it, Alison, just as Peggy is right for Evelyn. It’s the only way to cast this show.”

“Well, I’m not going to do it!” Alison interrupted. “I’ve played Evelyn before and this just doesn’t make sense.”

“She did play it,” Chris broke in cautiously with a concerned look at Peggy. “We were both in the play last summer—”

“Yes, you had to job the part, and we can’t afford to do that. I’m sorry, Alison,” Chuck said gently, “I know you’d like to do it again and I’m sure you were wonderful. But you yourself can see that with our company this is the only possible casting. Peggy is too young and unsophisticated to play the model. It just wouldn’t work out.”

“Well, then, get somebody else to play the model,” Alison said impatiently. “Why not get that June Tilson—what’s the matter with her?”

“Because audiences want to see Peggy again in a good part.” Chuck was adamant. “They want to see you, too. That’s part of stock, Alison. Your summer audiences grow fond of their actors and are interested in seeing them in varied roles. The model is a perfect part for you, Alison, and you’ll be good in it. Now let’s start the reading!”

Peggy had listened anxiously, almost without breathing. Now, as she looked at Alison, who was obviously seething as she opened her sides, Peggy wondered if this casting wouldn’t create too many difficulties. She knew that Chuck was right, though. His explanation made perfect sense. It was best for the play. But how was Alison going to react? How would rehearsals go if Alison remained as hostile as she was now? Peggy watched her worriedly and was shocked to see the hateful glance that Alison returned.

Peggy grew more and more nervous as the time approached for her to read. She hadn’t considered this before, but Alison was a very good actress with a fine technique. Would Peggy be able to do as well in this part? Her mouth was dry and she was terribly tense. She stumbled over her first lines as she felt everyone watching her—Chuck hopefully, Chris and Danny curiously, Rita with calm compassion, and Alison with a spiteful expression that said, “All right—let’s see you try and do it!”

No audience could ever be as critical as this small group of professional actors. And even though she had a week to work, Peggy knew that she was being severely judged on this first reading.

XIII
Double Trouble

During the week of rehearsal Peggy found that the drama inherent in the part itself wasn’t going to be enough to carry her through. Evelyn was a girl who was emotionally disturbed and there was one scene toward the end of the play when she broke down altogether and appeared in a state of unreasonable fear. Peggy worked and worked on the scene, trying it every conceivable way, while Chuck patiently encouraged her. But it wasn’t going right and she knew it. Alison was doing a marvelous job as the model and it was a trial for Peggy to know that she was watching, criticizing, and comparing Peggy’s efforts with her own past success as Evelyn.

“I don’t think I can do it!” Peggy told Chuck miserably one day after rehearsal. “You should have given the part to Alison after all! I’m terrible.”

“You’ll be fine,” Chuck said quietly, but Peggy knew by the tone of his voice that Chuck had his doubts, too. She hadn’t made a real identification with the role yet, and it was drawing fearfully close to opening night. Worried and unhappy, Peggy wondered if she had any right to call herself an actress after all. If she couldn’t do this part that she had been so overjoyed to get, what hope was there?

She was tense and straining and finally even Chuck lost patience. “What’s the matter with you, Peggy?” he said sharply at rehearsal one day. “You’re missing this thing by a mile. You’re acting like an insipid little daisy that’s about to wilt on the stem! Evelyn isn’t like that—she’s crazy like a fox! She has power in her own strange way—”

“Could I say something, Chuck?” Alison interrupted, coming out from the wings where she’d been watching. “It might help Peggy. When I played the part I did it as though I were perfectly sane. Peggy’s trying to act crazy and it’s never believable that way.”

“Yes, that’s true,” Chuck admitted, “it’s a good suggestion, Peggy. Try the scene again with that in mind.”

Peggy didn’t protest or try to justify herself, even though she had been perfectly aware all along of what Alison had just said. She tried again, doing even more badly than before, terribly conscious of Alison watching from the wings and judging every move.

“That was a rotten trick!” Rita fumed in a whisper when the scene was finished and Peggy, almost in tears, ran off stage. “Alison offering to help you! She knew exactly what she was doing—trying to draw attention to herself and make comparisons. Peggy, you’re never going to relax in this part if you can’t forget that Alison played it before. Can’t you see what she’s doing?”

“But it’s too late to give her the part,” Peggy said dully, “so she can’t be after that. Alison’s never been like this before. I’ve always liked her, really. What is she trying to do?”

“Make you give a dreadful performance!” Rita insisted strongly. “I know Alison Lord like a book. She’s a fine, nice girl as long as she’s in the limelight, but her career comes first, and she’ll walk roughshod over anyone who interferes with it!”

