Chapter I: Dramatics

_It is the Saturday night performance of the senior play. The curtain is about to rise. The aisles and back of the house are packed with people struggling for seats; alumnæ and under-class girls who have admission tickets only, are preparing to sit on all the steps; the junior ushers are hopelessly trying to keep back the press. It is to be supposed that the orchestra is playing, judging from the motion of arms and instruments. The lights are suddenly lowered and the curtain rises. The struggle for seats at the back, the expostulations of the ushers, and the comments of the alumnæ and students, who have seen the play twice before and consequently do not feel the need of close attention, completely drown the first words of the scene._

_Back of house. Large and fussy mother, looking daggers at the sophomores squatting beside her, giggling at the useless efforts of a small worried usher to prevent a determined woman, escorted by her apologetic husband, from prancing down into the orchestra circle; and unimportant senior._

_Mother._ What? What? Who is this, Emma? Where are we?

_Emma._ That's Viola, Mother. She's just been shipwrecked, you know.

_Mother._ Oh, she's the heroine. She's the best actor, then?

_Emma._ Dear me, no. Malvolio's 'way by the best. And then Sir Toby and Maria--they're awfully good--you'll see them pretty soon now. I don't care for Viola much. She tries to imitate Ada Rehan--

_Curtain drops on First Scene._

¶ _Orchestra Circle. Handsome, portly father, exceptionally well set up, his wife, and head of department._

_Father, with enthusiasm._ By Jove! Is that a girl, really? You don't say so! Well, well! Sir Toby, eh? Well, well! And who's the little girl? Maria? Did you ever see anything much prettier than she is, Alice?

_His Wife._ She's very charming, certainly.

_Head of Department._ She's about the best of them. A very clever girl. But you ought to see Malvolio! I don't care for Sir Andrew--

_Father._ Alice, look at him! Did you ever see anything so odd? Now I call that clever--I must say I call that clever! To think that's a girl--well, well! See him shiver, Alice! Capital, capital! Do they do this themselves--costumes and acting and ideas and all?

_Head of Department._ They make the costumes, I believe, most of them. Then they have a trainer at the last. It's amazing to me, but as a matter of fact their men's parts are as a rule, considering the proportionate difficulty, you know, much better than their women's. Comedy parts, at that. I've never seen but one woman's part really well done.

_Father._ Really? Now why do you suppose, sir, that is so?

_Head of Department._ I can't say. But they're very artificial women, as a rule. Overtrained, perhaps.

¶ _A group of last year's graduates and two ushers on the platform of the fire-escape upstairs._

_First Graduate._ I suppose you're nearly dead, poor child?

_First Usher._ Heavens! I never slaved so in my life! Did you see Ethel Williams' mother _insist_ on going down into her seat? I don't see how people can be so rude.

_First Graduate._ Going better, to-night, isn't it?

_First Usher._ Goodness, yes! I think it's fine. Don't you? Isn't Dick _simply fine_! There she is! (_A burst of applause as Malvolio and Olivia enter._)

_Second Usher._ Do you know, they say that Kate Ackley thinks it's half for her!

_Second Graduate._ Not really?

_Second Usher._ Yes, really. She is stunning, there's no doubt.

_Second Graduate._ Oh, yes, she's stunning. Is that her own dress?

_Second Usher._ Yes. Her aunt gave it to her. It's liberty satin. But she's a stick, just the same. Do you like Viola?

_Second Graduate, parrying._ She looks very well. I was rather surprised she got it, though.

_Second Usher._ You know Mr. Clark wanted her for Sir Andrew, and she wouldn't. He was very angry, and so was the class. They don't care for Ethel at all. But it was Viola or nothing. She's seen it four times and she thinks she knows it all, they say. I _do_ think she does some parts very well indeed.

_First Usher._ Oh, Miss Underhill, isn't Viola grand? Don't you think she's fine?

_Second Graduate, sweetly._ Yes, indeed. She looks so cunning in that short skirt!

_Curtain falls on First Act._

¶ _Two fathers standing at back._

_First Father, smiling affably._ A great sight, I assure you, sir! All these young girls, and parents, and friends--a proud moment for them! And how well they do! That one that takes the part of Malvolio, now, that Miss Fosdick--pretty smart girl, now, isn't she?

