Chapter XVI: Peggy Makes a Speech

The great occasion was at hand. Assisted by Joe and Jerry, the girls had spent most of the day in the schoolhouse, with results that surprised themselves. The platform had been slightly enlarged, to meet the exigencies of a dramatic representation. Curtains of various colors and material provided dressing-rooms for the actors, on either side of the stage. A screen brought from Dolittle Cottage hid from view the blackboards back of the spot usually occupied by the teacher's desk. A rug covered the pine boards of the platform, while a few chairs, a small table and a fern in a brass jardinier produced the homelike effect the girls were after. Jerry was immensely proud of the curtain, which, thanks to the pulleys he had arranged, worked as smoothly as if it had been a professional curtain, instead of belonging strictly to the amateur class. Peggy suspected that down in his heart Jerry believed that curtain to be the most important and appealing feature of the prospective entertainment.

While the girls labored at the schoolhouse, Elaine sat on the porch of Dolittle Cottage, and studied her part with such fixed attention as to be completely oblivious to the charm of her surroundings. When Peggy came hurrying home to look after the dinner she groaned self-reproachfully at the sight of Elaine's furrowed brow, and silently moving lips.

"It's a perfect shame! You came up here for a rest, and the first thing we do is to set you to work--and such hard work."

"Two days of it won't hurt me," Elaine returned buoyantly. "And you know, Peggy, I'm ever so glad to help out." But it was quite unlikely that Peggy realized the satisfaction Elaine experienced in the knowledge that her opportune arrival meant the success of Peggy's scheme. Elaine had a deep-rooted antipathy to being under obligations, a characteristic which has its root in wholesome independence, though it may easily be carried too far. Nothing could have promised better for her enjoyment of her little holiday than this unexpected opportunity to turn the tables on her hostesses, and become the benefactor.

Although two days seemed a very short time for mastering her part, Elaine felt confident that she would make no serious slip. Her memory was quick, and responded to the spur of necessity. If her attention wandered even for a minute, she caught herself up, realizing how much depended on her application. Luckily the _role_ appealed to her, and for that reason was more readily memorized. Though she had prefaced her offer with the assurance that she should not distinguish herself in the part, she began to be hopeful that she would be able to do more than repeat the lines mechanically.

As the critical hour approached, Elaine was perhaps the least nervous of any of the household, and she gleaned more than a little amusement from the efforts of the others to reassure her. "You know I'll be right there with the book," said Aunt Abigail, who had accepted the important post of official prompter. "So it won't be a serious matter if you forget." The others had similar encouragement to offer, some of it mingled with good counsel. "Don't lose your head if you get tangled up," Peggy warned her. "Because the rest of us know our parts perfectly, and we can go on with it, even if something is left out." And Elaine, while agreeing not to lose her head, promised herself the satisfaction of surprising the doubters.

Early as the girls reached the schoolhouse, they were not the first arrivals. Farmer Cole's Joe, transformed almost beyond recognition, by what he would have designated as a "boiled shirt" and a high collar, had already quite a little pile of tickets and silver ranged on the table before him. Jerry and his orchestra were in their places. Jerry's hand-painted necktie was, of course, in evidence, while the pointed shoes creaked whenever he moved, as if in protest against the exacting service that was being required of them at their time of life. The Dolittle Cottage girls hurried past the observant eyes, and in the improvised dressing-rooms found Lucy and Rosetta Muriel awaiting them. Resentfully Rosetta Muriel had dressed according to Peggy's specifications, black dress and ruffled white apron, with a jaunty cap perched on her fair hair. Then she had viewed herself in the mirror and had experienced the surprise of her life.

"Why, I look real pretty!" exclaimed Rosetta Muriel staring, but there was no vanity in the observation. Rosetta Muriel announced it as a scientist would proclaim the news of some discovery in physics. She tested the accuracy of her impression by the help of a hand-mirror. She had not been mistaken. "I really look pretty," repeated Rosetta Muriel, and, for the first time in her life, realized the aesthetic possibilities of simplicity.

Her lingering grudge against Peggy in part dissipated by her scientific discovery, vanished completely when Peggy removed the rain-coat and the heavy veil which had obscured her charms. Peggy's make-up was very successful in effacing every suggestion of youth and girlish prettiness. Artistically designed wrinkles made her look seventy-five at the least computation, and suggested in addition, a quarrelsome disposition. Rosetta Muriel took one look, and gave way to giggles.

"My goodness, but you _are_ a sight," said Rosetta Muriel, entirely forgiving Peggy for the prohibition of the apple-green silk. "Is that a wig you've got on?"

"Nothing but corn-starch," replied Peggy, piling her wraps in the corner. "Now, Elaine, you see, Aunt Abigail will sit right here, so you needn't be one bit nervous about forgetting. Hear the people coming. I believe we're going to have a full house."