“Yes, and people go back to New York saying, ‘Gosh, have you seen Peggy Lane in Guest in the House? She was great!’ These things do get around, Peggy. Alison came up here to be the big cheese, and she wants it to stay that way. If she can’t play the part at least she figures that people can say, ‘They really should have given that part to Alison Lord; Peggy Lane was awful!’”

Rita spelled it out in no uncertain terms, leaving Peggy feeling bleaker than ever. She knew that Rita was trying to prod her, make her angry enough to forget Alison and come through with a good performance. But Peggy didn’t work that way. She couldn’t act out of spite or anger. She was aware, too, that other people in the company were disappointed in her. Danny Dunn couldn’t conceal his surprise or Chris Hill his impatience. The fine rapport that Peggy and Chris had had in For Love or Money was a thing of the past.

Dress rehearsal for Guest in the House took place Tuesday afternoon. The company had to be out of the theater by five P.M. for the group of folk singers who had the auditorium for the evening. It was a benefit affair and the Summer Theater was glad to donate its stage for the night. Peggy didn’t know if it was the strangeness of working in the afternoon or if it would have happened in any case, but her performance was the worst one she had ever given. Not only was she unable to get into the role at all, but she forgot her lines on several occasions—something that hadn’t happened all season. Chuck was so unhappy with the show that he didn’t even criticize her. It was obvious that he thought it too late.

Miserably, Peggy took off her make-up and started to leave the theater, wishing that she had never been given the part at all. Perhaps she would never attempt to play a dramatic role again. “And I was feeling so self-satisfied, thinking it was easy!” she thought as she walked out the stage door.

“Peggy, how’s it going?” Michael Miller rounded the corner of the building, coming from the little shack the boys used for a scene shop.

“What you need is a little relaxation—a change of scenery.” Michael smiled. “What are you going to do with your first free evening of the summer?”

“Tonight?” Peggy shook her head. “Going to work on my part again, I guess—see if I can come up with something—”

“Why don’t you forget it for a while?” Michael asked. “I’m going to take Mary Hopkins over to the other side of the lake for dinner; we’d love to have you come along.”

“What else?” Michael laughed. “We’re not going to swim, that’s for sure! Come on, Peggy, it’ll do you good.”

It would at that, Peggy thought, suddenly feeling a sense of freedom at the prospect of being far away from the theater for a while, if even just for dinner. Maybe she could regain her perspective out on the water; there was nothing like putting a little distance between one’s self and one’s problem.

“I will, Michael,” she accepted gratefully. “I’d love to. Goodness, it’ll be the first boat ride I’ve had all summer!”

Peggy felt better than she had all week when they arrived at Michael’s house and walked down to his dock where Mary Hopkins was already waiting.

“I certainly am—if I’m not intruding,” Peggy said, suddenly wondering if she was interrupting a date.

“Oh, heavens, no!” Mary laughed. “I’ve been pestering Michael to take me out in the boat for weeks. This is the first time he’s been free!”

“I’ll just go and tell Dad we’re off,” Michael said. “That’s a rule around here when I take out the boat.”

He was back in a minute and they all got into the trim little craft, Peggy feeling almost carefree as Michael started the motor and they zipped away.

“We call her the Merry Mac,” Michael shouted over the noise of the motor to the two girls. “She’s Dad’s pride and joy—and mine.”

“I can see why,” Peggy laughed, loving the feel of the water underneath as they skimmed along. It had been a beautiful day. The lake was sky-blue and frosted with little points of white whipped up by the wind.

“Fun!” Peggy cried as the spray blew over the windshield and splashed her face.

“You’re going to get wet,” Mary warned as Michael passed over the wake of another boat, the Merry Mac slapping across, the spray leaping to drench Peggy’s face.

“I love it!” Peggy cried happily. “The wetter the better! Where are we going, Michael?”

“Straight across.” Michael cut his speed a little so he could hear. “See that cluster of buildings? The Golden Hound is the last one on the left. Good food and music—very rustic.”

They were in the middle of the lake now, and Peggy realized that it was much larger than she had thought. There were islands dotted all around, some so tiny that there was only room for one or two houses.

“Private islands,” Michael informed her. “How would you like one of those, Peggy?”

“Oh, would I! It would be sheer heaven!” Peggy took a deep breath of the wonderful fresh air. “No wonder you love this place, Michael. I wouldn’t ever want to leave if I’d been raised here!”

“The winters are cold, though.” Mary laughed. “How do you feel now, Peggy? Better?”

“Marvelous! I’ve almost forgotten about the theater entirely. This is just what the doctor ordered!”

Michael slowed the Merry Mac and carefully turned her into the dock in front of the restaurant. Peggy was impressed by his expert handling of the boat.