_Second Father._ That's my daughter, sir.

_First Father._ Well, well! I expect you're pretty pleased. You ought to be.

_Second Father, confidentially._ I tell you, sir, I never believed she had it in her, never! Her mother and I were perfectly dumfounded--perfectly. I don't know where she got it from; certainly not from me. And her mother couldn't take part in tableaux, even, she got so nervous.

_First Father._ Just so, just so! Now, I want to tell you something, Mr.--Mr. Fosdick. These colleges for women are a great thing, sir, a great thing! You take my daughter. When she came up here, she was as shy and bashful and helpless as a girl that's an only child could possibly be. Couldn't trust herself an inch alone. Never went away from home alone in her life. Look at her now! She's head of this whole committee: you may have noticed their names on the back of the programme. Costumes, scenery, music, lights, stage properties, scene shifting--all in her hands, as you might say! I slipped up to the stage door, and I begged the young woman there to let me step in and see her a moment. Girls do it all, you know! She was on policeman duty there. But she let me in and I just peeked at Mary, bossing the whole job, as you might say! It was "put this here" and "put that there" and taking hold of the end and dragging it herself, and answering this one's questions and giving that one orders--I tell you, I couldn't believe it! Short skirt and shirt-waist, note-book in her hand--Lord! I wished I had her up at the office with me!

_Second Father._ Then you're Miss Mollie Vanderveer's father?

_First Father._ Yes, sir, James L. Vanderveer.

_Second Father._ Pleased to meet you. 'Lida often speaks of her. She said to her mother and me to-night just as she went down to "be made up," as they call it, that Mollie was a brick and no mistake. It seems she's doing two girls' work to-night.

_First Father._ Yes, one of the committee is sick. After all, it's a pretty hard strain, it seems to me. Mary's pretty strong, but she said to me yesterday that if there had been another performance--

_Curtain rises on Second Act._

¶ _Lobby. College physician and junior usher._

_Physician._ Will you just step over to the drug store across the street and get me some brandy--quickly, please?

_Usher._ Oh, certainly, Dr. Leach!

_Physician._ Here, child, stop! Put on a cloak--are you crazy?

_Usher._ But I'm quite warm, Dr. Leach!

_Physician._ Put on a cloak! With your neck and arms bare! It's damp as a well outside. (_Usher runs out._)

_A ubiquitous member of the faculty suddenly appears._ What's the matter? Anybody sick?

_Physician._ Oh, no! Not much. Miss Jackson was resting in her dressing-room and somebody leaned over the sill and spoke to her--you know she's on the ground floor. She's quite nervous, and she got a little hysterical--slight chill. My brandy was all out, so I--Oh, thank you! (_Usher disappears breathless._)

_Ubiquitous Member of Faculty, gloomily._ I've always said there should be understudies--always. What will they do without their Viola? It's a ridiculous risk--

_Physician, hastily._ But Miss Jackson is all right, or will be as soon as I get--yes, I'm coming! Oh, nonsense!--She's all right: there's no need for an understudy, I assure you!--No, keep them all out! No, she has enough flowers in there now! Yes, keep people away from the window!

¶ _Curtain rises on Third Scene._

_Group of ushers collapsed on stairs leading to gallery._

_Nan._ (_White organdie over rose pink silk; rose ribbons._) Oh, girls, I'm nearly dead!

_Ursula._ (_Black net over electric blue satin; silver belt and high silver comb; black gloves._) There's one good thing, we're downstairs to-night. Last night I got so dizzy hopping up and down those steps--

_Leonora._ (_Yellow liberty silk cut very low; gold fillet; somewhat striking Greek effect._) Oh, what do you think I just did? I was so tired I stumbled just behind the orchestra circle (after I'd shooed that funny woman out of three seats) and I fell almost flat! And the nicest man helped me up and made me take his seat, and who do you think it was? It was Mr. Fosdick. He went and stood back, and I sat a long time then. Wasn't he ducky?

_Sally._ (_White dimity with green ribbons; a yard or more of red-gold hair; babyish face._) Where's your own seat, dear?

_Esther._ (_Pale blue silk with long rope of mock pearls._) Oh, Piggy's given it to her little friend, as usual! It's a great thing to have--(_The door swings open, and the actors' voices are heard_: "There dwelt a man in Babylon, lady, lady!" _Another usher comes out._)

_Nan._ How'd the song go? Better?

