VIII
"I say, Cunningham's made a hit!" Mr. Marrier almost shouted at him ashe entered the managerial room at the Regent.
"Cunningham? Who's Cunningham?"
Then he remembered. She was the girl who played the Messenger. She hadonly three words to say, and to say them over and over again; and shehad made a hit!
"Seen the notices?" asked Marrier.
"Yes. What of them?"
"Oh! Well!" Marrier drawled. "What would you expect?"
"That's just what _I_ said!" observed Edward Henry.
"You did, did you?" Mr. Marrier exclaimed, as if extremely interestedby this corroboration of his views.
Carlo Trent strolled in; he remarked that he happened to be justpassing. But discussion of the situation was not carried very far.
That evening the house was nearly full, except the pit and thegallery, which were nearly empty. Applause was perfunctory.
"How much?" Edward Henry inquired of the box-office manager whenfigures were added together.
"Thirty-one pounds, two shillings."
"Hem!"
"Of course," said Mr. Marrier, "in the height of the London season,with so many counter-attractions--! Besides, they've got to get usedto the idea of it."
Edward Henry did not turn pale. Still, he was aware that it cost hima trifle over sixty pounds "to ring the curtain up" at everyperformance--and this sum took no account of expenses of productionnor of author's fees. The sum would have been higher, but he wascalculating as rent of the theatre only the ground-rent plus six percent on the total price of the building.
What disgusted him was the duplicity of the first-night audience, andhe said to himself violently, "I was right all the time, and I knew Iwas right! Idiots! Chumps! Of course I was right!"
On the third night the house held twenty-seven pounds and sixpence.
"Naturally," said Mr. Marrier, "in this hot weathah! I never knew sucha hot June! It's the open-air places that are doing us in the eye. Infact I heard to-day that the White City is packed. They simply can'tbank their money quick enough."
It was on that day that Edward Henry paid salaries. It appeared to himthat he was providing half London with a livelihood: acting-managers,stage-managers, assistant ditto, property men, stage-hands,electricians, prompters, call-boys, box-office staff, generalstaff, dressers, commissionaires, programme-girls, cleaners, actors,actresses, understudies, to say nothing of Rose Euclid at a purelynominal salary of a hundred pounds a week. The tenants of the barswere grumbling, but happily he was getting money from them.
The following day was Saturday. It rained--a succession ofthunderstorms. The morning and the evening performances producedtogether sixty-eight pounds.
"Well," said Mr. Marrier, "in this kind of weathah you can't expectpeople to come out, can you? Besides, this cursed week-ending habit--"
Which conclusions did not materially modify the harsh fact that EdwardHenry was losing over thirty pounds a day--or at the rate of over tenthousand pounds a year.
He spent Sunday between his hotel and his club, chiefly in reiteratingto himself that Monday began a new week and that something would haveto occur on Monday.
Something did occur.
Carlo Trent lounged into the office early. The man was for ever beingdrawn to the theatre as by an invisible but powerful elastic cord. Thepapers had a worse attack than ever of Isabel Joy, for she had beenconvicted of transgression in a Chicago court of law, but a tremendouslawyer from St. Louis had loomed over Chicago and, having examined thedocuments in the case, was hopeful of getting the conviction quashed.He had discovered that in one and the same document "Isabel" had beenspelt "Isobel" and--worse--Illinois had been deprived by a carelessclerk of one of its "l's." He was sure that by proving these graveirregularities in American justice he could win an appeal.
Edward Henry glanced up suddenly from the newspaper. He had beeninspired.
"I say, Trent," he remarked, without any warning or preparation,"you're not looking at all well. I want a change myself. I've a goodmind to take you for a sea-voyage."
"Oh!" grumbled Trent. "I can't afford sea-voyages."
"_I_ can!" said Edward Henry. "And I shouldn't dream of letting itcost you a penny. I'm not a philanthropist. But I know as wellas anybody that it will pay us theatrical managers to keep you inhealth."
"You're not going to take the play off?" Trent demanded suspiciously.
"Certainly not!" said Edward Henry.
"What sort of a sea-voyage?"
"Well--what price the Atlantic? Been to New York?... Neither have I!Let's go. Just for the trip. It'll do us good."
"You don't mean it?" murmured the greatest dramatic poet, who hadnever voyaged further than the Isle of Wight. His eyeglass swung toand fro.
Edward Henry feigned to resent this remark.
"Of course I mean it. Do you take me for a blooming gas-bag?" He rose."Marrier!" Then more loudly: "Marrier!" Mr. Marrier entered. "Do youknow anything about the sailings to New York?"
"Rather!" said Mr. Marrier, beaming. After all, he was a most preciousaid.
"We may be able to arrange for a production in New York," said EdwardHenry to Carlo, mysteriously.
Mr. Marrier gazed at one and then at the other, puzzled.
CHAPTER X
ISABEL
The Regent Page 52