“Dad would never forgive me if anything happened to our little friend here, and I’d never forgive myself!” he said as he stepped out and helped the girls up from the boat.

They had a wonderful dinner at a lovely candlelit table by a picture window that afforded a sweeping view of the lake.

“What a beautiful spot,” Peggy said dreamily as twilight fell, and lights in the little cottages dotting the shore twinkled on like a fringe of decoration. “Why haven’t we been here before?”

“We can come again during the last week of the season,” Michael said. “I’ll bring everybody over sometime.”

“Michael, isn’t it getting awfully dark?” Mary interrupted, watching the sky that had changed from sunset violet to a deep, heavy gray.

Michael looked at the sky and smiled. “Sure, it’ll be dark before we get back. You’re not worried about going back at night, are you?”

“Well,”—Mary hesitated—“do you know how to find your way back at night?”

Michael laughed. “Mary Hopkins! And you’ve lived at Lake Kenabeek for sixteen years!”

“By my landing light.” Michael was still laughing at Mary. “I take a straight course from here, across the lake, home. It’s impossible to miss it. Where have you been all these years, Mary?”

“Well,” she said with a shy smile, “I guess I just never thought of it before.”

They finished dinner in a leisurely fashion, enjoying the music and the peaceful atmosphere of this beautiful spot.

“This really has been lovely, Michael,” Peggy thanked him as they left the restaurant. “I feel so relaxed and different—not half as worried as I was this afternoon.”

“You’ll probably knock ’em in the aisles tomorrow night,” Michael said cheerfully as they got into the Merry Mac again.

And Peggy thought he might be right, at that. Somehow, getting away from the part had done her a world of good. She found that she was actually looking forward to trying it again, and sure that she could improve her performance.

“My, it really is rough!” Mary said nervously as they started back. A high wind had come up and the choppy water was blowing in all directions, making the boat rock furiously.

Michael was quite unconcerned. “See—there’s the light, Mary.” He pointed it out to her dead ahead across the black lake. “We just take a bead on that, and home we go without obstacles—in the rain, it seems.”

A freak summer storm had suddenly come up, and the rain pelted down heavily, mixing with the spray that rose over the sides of the little boat.

“This is nothing,” Michael reassured Mary. “I’ve been out in storms much worse than this. As long as we can see the landing light there’s nothing to worry about, and it doesn’t look—”

But Michael had spoken too soon. The rain suddenly poured down in such force that it was impossible to see. In an instant it descended in driving torrents and Michael lost the landing light! In a second he had cut the motor. “I don’t think,” he began—but then it happened. There was a grinding crash that threw Peggy and Mary forward, their heads hitting the windshield, while the Merry Mac reared up and came to a shuddering stop.

There was dead silence for a moment. Then, “Is anybody hurt?” Michael asked tightly.

“No, I don’t think so....” Peggy moved a bit. “Mary, are you all right?”

“My head,” she said shakily. “No—it’s all right—I just bumped it.”

“Thank heaven!” Peggy breathed. “And thank goodness you cut the motor so fast, Michael. If you hadn’t been so quick....” They were all silent, realizing that it was only Michael’s alert action that had saved them from a much more serious accident.

“I don’t know,” Michael said, “but we’d better get out and see. I hope we’re not on a rock somewhere.”

The rain was so thick and the night so black that they couldn’t see a foot in front of them. Michael climbed out first, feeling his way. “It’s rock, all right,” he said nervously. “No—then it goes on into sand. Maybe we’re on a small island. Peggy, throw out the cushions from the seats, will you? I don’t know if the boat is lodged too tightly to sink or not, but we might as well have them to sit on.”

Groping in the dark, Peggy withdrew the cushions and handed them to Michael. Her hands touched something slick and cold. “What’s in the back seat, Michael?” she asked.

“Oh, good girl! Oilskin raincoats. I would have forgotten all about them. We keep them there—for emergencies.” Michael’s voice was hollow and Peggy knew that he was beginning to feel the situation. Michael had wrecked his precious boat. Well, there was no time now to think about that. Peggy took out the coats and wrapped one around Mary, who was still shivering slightly from shock.

They climbed up on their hands and knees, feeling their way precariously from the rocks on which the boat had crashed to the sandy beach. Peggy bumped into something and shrieked, then she realized it was a tree trunk. “Michael, we’re in some woods! Come on, Mary, get under cover and out of the rain!”

“Why doesn’t somebody light a match?” Mary asked plaintively. “Let’s make a fire or something.”

“What do you find so funny, may I ask?” Michael questioned sourly from the gloom beside her.