_Usher._ Oh, grand! They made her do the second verse again. Miss Selbourne says that she's the best all 'round clown they've ever had.

_Sally._ Oh, does she? I heard her tell Dr. Lyman that the plays deteriorated every year--(_Enter another usher._)

_Second Usher._ Girls, you _must_ be quiet! That woman at the back says she can't hear a word--

¶ _Curtain rises on Fourth Scene; applause, as audience takes in stage setting. Row of enthusiastic alumnæ in upper box._

_First Alumna._ (_Happy mother of three; head of sewing circle; leader of the most advanced set in her college days; president of the Anti-Engagement League, junior year._) Oh, girls, did you ever see anything so lovely? How _do_ they manage it? We never imagined anything like it, I'm perfectly willing to admit. Aren't those lords and ladies fine? Why, look at them--there must be forty or fifty! And aren't the costumes beautiful? How handsome Orsino is!

_Second Alumna._ (_Rising journalist; very well dressed; knows all the people of note in the audience; affects a society manner; was known as the Gloomy Genius in her college days, and never talked with any one who didn't read Browning._) Quite professional, really! How that Miss Jackson reminds one of Rehan! I wonder if Daly sends the trainer? That little Maria, now--she's quite unusual. Lovely figure, hasn't she? Elizabeth Quentin Twitchell. Dr. Twitchell of Cambridge, I wonder? Do they set that stage alone?

_Third Alumna._ (_Blonde and gushing; sister in the cast._) You know, that Miss Twitchell was the best Viola, too, they say. Peggy tells me Mr. Clark says he wished she could play them both. She's very popular with the class. But Miss Jackson does everything. Writes, acts, plays basket-ball, beautiful class work--Oh, isn't that sweet! (_Clown and chorus of ladies with mandolins and guitars sing to wild applause._)

_Fourth Alumna._ (_Tall, thin, dark, and dowdy; very humble in manner; high-principled; worth two millions in her own right; slaved throughout her entire college course._) I don't see how anybody can say that girls can't do anything in the world they set out to. Isn't it wonderful? You can say what you please, but it's just as Ella says--they do ten times what we did and do it better too. I think they're prettier than they used to be, don't you? And they're just like real actors--I'm sure it's prettier than any play I ever saw! They make such wonderful men! Would you ever know that Sir Toby was a girl? And Malvolio--he's just too good for anything!

_Curtain falls on Fourth Scene._

¶ _There is a long wait in total darkness. The audience smiles, then settles down to be amused. Somebody faints and is restored with shuffling, apologies, and salts._

_Slender, dark-eyed, gray-haired man, with non-committal expression, uncle of one of the Mob; with his wife, who grows more frankly puzzled as the play advances._

_Uncle._ I suppose they've outdone themselves in this garden scene.

_Aunt._ Yes, Bertha says they've worked tremendously over it. Henry, what _do_ you think of it?

_Uncle._ Very ingenious, my dear.

_Aunt._ But Henry, their voices--

_Uncle._ They _are_ a little destructive to the illusion, but you hear the gentleman behind me. He assures us that he thinks they are men!

_Aunt._ Oh, _Henry_!

_Uncle._ It's a pity they haven't more like Maria. Viola could take a few points from her.

_Aunt._ But Bertha says that they adore Viola. She writes, and plays basket-ball, and stands high in her classes, and--

_Uncle._ But she isn't an actress, that's all. She shouldn't grasp all the arts! She's too melodramatic--she rants.

_Aunt._ Bertha says the trainer admires her very much--he wants her to go on the stage.

_Uncle._ Oh! does he?

_Aunt._ Did you know that even the mobs are trained very carefully? Bertha says she goes to rehearsals all the time. And the principal parts--Malvolio worked six hours with Mr. Clark one day and eight the next. And Viola had to do more. And the stage committee _slave_, Henry, they simply slave. Little Esther Brookes is worn to a shadow--not but what they love to do it.

_Uncle._ And when did Malvolio and Viola and the stage committee do their studying?

_Aunt._ Oh, they keep up with their work. It's a point of honor with them, Bertha says. Of course they can't do _quite_ so much, I suppose--

_Uncle._ I suppose not.