This pleasant expectancy was confirmed by the continued and increasing shuffling of feet over the bare schoolhouse floor and the hum of voices. The time of waiting was somewhat trying for all the performers, especially for the novices. Lucy Haines, whose part consisted of a dozen sentences or less, grew gradually paler and paler, till she looked like anything but a footlight favorite. Rosetta Muriel smoothed her apron and adjusted her cap with the regularity of clockwork, till it began to look as if both these serviceable articles would be worn out before the little bell gave the signal for drawing the curtain.

All at once the hum of voices outside took on a menacing volume. Behind the curtain the girls were unable to distinguish a word, but judging from the sound, an altercation was in progress. "What can be the matter?" demanded Peggy, turning a startled face on the others.

"Nothing to worry about, child," said Aunt Abigail soothingly. "Probably some of those young farmers are having some noisy fun." But the loud voices did not impress Peggy as suggesting good-natured nonsense. And her apprehensions were presently confirmed by Jerry Morton, who slipped under the curtains and came hurrying toward her. The boy's face was flushed, and he was breathing fast.

"It's that Cherry Creek crowd," he exclaimed. "They're going to spoil everything."

"The Cherry Creek crowd?" Peggy repeated in bewilderment. "Oh, I remember." Vaguely she recalled the little settlement scattered along the banks of Cherry Creek and taking its name from that unassuming stream. In the opinion of Peggy's neighbors, the young people of Cherry Creek were a distinctly inferior class. Peggy had been inclined to set this down to prejudice. In view of the demonstrations outside, she began to think that possibly she had been mistaken.

"A crowd of 'em drove over," continued the exasperated Jerry, "and more's coming. And they say they won't pay any admission, 'less they can have seats. They say it's our business to have seats for everybody, the way we've been advertising this here show."

In spirit Peggy groaned. It appeared that the too obliging _Weekly Arena_ had overshot the mark.

"It's going to spoil everything to have them standing up there at the back of the room," repeated Jerry. "They'll get to fooling, and shuffling 'round. They wouldn't like anything better than to upset the whole show. I'll bet that's what they came for."

"What are we going to do?" Peggy wrinkled her brows in the effort to decide the question.

"Joe says he's ready to take a hand in throwing out the whole bunch. There's some of our fellows here, good and husky, who'll help. But he says if we do that, we ought to do it quick, before the rest of the crowd gets here."

"Certainly _not_." And as Peggy vetoed one suggestion, her groping brain seized on another. "Jerry, how far is Cherry Creek?"

"Eight miles, the nearest houses. Why can't they stay to home and get up their own shows, 'stead of coming all this way to spoil ourn?"

Peggy's answer was unexpected. She pushed past Jerry, mounted to the platform, and pulling aside the curtain, stepped out before the uneasy audience. A characteristic of leadership is the ability to dispense with advice in a crisis. At that minute Peggy did not need to ask whether she were right.

The clamorous voices died down at her appearance. There was an instant of astonished silence, and then a roar of laughter. The laugh was something on which Peggy had not counted, and for a moment, she was completely bewildered. Peggy was on too good terms with her fellow beings to be afraid of them in bulk, but she had forgotten that her grotesque appearance would naturally create amusement, and the roar of laughter took her unawares. For the first and only time in her life, she knew the meaning of stage-fright.

Then her momentary confusion passed. The faces which for a long moment had seemed blended in one gigantic face, jeering and unfriendly, regained their individuality. She saw them looking up at her with interest. The uproar was quieting. She took a fresh grip on her self-control, and as she regained the mastery of herself, she knew that she was mistress of the situation.

"Ladies and Gentlemen!"

The clear, girlish voice, in combination with Peggy's aged appearance, was incongruous enough to create further laughter, had the audience not been too interested to hear what she was about to say, again to interrupt.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, first of all, I want to thank you for coming. All of you know, I'm pretty sure, that the proceeds of this entertainment go to help one of your own girls who wants an education. And the way you've turned out shows how glad you all are to help."

She paused an instant, to be sure that the time had come to broach her proposition. The aspect of her listeners was reassuring. Nearly every face raised to hers was smiling. Even the Cherry Creekers wore an air of conscious virtue.

"But, Ladies and Gentlemen, there is one little embarrassment we hadn't counted on, an embarrassment of riches, you might call it. There are too many people here for the schoolhouse. A number are standing, and it would be impossible for them to enjoy an entertainment as long as this without having seats."

The smiles vanished as Peggy approached the delicate point. The Cherry Creekers no longer looked virtuous, but rather defiant.