“A fire!” Peggy giggled. “A fire in all this rain! I’m sorry, Michael—it’s just nerves!”

“Very funny,” Michael said. “Well, I suggest we just sit here until the storm stops. Then we’ll be able to see where we are.”

But the storm continued in full fury for hours while the three, drenched and shivering, waited. Mary lay down on a cushion and, unbelievably, in a few minutes, was fast asleep. Michael too began to yawn as the hours passed, and Peggy offered him her cushion to doze on. She couldn’t possibly have slept. She curled up at the base of a tree, wrapped in her oilskin, and waited for the rain to stop. By the time the storm had subsided a little, dawn was breaking in a gray haze that filtered through the rain and trees and gave Peggy a view of the surroundings. She judged that they must be on an island, and getting up to look through the woods, saw a little path. Looking back at her sleeping comrades, Peggy decided to explore a little before awakening them. She hadn’t followed the path more than a few yards when she came to a clearing and a cottage among the trees. All night, a refuge had been this close! Seeing the house, Peggy realized how cold and exhausted she was. She raced back to the others and woke them up.

“I feel like the three bears,” Mary said sleepily. “I hope they have three beds and a stove; I’m chilled through.”

“It’s a lucky break we had your raincoats,” Peggy told Michael. “Do you realize we might all have caught pneumonia?”

Peggy knocked timidly at the door, hating to rouse anyone at this hour. It must be close to five in the morning, she guessed. There was no answer and Michael knocked again, louder this time.

A sleepy, startled voice called out, “Who is it?” and Peggy knew that the voice was familiar. Before she could place it, the door opened a crack and then was flung wide. There stood Mrs. Cook, wide awake now with the shock of seeing the three young people—wet and bedraggled as lost kittens.

If Mrs. Cook was astonished to see them, it was nothing to Peggy’s surprise at finding her here. “Mrs. Cook!” she exclaimed. “I thought you were staying at one of the hotels—”

Now the little group knew that they had crashed on one of the little private islands in the middle of the lake. Within minutes the story was told and Mrs. Cook had given them all warm bathrobes and hot drinks, fussing over them as if they were her own children.

“Now, all of you get some real rest,” she commanded, showing Peggy and Mary into her own room and giving Michael the couch. “We’ll talk about everything later after you’ve had some sleep!”

As she gratefully snuggled down under the warm covers on the comfortable bed, Peggy sleepily wondered why they hadn’t seen Mr. Cook. But she was too tired to think for more than a moment. Almost immediately she dropped off into a deep, dreamless sleep, utterly exhausted.

XIV
Ups and Downs

Hours later Peggy awoke to the sound of rain beating on the windows and a whining wind that lashed the tree tops mercilessly. It was a bleak world, dark as evening, and it was only noon. Mary and Michael had been up for some time, and Peggy found them in the living room, chatting with Mrs. Cook, who had prepared a hearty breakfast for everybody.

“Peggy—good!” Mrs. Cook said as she saw her emerging from the bedroom. “I was going to wake you any minute. You must be ravenous.”

“I am,” Peggy admitted, sitting down at the table Mrs. Cook had set in front of the fireplace. “A fire in the summertime! It doesn’t seem possible.”

“Well, when these storms come up it can get good and chilly here. The dampness goes right through you.” Mrs. Cook smiled.

“Have you called to notify your father that we’re all right?” Peggy asked Michael. “It just occurred to me that everyone must be terribly worried about us.”

“Can’t call,” Michael replied, frowning. “The phone’s out. Wire’s blown down, I guess. But I’m not too worried. I’m pretty sure Dad will assume we stayed on the other side of the lake because of the storm. It’s happened before. He’ll have called Mrs. Hopkins, and the theater for you, Peggy.”

Peggy noticed the worry in Michael’s eyes. There was something he wasn’t telling her, she felt sure. Mrs. Cook came to the rescue, gently putting her hand on Peggy’s shoulder as she said, “I’m afraid you may have to stay here all day, dear. My husband took the boat to town and couldn’t get back last night in the storm. He called to tell me before the phone went out. None of the boats are out today. We’ll just have to wait until it clears before you can be picked up.”

“Well, maybe you can,” Mrs. Cook placated her. “It should clear by evening, and my husband is sure to return as soon as he can.”

But as the hours progressed, the storm showed no sign of relenting. The wind whistled angrily, blowing the rain in blinding sheets. No boat could dare the lake in weather like this.

“A fine idea I had!” Michael accused himself grimly. “A little fun, a little relaxation—and what happens? I not only wreck the Merry Mac, but I’m responsible for your missing the show!”