_Aunt._ But Bertha says that they would give up anything in college sooner than that. Viola and Malvolio, both of them, say that they regard it as the most valuable training they've gotten up here. They say it's quite the equal of any of their courses.

_Uncle._ Ah! do they?

¶ _Curtain rises on a very elaborate garden scene of arbors and flowers; frantic applause, doubled at the entrance of Sir Toby and Sir Andrew._

_Group of cynical alumnæ on fire-escape._

_First Alumna._ As for that Sir Toby--

_Second Alumna._ Hush, my dear, that may be the bosom of her family forninst us!

_First Alumna, lowering her voice._ I think he's indecent and ridiculous.

_Second Alumna._ He'll be the pride of the class, my little cousin says. They're raving over him.

_First Alumna._ Then they're idiots. My dear, we may have had our faults, but we were seldom vulgar, if we weren't remarkable!

_Third Alumna._ What I mind so much is that all the papers are filled with that trash about gracefulness and womanliness and girlish delicacy and the great gulf between us and the coarse professionals, and as far as I can see, we are filling in that gulf as fast as possible. We seem to be striving after the very thing--

_First Alumna._ Precisely. In a word, it's Daly, not Shakespeare. And they don't see that Dalyism takes money--we haven't the scenery and costumes for it.

_Second Alumna._ That horrible Sir Andrew!

_Fourth Alumna._ But Malvolio--

_First Alumna._ Oh, Malvolio's all right. As far as a girl can do it. The question is, _can_ a girl do it? I think she can't.

_Third Alumna._ And as for allowing that Miss Jackson to imitate all Ada Rehan's bad points, when she naturally fails of her good ones--

_Fourth Alumna._ But, my dear, the men like it. They're all pleased to death. They think it's the cleverest thing they ever saw. They say Viola's magnetic--

_Third Alumna._ Hgh! She's coarse, if that's what you mean! The whole tone of the thing is lowered. I think that way she acted the duel scene last night was simply vulgar. But the girls all howled with laughter.

_Fourth Alumna._ Well, if they're pleased--

_First Alumna._ They shouldn't be pleased!

_Fourth Alumna._ Surely, Annie, you think this garden scene is funny!

_First Alumna._ Why, I laughed. It's a good acting play. But I wish the Literature department had more to do with it and the trainer confined himself to--

_Usher interrupts._ If you please, I must ask you to make less noise. You are disturbing the people near the door!

¶ _The curtain has fallen on the Fourth Act. A group of last year's graduates standing at the back in party-cloaks, with a few of the Mob in shirt-waists and make-up._

_Recent Court Lady, tentatively._ Did you like the dance?

_First Graduate._ Oh, it was fine! It was terribly pretty, Ellen, the whole thing!

_Recent Court Lady, relieved._ I'm so glad you liked it. Wasn't Sue grand!

_First Graduate._ Yes, indeed, but I liked Malvolio so much!

_Court Gentleman._ Good old Dick! My, don't we love her! Orsino's going to do him at class supper, you know. And Olivia's going to be Sir Toby.

_Second Graduate._ How noble! Sir Toby is about the best I ever saw, May.

_Court Gentleman._ Isn't she that? She's going to be Viola. She squirms and twists just like her--

_Court Lady._ Oh, come on, May Lucy, and get to bed! (_They go out whistling airs from the play and are violently suppressed by a group of ushers, whose excited remonstrances are loudly criticised by a large and nervous lady in the rear, greatly delighting the contingent from the Mob._)

_First Graduate._ Now, Katharine, just tell me, perfectly impartially of course, how you think it compares with ours.

_Second Graduate._ Well, girls, frankly I must say I'm a little disappointed. (_Nods from the others._)

_Third Graduate._ It's not that it's not well done, for it is, but it's such a fine play it ought to have been well done by anybody. And for all that Sue Jackson's such a wonder, I must say--

_Fourth Graduate._ Yes, exactly. She's too heavy for the part, I think.

_Second Graduate._ Of course Toby was fine and Malvolio and Maria--

_Fifth Graduate._ Well, then, with three fine ones I should think--

_Second Graduate._ But Olivia and Sebastian and Orsino were such sticks--

_Fourth Graduate._ Still, those third and fourth and fifth scenes in the second act were beautiful.

