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Joan Thursday

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<h2>XXXIII</h2> As one result of her interview with Marbridge, Joan returned to her quarters in a state of thoughtfulness which was responsible not only for her forgetting the appointment with Matthias and the risk she ran of encountering Quard at every corner, but also for her unquestioning acceptance of Hattie's absence from the flat in the face of her expressed determination not to go out that afternoon. Hattie, however, was nothing loath to explain her change of mind when she blew in cheerfully shortly before dinner-time. "Hello!" she exclaimed, tossing her hat one way and her parasol another. "Did you miss me?" Joan looked up blankly from the depths of her musing. "No," she said dully. "Why?" "Well, you went off half-peeved because I wouldn't go trapesing with you—and then I went out after all." "Oh—I'd forgotten," Joan admitted without much interest. "Well, I didn't mean to go out, but Billy Emerson sent me a tip and ... I bet you can't guess who I've seen." Joan shook her head. "Arlington!" "Arlington!" Joan exclaimed. "Well, and why not?" "Nothing—only I thought you weren't looking for anything in musical shows." "No more am I, and it wasn't a musical show I went to see him about. Billy sent me a card of introduction with the tip, and Arlington saw me and—well, I guess it's just about settled. I'm to understudy Nella Cardrow in 'Mrs. Mixer.' Arlington wouldn't promise, but told me to come in Saturday morning, and the understanding is he'll have contracts ready to sign then. I do believe my luck's turned at last!" "But," Joan argued, perplexed, "I don't understand.... Of course, it's fine to get the job, and all that—and I'm awf'ly glad for you, Hattie—but you act as excited as if it was the title rôle you expected to play." "Maybe I do," Hattie retorted. "That's what an understudy's for, isn't it—to play the star part in case of an emergency?" "Yes, but—" "Anyhow, I don't mind telling you that's what I'm looking forward to." "You mean you think Mrs. Cardrow—?" "Now don't you ask me any questions; I can't tell you what I think; it's a secret." Having made this statement, Hattie sat down on the edge of the bed, lighted a cigarette, vacillated one second, and proceeded to divulge the secret: "You see, I called around to thank Billy Emerson, after my talk with Arlington, and he told me the whole story in confidence. Nobody's to know it yet, so you mustn't breathe a word to anybody; but the thing's all fixed, and Nella Cardrow's never going to play 'Mrs. Mixer' before a Broadway audience. She couldn't play it anyhow—'s just a plain-boiled dub—never did anything before she persuaded Marbridge to put her on in this show. It's his money that's behind it, mostly—Arlington's too wise to risk much on an uncertain proposition like the Cardrow. Marbridge just hides behind Arlington." "What for?" "Well, I guess he figures home would be none the happier if Friend Wife knew he was footing the bills for Nella Cardrow's show. He and Cardrow, Billy Emerson says, are just about as friendly as the law allows—and that isn't all." "But," Joan persisted stupidly, "if that's the case, I don't see what makes you think he'll throw her down to give you the part—" "If they ever caught anybody on Broadway as innocent as you pretend to be," Hattie commented with a scorn for grammar as deep as for Joan's obtuseness—"they'd arrest 'em, that's all! Who ever told you Marbridge was the kind of a guy to stick to a woman forever—not to say when she's losing money for him? Billy Emerson saw the show when they put it on up in Buffalo, a while ago, and he says the play's a wonder but Cardrow can't even look the part, much less act it. He says if they ever let her loose on the stage of a Broadway theatre—well, Marbridge and Arlington can just kiss their investment a fond farewell. For reasons of his own, Marbridge isn't ready to break with Cardrow yet, but he knows he's got a big success on his hands in this 'Mrs. Mixer' with her out of it. So they're going right ahead, just as if she was to be the star, but when the show opens it'll be little Miss Understudy who'll do all the acting." The actress tossed aside her cigarette and bent forward, regarding Joan with mock solicitude. "Does it begin to penetrate, dearie?" "It sounds to me like a pretty mean trick to play on Mrs. Cardrow," Joan suggested. "Don't you worry about her. She'll survive, all right. And anyhow, when you've been as long in this game as I have, you'll realize that the motto of the profession is 'Everybody for himself and the devil take the hindermost'! I've waited seven years for this chance, and I'm not going to let it get past me through any sentimental considerations, not if I know myself. And you'd do just the same thing in my place, too." "I don't see what right you've got to say that—" "Then you don't know yourself as well as I know you," Hattie laughed. "But listen: I