Bethel Merriday

Everybody laughed very much--except Bethel and Marian, who felt embarrassed, and Roscoe, who glared at the reference to his parsimony, and Zed, who snarled to Bethel, 'That's the worst piece of irreligiousness I ever heard! To burlesque a part you've just been playing, no matter what part, is my idea of a damn blasphemous sacrilege!'

'Oh, dry up, angel,' said that seasoned woman of the world, Miss Merriday.

He looked offended and stalked away, and she was certain that he had none of Andy's warm humour. A quarter of an hour later she beheld Zed squatted on the floor by Iris's chair and gazing at her rapturously, while Iris dripped down upon him all her frail sweetness.

'And to think that young man dared to criticize Andy! Mr. Jerry O'Toole and the Dory Playhouse can keep him!' snorted Bethel.

XVI

That Thursday afternoon, the fourth of the George and Margaret run, Bethel had a letter from her father:

DEAR DAUGHTER,

It is fairly cool for July up here, I always say the sea may be all right but you cant beat the hills for real nice summer weather, we took out the car last evening & had a nice joy ride to Norfolk to see Cousin Mary, you wont remember her she is the daughter of old Squire Patten, still has her teeth @ eighty and eyesight as good as a girl's. Well, you have only 5 weeks after this week in summer theatre & am sure you realize none better that you must now give some solid thought to question of what you will do in the fall.

We have an idea you will be wanting to fly off to N Y and look for a job in the theatre but we have been talking a lot to Mr. Sampson you remember him, though now in mercantile business he had a lot of experience with the stage, vaudeville & Shakespeare & so forth when a boy, he says N Y is a terribly dangerous place for a young girl, gets more so every year with all these immoral shows & dance hall and so on.

Now Bethel we want you to do whatever you think is right, we have every confidence in yr good sense & if you absolutely feel you must go on the stage, shall stand back of you always. We have decided we can manage to let you have $25.00 a week till you get a job, though as you probably know business is bad & collections simply terrible I swear they are almost as bad as in 1930.

But we beg of you to stop & think if you are not still pretty young to try & cope with the temptations in N Y & if we couldn't persuade you to stay home for a year & then tackle the city. We are not getting any younger though thank God we are both still hale & hearty but we are both at a time of life when we can never tell how much longer we will have a chance to see our daughter & visit with her & of course Ben has a girl friend, several of them I guess, & we don't hardly ever see him except at breakfast, & while we certainly do not complain & enjoy the radio & occasional movie as much as anybody, it sometimes gets lonely here & it certainly would brighten up this household a terrible lot if we could hear our bright girl chatting & entertaining her friends here in the evening, maybe our last chance to see anything of her, but dear, you must decide, we honestly don't want to put any pressure on you. The dog was sick last week, too much whoopee, I guess. Well, I must close now & hope you are enjoying every second of your stay with all those clever people.

With all our love,                                                       

Yours faithfully,                                             

Your loving,                                   

FATHER AND MOTHER.   

She cried.

She saw them, alone in the evenings, waiting, talking about her; she saw their eyes, so cautious yet so kind; timid dull eyes that she could so easily brighten with her chatter. Surely the least she could do for them was to give them a year of her life--

But she had to hasten to the theatre.

After the play, Fletcher stuck his head in to drawl, 'Gent to see you, Beth. Looks to me like the boy friend from back home. Charley Hatch.'

'Oh, dear!' wailed Bethel. 'Tell him to wait!'

Already it seemed to her natural that Fletcher, Andy, Roscoe should see her in loose dressing-gown and bare feet. They belonged to the sacred order of wandering vagabonds. But Charley was an outsider--how dismayingly an outsider she perceived now.

She flung on a skirt and sweater and sandals and scrabbled her hair into some sort of a knot and crept out. Before she could face him with the gaiety and poise suitable to an actress, she had to halt inside the dressing-room door, her throat throbbing. She was not insincere; nothing so masterful as that. She was plain frightened by the kind demand that she return to babyhood and the back streets and the evenings of loving vacuity.

'Why, Charley! This is too divine! Did you drive down to see the show?'

'Yes, I guess so. Well, no, I drove down to see you, mostly, I guess.'

'But you were out front?'

'Uh?'

'I mean, you saw our play?'

'Oh yes--yes, sure.'

'Why didn't you let me know and I'd've had a ticket for you.'

'Well--Kind of thought I'd better buy my own. And I wanted to surprise you.'

'And you certainly did! In such a lovely way, I mean.'

'Let's go somewhere and talk.'

'Oh yes, Charley--oh yes, of course. Uh--have you got your car with you?'

'Sure.'

'Then we might drive to the Lobster Pot. It's a ducky place.'

'Is it?' Nothing more from Charley, as he escorted her to the car. She felt as frothy as Mahala Vale. She became very geographical about the neighbouring estates as they drove into Grampion Centre.

At table in the Lobster Pot, Charley, very virile and dominating, demanded, 'Want a drink, Bet?'

'No, I don't believe so.'

'You can have one if you want to. I'm getting wise to the world. You got to, if you're a streamlined salesman. You don't have to conceal any vices from me.'

'I haven't got any to conceal.'

'No? Well, that's all the better.'

'They have lovely waffles and chicken here.'

'Kind of late at night for waffles, isn't it? Well, all right. You can only be young once!'

'Charley! Here's a funny coincidence. I heard from Mama and Papa this afternoon. Did you know anything about it?'

'Why yes, in a way. I kind of got to talking with them, yesterday. Listen: I don't know's you ought to go off and leave 'em all alone. You certainly owe them some gratitude for having brought you into the world, and giving you such a swell education.'

'I know. They've been wonderful.' She spoke wretchedly, in a vision of returning home and, evening after evening, listening to her father chuckling, 'Almost time to hear Amos and Andy on the radio. Don't know how they ever think up all those comical things'. But--yes, she must do it; she couldn't be selfish.

After all, what was a mere year?

'You oughtn't to be so selfish and sacrifice them.'

'I know.'

'And they've been so patient with your notions about acting--even let you come here to this crazy place.'

'What? What do you mean? "Crazy"?'

'Why sure. Isn't it? Lot of grown-up people kicking around on the stage and kissing and Lord knows what-all instead of working for a living.'

'So you don't call acting working?'

'Do you?'

'You don't think it's important like your work--like selling coffee percolators!'