_Second Graduate._ But the others were so plain. They just stacked on the good ones. Still, I suppose they did the best they could. Mary Vanderveer has just _slaved_ over it.

_Fifth Graduate._ We know what _that_ is!

_Second Graduate._ Well, honestly, I think this is a _prettier_ play than ours, but I do feel that ours was a little _better done_! Here, let's see Sue in this. I think she's pretty good.

¶ _The curtain has fallen on the Fifth Act. Malvolio and Viola come out of their dressing-room to the street, and slip out of a crowd of ushers and under-class girls. A general flutter of congratulation and sympathy follows them._

Oh, Miss Jackson, it was great! Simply fine! Susy, my child, say what you'd like and it's yours!--Where's Lida Fosdick?--Lida! Dick! She's gone long ago. Where's Toby? Gone, too. Somebody has some flowers for her. Oh, take 'em up to the Wallace!--Well, good-night! Wasn't it grand!--Grand! There's Betty! Hi, Betty! Oh, Miss Twitchell, it was so--

_Miss Twitchell, mechanically._ So glad, so glad you liked it--we loved to do it! Oh, yes! Oh, dear, no! Just a little, yes. The making-up was so long. Mother--thank you, _thank_ you--Mother, where _is_ the carriage? Oh, thank you _so_ much!

_Mrs. Twitchell, nervously._ Yes, indeed, she's tired to death. I'm very glad, I'm sure, if you liked it. Oh, how do you do, Mrs. Waite? Yes, here she is. Bessie, here is Mrs. Waite. You see she sat in the Opera House since five o'clock to be made up, and only sandwiches and all the strain--yes, indeed. Fanny looked very pretty, I thought. In the dance, wasn't she? Yes, so pretty. I'm sure I wish Bessie had only been in the dance--Oh, here's the carriage, dear!

¶ _Malvolio and Viola, slipping quietly past the crowd; make-up not off; arms on each other's shoulders._

_Malvolio._ I suppose Dad's holding that carriage somewhere.

_Viola._ Well, I can't help it. I simply can't talk to everybody.

_Malvolio._ Do you know your speech?

_Viola._ I think so. It's so short, you know. I hate to have the president's speech long. (_A pause._)

_Malvolio._ Well, it's over, Susy Revere! No more glory for little Lide and Sue!

_Viola._ All over! Well, we've had the time of our lives, Dick! I'd--I'd give anything to do it over again, three nights!

_Malvolio._ Me too. It's a pleasant little spot up here. (_They walk to the campus in silence._)

¶ _Recent court lady and two young gentlemen, brothers of her friend, the stage manager. Her eyes are underlined heavily, and she has not gotten the rouge quite off her cheeks._

_Recent Court Lady._ Oh, _thank_ you, it would be _such_ a help! Mollie is nearly wild, and these things must be got out to-night. If you would take this and this and this, and oh, Father, would you please carry this tankard and the cups? And could you take those two swords? I'll take the distaff and the mandolin. Jack, have you room for the moon? Will, here are more poppies, and I promised Ada that I'd put that rubber-plant in her room to-night. You're so good! You're sure you don't mind carrying them? Now don't get laughing, Father, and drop the cups.

_A Recent Court Gentleman._ Good-night, dear! I knew you'd like it. Oh, I think everybody seems to feel it's the best yet. Of course, last year they had so much better opportunity, so much easier scenery. But with four such stars--yes, indeed. It was so much harder to find people to take--oh, she _did_! She thinks that just because it doesn't all depend on one or two people, it's easier? Well, just find your extra people, that's all!--Did you like it? Most people seemed to think it _was_ a pretty dance. Well, we rehearsed enough, heaven knows. Did you know Orsino's fiancé was there? She said she felt like such an idiot. Too bad Sue got scared, wasn't it? Well, good-night.

¶ _Steps of the Dewey House. Three ushers propped against the pillars. The night watchman approaches with lantern._

_Watchman._ Well, well, well! Want to get in? _Hi'll_ bet yer do! (_First usher nods her head._) Are yer h'ushers? Fine play, wa'n't it? (_Second usher nods her head._) Well, you do look tired! You pretty tired, Miss Slater? (_Third usher murmurs something about sleeping till noon, and second usher chuckles feebly and mentions Baccalaureate. They stumble into the Dewey, and the watchman shuts the door._)