“Oh, Michael, it isn’t your fault,” Peggy comforted him. But she was sick at heart. She had felt so optimistic about her new approach to the part, ready to play Evelyn tonight as if she had never played it before. Now she might not even be there. She had no doubt as to what Chuck would do; he would have Alison play the part and get somebody to read the model for this one performance. It had been done before in stock. And there went Peggy’s chance to prove herself, not only to the company, but to a deep part of her that said, “If I fail this, the opportunity may never come again.” She wandered over to the window and stood there, looking out, trying to hold back the tears of disappointment. “Maybe it’s better this way,” she told herself. “Perhaps I wouldn’t do any better than I have all week.” But she remembered Randy’s words as he left her that day on the bus—“You’re a fine actress and I have faith in you!” Randy must have foreseen both the part and the trouble with Alison. What he could never have imagined was the possibility of Peggy’s not being there to play it at all.

By six o’clock the storm finally showed signs of subsiding. Peggy anxiously watched the sky, wondering if it would be possible after all to get back in time for the curtain. At seven-thirty the rain had stopped and the wind was reduced to a murmur. Mrs. Cook took the group down to the dock to watch for her husband’s boat. “He’s sure to come soon,” she said. “I think you’ll make it, Peggy.”

Peggy strained to see across the lake. The sky was still gray, but in the distance they could hear a motor.

“Somebody’s out, Peggy,” Mary cried happily. “I think we will get back!”

But the boat appeared and it wasn’t Mr. Cook after all. They waved and shouted frantically, but the owner didn’t see them and he veered off in the opposite direction. A few minutes later another boat came into view and Mrs. Cook gave Peggy an impulsive hug. “There he is, dear.” She laughed. “Get ready to dash!”

Mr. Cook didn’t have a chance to say hello as he pulled into the landing. The three young people practically fell into the boat with Mrs. Cook shouting hasty directions and waving him off as if to a fire.

“Hurry,” she called as he turned around and sped off. “And good luck, Peggy—” Her voice trailed away and Peggy gripped the sides of the boat, her heart in her mouth as the possibility of making the curtain became a reality.

“This little runabout isn’t too fast,” Mr. Cook warned, “but I’ll make her do her best!” He pushed the little boat to her limit and in about twenty minutes they pulled up at Michael’s landing. “This is the closest one to the theater, Peggy,” Mr. Cook said. “Run! Don’t say thanks—just make that curtain!”

But Peggy was already out and running up the stairs. With a hasty wave she sprinted up the walk beside Michael’s house and started to run to the theater.

The parking lot was jammed with cars, but Peggy didn’t see anyone going into the theater. Panting, she started to run back to the stage door, but then realized that Chuck might be out front. She’d better let him know she was here. She dashed back to the entrance and tore through the large doors by the box office. Richard was just coming out of the little room and, seeing her, he grabbed her arm with a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness, Peggy! We were beginning to think you’d drowned!”

“Wait a minute,” Richard held on to her with concern. “The show’s started, Peggy....”

Breathlessly, Peggy stopped short while it sank in. Of course! Nobody in the lounge, the doors to the auditorium closed— The audience were in their seats and the curtain had opened! Still trying to get her breath, she looked at Richard helplessly while tears came to her eyes.

“Oh, come on, Peggy.” Richard patted her shoulder kindly. “It isn’t that important. If you only knew how worried we were about you! I’m so glad you’re safe and sound I don’t give a hoot about the show!”

“Thank you,” Peggy managed to say. “I couldn’t help it—I tried to get back.”

“I know. You can tell me all about it later. Why don’t you go home now and get some rest?”

“No! Oh, no.” Peggy collected herself and took a deep breath. “As long as I’m here, I’m going to watch!” It was a difficult decision. “Who’s doing the model?”

“Well, come on, then.” Peggy smiled bravely. “Aren’t you going to give me a seat?”

Richard grinned at her admiringly. “You’re quite a girl, Peggy. I’ll give you the best seat in the house!”

But Peggy preferred to watch from the rear of the auditorium, so she and Richard quietly found places together. It was almost unbearable to see someone else doing her part, but Peggy grimly watched, determined to be as objective as possible. It was doubly difficult to admit that Alison was quite marvelous as Evelyn. She was obviously working on emotion and excitement, but it didn’t matter. She established herself as the star of the play, projecting her self-assurance and technique so that the audience had eyes for no one else on stage. June Tilson did a remarkable job as the model on such short notice. No one but Peggy or another actor could have known that she was reading the part in bits and pieces before she made an entrance, improvising, and finding her lines on the back of furniture where they had been carefully pasted before the show.

“She’s good!” Peggy whispered. “My, she’s good! Winging a part like that takes a lot of courage. I thought she probably would read it.”