oughtn't to have told you all this. You won't say anything, will you, dear?" "No, I won't say anything...." Nor did Joan consider it necessary to repay confidence with confidence by confessing the fact of her coincidental interview with Marbridge. The reflection that they must have been in adjoining offices at much the same time, in spite of Marbridge's assertion that Arlington was out, counselled reticence, even if envy hadn't served to impose silence upon Joan. And she was profoundly envious of Hattie's good fortune. Why could it not have been her own, instead? If Marbridge honestly esteemed her abilities one-half as highly as he had pretended to, why could he not have seen to it that Joan Thursday rather than Hattie Morrison was selected for Mrs. Cardrow's understudy? Still, the matter was not yet definitely settled. Hattie's contract remained a thing of the future, and she might be congratulating herself prematurely. Struck by this reflection, Joan withdrew even more jealously into her reserve.... But she anticipated her appointment for Friday afternoon with an impatience that lent each hour the length of three, and when the time drew near prepared herself for it with such exacting attention to the minutiæ of her toilet that a final survey in a cheval-glass sent her forth radiant with consciousness that she had never looked more charming. To her surprise and somewhat to her disappointment, Marbridge didn't receive her alone. She was shown into Arlington's office, finding there Marbridge in company with the great man himself. Entrenched behind his desk, Arlington didn't move when she entered, and only when Marbridge formally presented Joan deigned to rise half out of his chair and extend to her, across the mahogany barrier, a hand almost effeminately white, soft, and bedizened with rings. "Pleasure to meet you, Miss Thursday, I'm sure," he drawled, his clasp as languid as the glance with which he looked Joan over; and sank wearily back into his chair. "I've been hearing wonderful things about you—ah—from Mr. Marbridge." "He's very kind," said Joan in her best manner. "Not at all," Marbridge protested. "I've only been describing how splendid your work was in 'The Lie.' But Mr. Arlington is the original of the gentleman from Missouri: you've got to show him. However, I know you can—so that's all right." "Oh, I hope so," Joan replied with becoming diffidence—"if I ever get a chance." "You'll get that, never fear," Arlington observed dispassionately. "Marbridge has fixed it all up for you. It's a risk, a pretty big risk to take with an actress of your—ah—comparative inexperience, but as a rule I find it advisable to give Marbridge his head when he sets his heart on anything." "You're awf'ly good," Joan murmured. "Don't think it," Arlington returned in a tone of remote amiability, teetering in his chair. "I've nothing whatever to do with it, beyond engaging you and being responsible for your salary. It's all Marbridge's doing." He examined with a perplexed air his highly polished fingernails.... "You're to have a small part in a new comedy we're putting on next September," he announced, "and at the same time you will understudy the star—Nella Cardrow in 'Mrs. Mixer.' Your salary will be sixty a week unless through some accident you're called upon to play the title rôle regularly—and accidents will happen in the best regulated theatrical enterprises. In which case you'll draw one-hundred a week for the first season. There are some details which Marbridge will explain to you—and if you'll drop in any time Monday and ask for Mr. Grissom he will have your contracts ready. And now if you'll excuse me, I've an appointment." Consulting his watch, he rose and moved round from behind his desk. "Good day, Miss Thursday," he said with a shadow of a formal smile. "I shall see much of you, no doubt, when the rehearsals begin." "Oh, thank you—thank you!" Joan cried. Arlington disclaimed title to her gratitude with a weary gesture. "Don't thank me, please—thank Marbridge.... You won't be long, Vin?" he added, at the door. "I'll be with you in ten minutes." "Right you are. Good afternoon, Miss—ah—Thursday...." Alone with Marbridge, Joan began impulsively to protest her thanks, but on glancing up, fell silent, abashed by an expression that glowed in the man's eyes like a reflection of firelight. She lowered demure lashes to cloak her confusion, a smile about her lips at once sophisticated and timid: a distractingly pretty woman fully conscious of her allure and of his attraction for her: a vision of provoking promise. Marbridge drew a deep breath. "If you persist in looking like that," he said in a voice that trembled between laughter and a sigh—"don't blame me if I forget myself and take you in my arms and kiss you. There are limits to my endurance...." Joan looked up, smiling. "Well—" she said with a little nervous laugh—"Well, what of it?" <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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