Other Things Being Equal

by Emma Wolf

  Chapter VIII

  There are few communities, comparatively speaking, with moreenthusiastic theatre-lovers than are to be found in San Francisco. Theplay was one of the few worldly pleasures that Mr. Levice thoroughlyenjoyed. When a great star was heralded, he was in a feverish delightuntil it had come and gone. When Bernhardt appeared, the quiet littleman fully earned the often indiscriminately applied title of "crazyFrenchman." A Frenchman is never so much one as when confronted ina foreign land with a great French creation; every fibre in hisbody answers each charm with an appreciation worked to fever-heat bypatriotic love; at such times the play of his emotions precludes anyidea of reason to an onlooker. Bernhardt was one of Levice's passions.Booth was another, though he took him more composedly. The first timethe latter appeared at the Baldwin (his opening play was "Hamlet") theLevices--that is, Ruth and her father--went three times in succession towitness his matchless performance, and every succeeding characterizationbut strengthened their enthusiasm.

  Booth was coming again. The announcement had been rapturously hailed bythe Levices.

  "It will be impossible for us to go together, Father," Ruth remarked atthe breakfast-table. "Louis will have to take me on alternate nights,while you stay at home with Mamma; did you hear, Louis?"

  "You will hardly need to do that," answered Arnold, lowering his cup;"if you and your father prefer going together, I shall enjoy stayingwith your mother on those nights."

  "Thanks for the offer--and your evident delight in my company," laughedRuth; "but there is one play at which you must submit to the inflictionof my presence. Don't you remember we always wished to see the 'Merchantof Venice' and judge for ourselves his interpretation of the character?Well, I am determined that we shall see it together."

  "When does he play it?"

  "A week from Saturday night."

  "Sorry to disappoint you, but I shall be out of town at the end of nextweek."

  "Oh, dear? Honestly? Can't you put it off? I want so much to go."

  "Impossible. Go with your father."

  "You know very well neither of us would go off and leave Mamma alone atnight. It is horrid of you to go. I am sure you could manage differentlyif--"

  "Why, my child!"

  She was actually pouting; and her father's quiet tone of surprisedreprimand just headed off two great tears that threatened to fall.

  "I know," she said, trying to smile, and showing an April face instead;"but I had just set my heart on going, and with Louis too."

  "That comes of being a spoilt only child," put in Arnold, suavely."You ought to know by this time that of the many plans we make withourselves, nine out of ten come to nought. Before you set your heart ona thing, be sure you will not have to give it up."

  Ruth, still sore with disappointment, acknowledged this philosophicremark with a curled lip.

  "There, save your tears for something more worthy," cut in Levice,briskly; "if you care so much about it, we or chance must arrange it asyou wish."

  But chance in this instance was not propitious. Wednesday came, andArnold saw no way of accommodating her. He left town after taking her tosee the "Fool's Revenge" as a sort of substitution.

  "You seemed to be enjoying the poor Fool's troubles last night,"observed Dr. Kemp, in the morning; they were still standing in Mrs.Levice's room.

  "I? Not enjoying his troubles; I enjoyed Booth, though,--if you can callit enjoyment when your heart is ready to break for him. Were you there?I did not see you."

  "No, I don't suppose you did, or you would have been in the pitiablecondition of the princess who had her head turned. I sat directly backof your box, in the dress-circle. Then you like Booth?"

  "Take care! That is a dangerous subject with my family," broke in Mrs.Levice. "Ruth has actually exhausted every adjective in her admirationvocabulary. The last extravaganza I heard from her on that theme wasafter she had seen him as Brutus; she wished herself Lucius, that in thetent scene she might kiss Booth's hand."

  "It sounds gushing enough for a school-girl now," laughed Ruth merrily,looking up at the doctor; "but at the time I meant it."

  "Have you seen him in all his impersonations?" he asked.

  "In everything but 'Shylock.'"

  "You will have a chance for that on Saturday night. It will be a greatfarewell performance."

  "Undoubtedly, but I shall have to forego that last glimpse of him."

  "Now, Doctor," cried Mrs. Levice, "will you please impress it on herthat I am not a lunatic and can be left alone without fear? She wishesto go Saturday night, but refuses to go with her father on the groundthat I shall be left alone, as Mr. Arnold is out of town. Is not thatbeing unnecessarily solicitous?"

  "Without doubt. But," he added, turning deferentially to Ruth, "in lieuof a better escort, how would I do, Miss Levice?"

  "I do not understand."

  "Will you come with me Saturday night to see 'Shylock'?"

  To be candid, Ruth was embarrassed. The doctor had said neither "willyou honor me" nor "will you please me," but he had both pleased andhonored her. She turned a pair of radiant eyes to her mother. "Comenow, Mrs. Levice," laughed Kemp, noting the action, "will you allow yourlittle girl to go with me? Do not detain me with a refusal; it will beimpossible to accept one now, and I shall not be around till then, youknow. Good-morning."

  Unwittingly, the doctor had caused an excitement in the hearts bothof mother and daughter. The latter was naturally surprised at hisunexpected invitation, but surprise was soon obliterated by anotherand quite different feeling, which she kept rigorously to herself.Mrs. Levice was in a dilemma about it, and consulted her husband in theevening.

  "By all means, let her go," replied he; "why should you have had anymisgivings about it? I am sure I am glad she is going."

  "But, Jules, you forget that none of our Jewish friends allow theirgirls to go out with strangers."

  "Is that part of our religion?"

  "No; but custom is in itself a religion. People do talk so at everylittle innovation against convention."

  "What will they say? Nothing detrimental either to Ruth or the doctor.Pshaw, Esther! You ought to feel proud that Dr. Kemp has asked thechild. If she wishes to go, don't set an impossible bogy in the way ofher enjoyment. Besides, you do not care to appear so silly as you wouldif you said to the doctor, 'I can't let her go on account of people'stongues,' and that is the only honest excuse you can offer." So in hismanly, practical way he decided it.

  On Saturday night Ruth stood in the drawing-room buttoning her palesuede glove. Kemp had not yet come in. She looked unusually well in herdull sage-green gown. A tiny toque of the same color rested on her softdark hair. The creamy pallor of her face, the firm white throat revealedby the broad rolling collar, her grave lips and dreamy eyes, hardly toldthat she was feeling a little shy. Presently the bell rang, and Kempcame in, his open topcoat revealing his evening dress beneath. He cameforward hastily.

  "I am a little late," he said, taking her hand, "but it was unavoidable.Ten minutes to eight," looking at his watch; "the horses must make goodtime."

  "It is slightly chilly to-night, is it not?" asked Ruth, for want ofsomething better to say as she turned for her wrap.

  "I did not feel it," he replied, intercepting her. "But this furry thingwill keep the cold off, if there is any," he continued, as he held itfor her, and quite unprofessionally bent his head to hook it at herthroat. A strange sensation shot through Ruth as his face approached soclose her own.

  "How are your mother and father?" He asked, holding the door open, whileshe turned for her fan, thus concealing a slight embarrassment.

  "They are as usual," she answered. "Father expects to see you after theplay. You will come in for a little supper, will you not?"

  "That sounds alluring," he responded lightly, his quick eye remarking,as she came toward him, the dainty femininity of her loveliness, thatseemed to have caught a grace beyond the reach of art.

  It thus happened that they took their places just as the c
urtain rose.