“Chuck said she could, but she wanted to do it this way. She’s a fast study, too!” Richard nodded in agreement.

Watching Guest in the House was one of the most painful experiences of Peggy’s life. By the time the play was over she felt as though she’d been drawn through a wringer. Wearily, she left her seat, as the actors were taking curtain calls, and bravos for Alison’s performance were filling the air. She walked outside and back to the stage door. Alison deserved her congratulations, and she sincerely wanted to tell June Tilson how good she had been.

Alison was still in make-up on stage, flushed with excitement and satisfaction. Everyone was milling around with words of praise for her wonderful job. No one would ever know what courage it took for Peggy to join the group and add her congratulations. Alison was too much in a whirl with her own triumph to take any special satisfaction from Peggy’s praise, and Peggy realized how right Rita had been. Alison had no personal spite; it was only her career that concerned her.

Everyone was glad to see Peggy back unharmed, but it was impossible to miss the undercurrent backstage. The company also was relieved that Alison had played Evelyn and “saved the show.”

A middle-aged man from the audience drew Alison away from her group of admirers and took her aside for a private discussion. In a few minutes, Alison rushed back excitedly, looking for Chuck. “I’ve got a screen test!” she exulted. “I have to leave tomorrow!”

“Leave!” The entire company was stunned. Actresses just didn’t walk out on a theater in the middle of the season. But Alison was blithely unconcerned.

“That was Sidney Mitchell, the talent scout from Lion Studios! He said he’d never been so impressed with a performance in summer stock! He thinks I’m great, said he couldn’t believe anybody could do a job like that at the last minute!”

“But you told him you’d played the part before, didn’t you?” Chris Hill demanded incredulously.

“Of course not!” Alison hotly defended herself. “Why should I? Let him think whatever he likes. The important thing is that he wants to test me for a part immediately. They’re looking for an unknown, and the part is of a girl very like Evelyn. Oh,” Alison glowed, looking more beautiful than ever with her taste of success, “just think, I might actually get to Hollywood!”

“Well, of course we can’t ask you to stay,” Chuck said. “I suppose June won’t mind continuing in your part—”

Everyone turned to look thoughtfully at Peggy, only now realizing that if she hadn’t missed the show, the talent scout would have seen her, maybe “discovered” her, instead of Alison. Their expressions were easy to read. Curiosity, pity, and a slight feeling of guilt at their obvious approval of Alison’s performance. Peggy bravely accepted their glances and smiled back at Alison. “I hope you do get the part, Alison,” she said gravely. “Be sure to let us know.”

Peggy couldn’t wait to get back to the annex and be by herself for a while. The reaction was just beginning to set in. If she had to stay another minute, she felt, she would break into tears. Hastily excusing herself with a promise to recount her adventure the next day, she started to leave.

But Rita stopped her at the stage door. “Don’t let it bother you too much, Peggy,” she said gently. “These things happen all the time. It’s just rotten luck for you. The only time we’ve had a talent scout all summer, and you had to have an accident!”

“It doesn’t matter, Rita,” Peggy said with difficulty. She didn’t want to talk another minute.

“Well, it amounts to the same thing, withholding the fact that she’d played the part before—that wasn’t very honest. I just thought you ought to know that everyone feels the same way about that. It wasn’t very ethical.”

“Let’s talk about it tomorrow,” Peggy pleaded, and Rita, understanding that she wanted to be alone, gave her a comforting pat and let her go.

Once in the privacy of her tiny bedroom, Peggy finally broke down and wept. It was rotten luck, she admitted to herself. The one chance she’d had all summer, and she’d missed it. Why did Mr. Mitchell have to pick this particular night to come?

“It isn’t that I don’t wish Alison good luck,” she cried softly, “but at least he could have seen both of us in the play. He would probably have picked Alison anyway, because she’s good movie material. But if he had only seen my work—it would have been something to take back to New York with me.”

And on top of that she had missed the opportunity to play Evelyn at the peak of her feeling about the part. Would she be able to do it at all tomorrow night? She buried her face in the pillow and sobbed until she was too exhausted to cry any more. Then, blessedly, sleep came.

Alison was gone by the time Peggy awoke the next morning. It seemed unbelievable that she had managed to assemble her things and pack in such a short time, but her little room was as stark and bare as if no one had been in it all summer.

The cast didn’t attempt to disguise their disapproval of Alison’s hasty exit. “That’s typical of anybody so career-minded,” sniffed Danny Dunn. “No gratitude. Alison doesn’t have the least conception of anyone’s problems except her own.”

“Thank goodness we have June Tilson to take her place,” Rita echoed. “I don’t know what Chuck and Richard would have done.”

