Grace Harlowe's Plebe Year at High School Part 15

"I won't tell," persisted Grace. "You'll object, if I do."

"All right," said David. "I'll obey you Mistress Grace, although I wish you would confide in me."

But Grace was obdurate. She would tell no one.

The last act disclosed an attic at the top of an old tenement, with dormer windows looking out on a wintry scene. Anne appeared, more ragged than ever, carrying a little basket of matches. It was evident that she was a match girl by trade, and that this was her wretched domicile. As she crept down the center of the stage, ill and wretched, for she was supposed to be about to die--David saw his opportunity. From behind the curtain of the box he tossed the chrysanthemum, which fell right at her feet.

"If she only sees it," he thought.

But apparently she didn't. Going wearily to an old cupboard, she took out a crust of bread. Then she drew the ragged curtains at the windows and lit a candle. Simultaneously the entire attic was illuminated, for stage candles have remarkable powers of diffusing light.

"Why doesn't she pick up the flower?" exclaimed Grace. "If she doesn't the scheme won't work at all."

"I believe she's going to die," whispered Nora in a broken voice.

Just then the Irish comedian appeared, puffing and blowing from the long climb he had had to the top of the house. He had come to bring help to the dying girl, but he was funny in spite of the dreary tragedy, and Nora changed her tears to laughter and began to giggle violently, burying her face in her handkerchief in her effort to control her mirth.

Her laughter was always contagious, and presently her two friends were giggling in chorus.

"Do hush, Nora O'Malley!" whispered Jessica nervously. "You know that if you once get us started we'll never stop."

A countryman, sitting back of Nora, touched her on the shoulder.

"Be you laughing or crying, miss?" he asked. "It ain't a time for laughing nor yet for crying, since the young lady ain't dead yet and I don't believe she's goin' to die, either."

"She just is," exclaimed Nora, wiping the tears from her eyes. "She'll die before she gets off that bed to-night, I'll wager anything."

All this while, the chrysanthemum with the note twisted and pinned to its stem lay in the middle of the stage. In the meantime, Anne had fallen into a stupor from cold and hunger. The kind little comedian rushed about the stage, making a fire, putting on the tea kettle and stumbling over his own feet in an effort to be useful.

"Now, all the others will enter in a minute," whispered Grace disgustedly, "and she'll never get it at all."

Just then Anne turned on her pillow and opened her eyes. They looked straight at David, who was sitting in the front of the box. He pointed deliberately at the chrysanthemum.

"She sees it," said Jessica, for Anne's eyes were now fixed on the flower.

When the kind Irishman departed to spend his last cent on medicine and food for the dying girl, she rose, staggered across the stage, seized the chrysanthemum and rushed back again, just in time to be lying p.r.o.ne when her father entered, now a repentant and sorrowful sinner.

"It's all right," whispered Grace in a relieved tone. "I feel sure that the plan will work to perfection."

Anne _did_ die a stage death, and there was not a dry eye in the house when she forgave her father, bade farewell to the entire company, who had now gathered in the attic, and her soul pa.s.sed out to soft music while the lights were turned very low.

"Fire! Fire!" rang out a voice from the darkened house.

Where did the voice come from? Nora and Jessica were so startled they could only clutch each other and wonder, while Grace whispered:

"Don't move from your seats."

"Grace, was that your voice?" whispered David, who had joined the girls during the death-bed scene.

But Grace made no reply. She only put her finger to her lips as she held his arm with a detaining hand.

There was a panic in the house. The audience rushed for the doors while the actors leaped over the footlights in their mad scramble to escape.

Several women's voices took up the cry of fire and the place was in wild confusion. Evidently the man who managed the lights had been too frightened to turn them on again, for the theater still remained in semi-darkness.

The four young people did not move while the audience was crowding out of the aisles.

"We might as well be suffocated as crushed," observed David. "It's a much more comfortable death, and besides I can't smell any smoke."

Grace smiled but was silent.

"I'm here at last," announced Anne's well-known voice behind them.

And there she was, still in her ragged stage dress, carrying her hat and coat on her arm.

"Why, Anne Pierson!" cried Nora, "I thought you were dead and gone."

Anne laughed.

"Not dead," she said. "But I would certainly have been gone in another half hour. We needn't hurry," she continued. "I don't believe he would ever think of looking for me inside the theater, and, for the time being, this is the safest place."

"Anne, why did you never tell us you were an actress!" demanded David.

"I was afraid to," faltered the girl. "I was afraid you would all hate me if you knew the truth. Besides, I never acted but six months in all my life. We toured in this play a year ago, and I knew the part perfectly. It would have been cruel of me not to have played to-night.

The girl who usually does it was sick and there was no one to take her part. When father told me that, I knew I should have to do it this once, but if the fire panic hadn't started I couldn't have gotten away from him very easily. He would have made a terrible scene. And even then, it might have been difficult. No stranger would have helped me run away from my own father, who is determined that I shall go on the stage. He thinks I have the making of an actress. But I don't like the stage life.

It is hard and ugly. I want to study, and be with girls like you." A charming smile radiated her small, intelligent face.

"Where do I come in?" asked David, looking at her.

"I think you are the best friend I have in the world, David," declared Anne. "I can never forget your kindness."

"And now, Mademoiselle Annette Piersonelli," asked David, secretly much pleased at the girl's earnestness, "can't you divest yourself of your ragged dress before we go?"

"Yes, indeed," she replied. "I am fully clothed underneath." She slipped off the stage dress and put on her hat and coat.

Meanwhile, not a soul was left in the theater except two of the ushers, who were sniffing around trying to find out where the fire scare had originated.

"There comes father," whispered Anne. "Can't we hide behind the seats?"

"Quick," cautioned David. "He's coming down the center aisle."

The five young people crouched low while the actor stalked down the aisle. But it was plain he was not looking for his daughter in the theater, for he called out to one of the ushers moving about at a distance:

"Have you seen anything of the young girl who was with the company? I lost her during the panic and I haven't been able to locate her since. I must be leaving town in a few minutes," he added, consulting his watch.

"It's almost time for the train now."

"The company all left with the audience," said the usher. "I guess she went along with 'em."

"Now is our time," said Anne, when the actor had disappeared. "Suppose we go out the stage entrance and down that side street!"

Whereupon she led the way back of the boxes and into the wings, followed by her friends, who looked curiously about them at the unusual sight.