"Now, I'm going to make a suggestion, Ladies and Gentlemen. Part of our audience has come quite a long way. We don't want them to go home without seeing what they came for. But you who live near could come out to-morrow night. Now I'm going to ask those of you who live in the neighborhood to give your seats up to the friends who have come so far for the sake of helping us." (Sensation in the audience.) "Your money will be returned as you pass out, and we shall hope to see every one of you here to-morrow evening. Positively no postponement, Ladies and Gentlemen, on account of the weather."

The silence that followed was of the briefest possible duration. In nine cases out of ten, a frank, tactful appeal to the generosity of an American crowd proves successful. Somebody started to clap, and all at once the schoolhouse shook with applause, even the disappointed succumbing to the contagion and clapping as enthusiastically as any one. And then when Mr. Silas Robbins rose to his feet and ushered his wife and daughter from the building, the crisis was safely past.

What with returning the money of half the audience, and receiving the quarters of the other half, for the Cherry Creek crowd was making haste to pay up, Farmer Cole's Joe had his hands full. He reached for his money box as the Robbins family filed past, but the head of the house checked him with a genial gesture.

"Never you mind the money, Joe," said Mr. Robbins. "That girl's speech was wuth it. She's a corker." He chuckled admiringly. "The way she can get 'round folks and make 'em do as she says beats the Dutch. If she was a boy now, it's dollars to doughnuts that she'd get to be president." He went on his way, still chuckling, and at the door encountered the second delegation from Cherry Creek.

It was doubtless due to the earlier excitements of the evening that Peggy came so near disaster later. They had reached the second act most successfully, and the audience had laughed at every suggestion of a joke, and when the curtain was drawn, had joined in tumultuous applause, piercing cat-calls blending euphoniously with the clapping of hands, and the stamping of feet. And then Peggy, who knew the entire comedy from beginning to end, and could have taken any part at five minutes' notice, stumbled in her lines, and to her horror, found her mind a blank.

She looked toward Aunt Abigail, but unluckily the prompter had been so carried away by her enjoyment of the presentation, that she was listening delightedly, quite unmindful of her professional duties. As she met Peggy's appealing gaze, she started violently, and an excited flutter of leaves conveyed to Peggy the unwelcome information that Aunt Abigail had lost her place.

Oddly enough, it was Elaine who came to the rescue. In playing her part, practically without rehearsals, Elaine had found it necessary to familiarize herself with the general dialogue of the little comedy. While the other girls stood stricken dumb by the realization that Peggy had forgotten, the opening sentence of the deferred speech flashed into Elaine's mind. "'But I demand the proof,'" she said in a sharp whisper.

Instantly Peggy was herself again. "But I demand the proof," she cried, and swept commandingly toward the centre of the stage. The pause, which had seemed such a long hiatus to the little group on the platform, was hardly noticed by the audience. Aunt Abigail glued her eyes to the page and did not look away again till the next intermission. Peggy gave herself a mental shaking and her fellow actors took a long breath, while the audience laughed delightedly, quite unaware of the little by-play.

Not till the second act was finished, and Jerry's orchestra was rendering a spirited Spanish fandango, a score of feet beating time, did Peggy find opportunity to express her sense of obligation.

"You darling!" She caught Elaine in her arms, and hugged her mightily. "That's twice you've pulled us out of a hole. If the audience knew all that we do, they'd pick Adelaide for the star of this performance." And indeed, considering the disadvantages under which Elaine had labored, Peggy's generous tribute was hardly exaggerated.

The play was repeated on the second evening to an equally crowded and appreciative house. Indeed, the audience which had obligingly retired in favor of the visitors from a distance, reaped the reward of its generosity, for the second performance was distinctly better than the first. Lucy and Rosetta Muriel, who had gained confidence from one public appearance, spoke their few lines in distinct, audible voices, which was as much as the parts required. Elaine had had one more day to study her part, and was able to do it better justice than on the preceding evening. As for Peggy, since her thoughts were not distracted by the necessity of making a speech, she was in as little danger of forgetting her lines, as of forgetting her name.

On the whole, they had every reason to congratulate one another, and when the audience had dispersed, the performers lingered with a few outsiders especially interested, to say again and again, how well everything had gone off, and how pleased every one had seemed. And Joe added convincing testimony to the correctness of the verdict.

"When folks pay more than they've _got_ to pay for a thing, it comes pretty near being a success. Why, there was a half a dozen said to me they didn't care for no change, and two of 'em were Cherry Creekers. What do you think of that? And Deacon Bliss, he paid three admissions with a five-dollar bill, and said it was all right."

"How much do you think we've made, Joe?" Peggy asked.

"Well, I've just been counting it up. The tickets cost a dollar fifty, and Jerry spent a little for wire and stuff for the curtain. But I guess you've got, above all that, as much as forty dollars."

Peggy turned and looked at Lucy Haines. Silently Lucy looked back at her. And without a word on the part of either, it was plain that one had spoken and the other answered.