By evening Peggy was so exhausted that she almost didn’t care how the play went. She was tired of questioning looks and concern. Tired of thinking about Evelyn. She put on her make-up and dressed for her entrance, as unconcerned as if she were simply going out to dinner. She watched the other actors begin the play and waited for her cue with such a lack of emotion that she wondered for a moment if she could possibly be coming down with a cold or a fever. She simply didn’t care. Her cue came up, and marshaling as much energy as possible under the circumstances, Peggy walked on stage.

For the two hours that she played Evelyn, Peggy worked with a most peculiar sensation. She felt as though she were standing beside herself, looking on. She watched Evelyn, heard Evelyn, moved her around like a puppet, with an objective, detached viewpoint completely new to her. She felt nothing whatsoever inside.

After the play Peggy took her solo curtain call and received the most tremendous ovation she had ever heard in the theater. She bowed and smiled, wondering what all the shouting was about, and was utterly astonished to see Chuck come to her with real tears in his eyes.

“That was one of the most beautiful performances I have ever seen in my life,” he said, looking at her with something like awe. “I won’t even ask you what happened. It was too wonderful to spoil by trying to analyze it!”

Ford Birmingham came back to congratulate her, too. “I haven’t yet written my review, Peggy, because I heard what happened last night. I saw both of you play it. Alison was awfully good, but I haven’t seen a job like yours in years! I’m truly grateful for having had the opportunity to see you!”

The entire cast looked at Peggy with a respect so new and surprising that Peggy didn’t know what to think. “You’re not fooling me, are you, Chuck?” she whispered. “I didn’t feel a thing out there. Was I really that good?”

“Oho!” Chuck grinned at her mysteriously. “So our little ingénue has discovered another secret—and all by accident! Listen, Peggy, sometimes it happens that way. Just when you feel dead inside you’ll give a performance so electrifying that everybody wonders what happened. It doesn’t always work, you can’t always be so objective. But I guess that’s what happened to you tonight. Tomorrow it’ll be different, but you’ll never have trouble with Evelyn again!”

And Peggy never did. Whether it was because Alison was no longer in the wings, watching and criticizing, or just because Peggy had finally “caught” it, she finished the week giving a glorious performance that brought more and more people to the theater, and sent them away knowing that they’d had a rare experience.

“This is what really counts,” Peggy thought gratefully. “Not a screen test or my ‘career,’ but the knowledge that I can really contribute something to the theater. Play a part with the author’s intention, not from my personal viewpoint.” Peggy felt immensely gratified to know that she was beginning to return a little of what the theater had already given to her.

XV
Summer Stock

The season closed with a rollicking farce that drew a full house every night. Enough money poured into the box office to pay back the investors and the Chamber of Commerce and even leave something over for the new science lab. On the last night of See How They Run, a tremendous party was held backstage after the show. Everybody was there. Aunt Hetty was hostess, beaming and brusque as ever, with lavish promises of what the theater would do with her barn next summer. For it was certainly established now that the Kenabeek Summer Theater was here to stay!

The directors of the Chamber of Commerce and the members of the School Board were there; all the apprentices and their families came; Mr. Bladen read a special poem of praise for the theater; Mr. and Mrs. Cook and Mrs. Hopkins and all their friends joined the celebration. Mr. Miller and Michael were happy to report that the Merry Mac had not been damaged beyond repair after all, and that next summer she would be back, ready to take the cast across the lake to the Golden Hound for dinner.

“Well! That certainly speaks well for my son’s seamanship,” Mr. Miller declared.

“If it weren’t for him, we’d all be at the bottom of Lake Kenabeek,” Mary Hopkins said. “Wreck or no wreck, Michael’s a mighty good sailor!”

“And the Merry Mac was a smart boat to pick the Cooks’ island out of all the islands in the lake!” Peggy said. “I’d trust her again any time.”

“And the Cooks have practically put Bladen’s Antiques out of business,” Mr. Bladen added, winking at Peggy. “After your boys cleaned up my shop, the Cooks couldn’t seem to take things away fast enough. Then their friends started to come! Pretty soon, I’ll have to start buying more antiques or just stick to poetry!”

Bill Slade dashed into the theater, breathlessly waving an envelope and calling for everyone to be quiet. “I know this is going to be a huge shock,” he cried excitedly, “but you all know how much our business has improved since the Kenabeek Summer Theater came to town—for many reasons.” He grinned at Peggy. “Well! Although my brother Max is too shy, and to be honest, still too stiff-necked to come here personally and admit a mistake, he’s tried to redeem himself in a mighty concrete way!” With a huge smile of satisfaction, Bill dramatically opened the envelope. “Here’s a check to match whatever the Summer Theater is donating to the high school—from Maximilian W. Slade! You just fill in the amount!”

