"The girls have struck!"
"So have the clocks," said Wally. "It's past nine."
"The chorus refuse to go on."
"No, really! Just artistic loathing of the rotten piece, or is there some other reason?"
"They're sore because one of them has been given her notice, and they say they won't give a show unless she's taken back. They've struck. That Mariner girl started it."
"She did!" Wally's interest became keener. "She would!" he said approvingly. "She's a heroine!"
"Little devil! I never liked that girl!"
"Now there," said Wally, "is just the point on which we differ. I have always liked her, and I've known her all my life. So, shipmate, if you have any derogatory remarks to make about Miss Mariner, keep them where they belong—there!" He prodded the other sharply in the stomach. He was smiling pleasantly, but the stage director, catching his eye, decided that his advice was good and should be followed. It is just as bad for the home if the head of the family gets his neck broken as if he succumbs to apoplexy.
"You surely aren't on their side?" he said.
"Me!" said Wally. "Of course I am. I'm always on the side of the down-trodden and oppressed. If you know of a dirtier trick than firing a girl just before the opening, so that they won't have to pay her two weeks' salary, mention it. Till you do, I'll go on believing that it is the limit. Of course I'm on the girls' side. I'll make them a speech if they want me to, or head the procession with a banner if they are going to parade down the boardwalk. I'm for 'em, Father Abraham, a hundred thousand strong. And then a few! If you want my considered opinion, our old friend Goble has asked for it and got it. And I'm glad—glad—glad, if you don't mind my quoting Pollyanna for a moment. I hope it chokes him!"
"You'd better not let him hear you talking like that!"
"An contraire, as we say in the Gay City, I'm going to make a point of letting him hear me talk like that! Adjust the impression that I fear any Goble in shining armor, because I don't. I propose to speak my mind to him. I would beard him in his lair, if he had a beard. Well, I'll clean-shave him in his lair. That will be just as good. But hist! whom have we here? Tell me, do you see the same thing I see?"
Like the vanguard of a defeated army, Mr Saltzburg was coming dejectedly across the stage.
"Well?" said the stage-director.
"They would not listen to me," said Mr Saltzburg brokenly. "The more I talked, the more they did not listen!" He winced at a painful memory. "Miss Trevor stole my baton, and then they all lined up and sang the 'Star-Spangled Banner'!"
"Not the words?" cried Wally incredulously. "Don't tell me they knew the words!"
"Mr Miller is still up there, arguing with them. But it will be of no use. What shall we do?" asked Mr Saltzburg helplessly. "We ought to have rung up half an hour ago. What shall we do-oo-oo?"
"We must go and talk to Goble," said Wally. "Something has got to be settled quick. When I left, the audience was getting so impatient that I thought he was going to walk out on us. He's one of those nasty, determined-looking men. So come along!"
Mr Goble, intercepted as he was about to turn for another walk up-stage, eyed the deputation sourly and put the same question that the stage director had put to Mr Saltzburg.
"Well?"
Wally came briskly to the point.
"You'll have to give in," he said, "or else go and make a speech to the audience, the burden of which will be that they can have their money back by applying at the box-office. These Joans of Arc have got you by the short hairs!"
"I won't give in!"
"Then give out!" said Wally. "Or pay out, if you prefer it. Trot along and tell the audience that the four dollars fifty in the house will be refunded."
Mr Goble gnawed his cigar.
"I've been in the show business fifteen years …"
"I know. And this sort of thing has never happened to you before. One gets new experiences."
Mr Goble cocked his cigar at a fierce angle, and glared at Wally. Something told him that Wally's sympathies were not wholly with him.
"They can't do this sort of thing to me," he growled.
"Well, they are doing it to someone, aren't they," said Wally, "and, if it's not you, who is it?"
"I've a damned good mind to fire them all!"
"A corking idea! I can't see a single thing wrong with it except that it would hang up the production for another five weeks and lose you your bookings and cost you a week's rent of this theatre for nothing and mean having all the dresses made over and lead to all your principals going off and getting other jobs. These trifling things apart, we may call the suggestion a bright one."
"You talk too damn much!" said Mr Goble, eyeing him with distaste.
"Well, go on, you say something. Something sensible."
"It is a very serious situation …" began the stage director.
"Oh, shut up!" said Mr Goble.
The stage director subsided into his collar.
"I cannot play the overture again," protested Mr Saltzburg. "I cannot!"
At this point Mr Miller appeared. He was glad to see Mr Goble. He had been looking for him, for he had news to impart.
"The girls," said Mr Miller, "have struck! They won't go on!"
Mr Goble, with the despairing gesture of one who realizes the impotence of words, dashed off for his favorite walk up stage. Wally took out his watch.
"Six seconds and a bit," he said approvingly, as the manager returned. "A very good performance. I should like to time you over the course in running-kit."
The interval for reflection, brief as it had been, had apparently enabled Mr Goble to come to a decision.
"Go," he said to the stage director, "and tell 'em that fool of a D'Arcy girl can play. We've got to get that curtain up."
"Yes, Mr Goble."
The stage director galloped off.
"Get back to your place," said the manager to Mr Saltzburg, "and play the overture again."
"Again!"
"Perhaps they didn't hear it the first two times," said Wally.
Mr Goble watched Mr Saltzburg out of sight. Then he turned to Wally.
"That damned Mariner girl was at the bottom of this! She started the whole thing! She told me so. Well, I'll settle her! She goes tomorrow!"
"Wait a minute," said Wally. "Wait one minute! Bright as it is, that idea is out!"
"What the devil has it got to do with you?"
"Only this, that, if you fire Miss Mariner, I take that neat script which I've prepared and I tear it into a thousand fragments. Or nine hundred. Anyway, I tear it. Miss Mariner opens in New York, or I pack up my work and leave."
Mr Goble's green eyes glowed.
"Oh, you're stuck on her, are you?" he sneered. "I see!"
"Listen, dear heart," said Wally, gripping the manager's arm, "I can see that you are on the verge of introducing personalities into this very pleasant little chat. Resist the impulse! Why not let your spine stay where it is instead of having it kicked up through your hat? Keep to the main issue. Does Miss Mariner open in New York or does she lot?"
There was a tense silence. Mr Goble permitted himself a swift review of his position. He would have liked to do many things to Wally, beginning with ordering him out of the theatre, but prudence restrained him. He wanted Wally's work. He needed Wally in his business: and, in the theatre, business takes precedence of personal feelings.
"All right!" he growled reluctantly.
"That's a promise," said Wally. "I'll see that you keep it." He looked over his shoulder. The stage was filled with gayly-colored dresses. The mutineers had returned to duty. "Well, I'll be getting along. I'm rather sorry we agreed to keep clear of personalities, because I should have liked to say that, if ever they have a skunk-show at Madison Square Garden, you ought to enter—and win the blue ribbon. Still, of course, under our agreement my lips are sealed, and I can't even hint at it. Good-bye. See you later, I suppose?"