“Oh, Bill, that’s just about the nicest thing that’s happened all summer!” Peggy cried.

“It makes me very happy!” Bill said, grinning from ear to ear. “Next summer, Max might even put in an appearance at a play!”

Richard Wallace made a short, funny speech, thanking everyone for their cooperation, and at the end giving a word of special praise to the actors who “worked together without undue friction, without too many complaints, and with only a minimum of backstage feuds, which is probably a ‘first’ for any Adirondack stock company! Or any other, for that matter!”

There were toasts to the actors, toasts to Gus and the apprentices, toasts to everyone, including the Merry Mac, the annex, Lake Manor, the audiences, and Mrs. Brady’s food. The party lasted long, with all the actors talking about the possible jobs that awaited them in New York.

“What do you think you’ll do when you get back to New York, Peggy?” Chris Hill asked. “Do you suppose we’ll have a chance to work together again?”

“I hope so,” Peggy replied, glad to know that she could now talk to Chris naturally and calmly, as actor to actor. “I’m going home for a visit first, but after that anything can happen!”

“And next time we won’t let personal feelings interfere with our work, right?” Chris beamed at her, his handsome face teasing a little, but now Peggy understood.

“And give Randy my regards,” Chris added seriously. “He’s a great guy, and I really hope to see him again sometime.”

The party finally broke up, with everyone going back to the annex to start packing. Chuck and Richard had to stay after the close of the season to wind things up, but almost everybody else was leaving Lake Kenabeek on tomorrow’s bus. Peggy remained quietly in the theater after everyone had gone. She wanted to be alone for a little in this theater that she might never see again.

The flats had been stacked away for the party, and now only the worklight was left, its circle casting a small pool of light on the empty stage. Peggy stood there alone, looking out at the silent auditorium and thinking of everything that had happened this summer. She remembered the first time Rita and Gus had brought her up to the theater—the stage had looked just like this. That night she had had her first taste of the hectic backstage activity of painting flats. She had learned so much this summer, Peggy thought gratefully. She had learned about the theater and about working with people—even about summer romance and handsome leading men! Peggy smiled wistfully, wishing that Randy could be here with her now. He was the only person she knew who could share her feelings about a dark theater like this—the smell and the memories and the ghosts.

For it seemed to her that the house was filled with echoes from all the plays they had done that summer, that all the parts and the plays and the authors were still alive here somehow. This emotion was the magic that had brought Peggy to the theater in the first place—this sense of life, of living literature, of a communication that was nowhere else so special as between actor and audience.

Peggy remembered the first time she had walked out on this stage in Dear Ruth. How nervous she had been! And then as the weeks progressed, her sureness had developed, her professionalism had increased. She had learned from Rita and Gus and Chuck, from Richard and Danny and Alison. Yes, perhaps most of all from Alison Lord, who had shown her the contrast between career and dedication.

“I hope I will come back here sometime,” Peggy said aloud in farewell. She was sentimental enough to wish to say a private good-by to her summer. “And thank you,” she whispered, “thank you for everything.”

As she finally walked out the stage door for the last time, her make-up kit tucked under her arm, she could already hear the questions her parents would ask when she arrived home for her visit.

“Well! What did you do this summer, Peggy?” they would say. “What happened? Tell us all about it.”

“My goodness,” Peggy wondered, smiling at the stars, “how can I possibly tell them?”

PEGGY GOES STRAW HAT

Peggy Lane’s education in the theater and in life is “accelerated,” the summer she takes to the Straw Hat Circuit. Signed with the newly organized Kenabeek Summer Theater, Peggy is thinking only of her work when she arrives at the Adirondack resort. But acting turns out to be only one of her problems.

Immediately, she learns that the Summer Theater is opposed by Max Slade, the local movie theater owner, who is exerting every effort to force the “competition” to leave town. And she meets Chris Hill, blond, exciting, romantic leading man of the company—who can make any girl feel she’s his One and Only, and not realize himself that he’s insincere. Finally, there’s the back-breaking, bone-wearying, nerve-jangling job of mounting a new play a week—never knowing if it will open!

The maneuvering—legal and personal—as the actors fight to save their theater is as dramatic as their nightly shows. But in the end it is Peggy’s own warmth, charm, and intelligence which precipitate the surprising climax to their efforts to make the theater an accepted part of the community!

Peggy Lane Theater Stories

Peggy Finds the Theater
Peggy Plays Off-Broadway
Peggy Goes Straw Hat
Peggy on the Road

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The Project Gutenberg eBook of Peggy Goes Straw Hat

Peggy Goes Straw Hat

CONTENTS

I
The Arrival