<h2 id="c15"><br/>CHAPTER XV <br/><span class="sc">A Boomerang</span></h2>
<p>Two weeks later Polly received a
note at the cabin asking that she
come into Woodford on the following
Friday afternoon for an interview with
a friend of Miss Margaret Adams, who
happened by chance to be in Woodford
for a few days and wanted an opportunity
for talking with her about her future. For
whatever resulted from this interview Polly
had herself chiefly to blame. She most
certainly should never have replied to a
note signed by a name which was unfamiliar
without consulting the guardian of the
Sunrise club. But Polly knew perfectly
well that Rose would never have permitted
her to have any such conference. She
knew also that their guardian and her
mother’s friend was almost as much opposed
as her sister Mollie to her ambition
and considered that she was behaving
most unwisely in letting her mind dwell
on a possibility which in any case was
very indefinite and far away. Indeed,
Rose had had a quiet talk with Polly
asking her not to discuss the subject of
the stage with the other girls and to try
and give her own energy and attention
solely to their Camp Fire work. Polly
had agreed and was apparently keeping
her promise, since she felt so assured that
the Camp Fire ideals must help every
woman in whatever work she undertook
later in life.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_169">[169]</div>
<p>Nevertheless, when the first temptation
came Polly fell. One night she spent in
indecision, wondering why Miss Margaret
Adams had not written to her about
her friend or why Miss Adams, their elocution
teacher, had said nothing. These
questions, however, Polly finally answered
satisfactorily to herself, since it is usually
easy to find answers that accord with one’s
own desires. By morning she had made up
her mind that she would go and see the
stranger and have a talk with him, since
no harm could come of one small visit.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_170">[170]</div>
<p>The appointment was to take place at
the home of Meg, whose Professor father
was one of the most prominent men in the
village and Polly was told to bring a
chaperon, so from the standpoint of propriety
she was committing no offence. She
had not seen Meg for a week and so could
ask her no questions, and as Betty was
the only person who could be relied upon
in the emergency, to Betty she confided the
whole situation, not in the least asking her
advice, since this was not the way with
Mistress Polly, but begging Betty to be
present with her during the call. If Betty
demurred at first, suggesting Miss Dyer,
Miss McMurtry, Miss Mary Adams, as
more suitable chaperons, she did finally
agree. So early on Friday afternoon the
two girls started into town in their best
clothes, saying that they were going in on
an errand. Betty was driving Fire Star
and Polly carrying a volume of “Romeo
and Juliet” and “Palgrave’s Golden Treasury.”
The note had suggested that since
Miss Margaret Adams had had no opportunity
to hear Miss O’Neill recite, the
writer would be interested to know what
she could do.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_171">[171]</div>
<p>Polly was cold with nervous excitement
all the way into town. She was not in
the least sure whether she did not dread
the coming interview more than anything
that had ever happened to her in her life
and she also had very uncomfortable twinges
of conscience, since this venture of hers
had no grown-up sanction. There had
been no time as yet to write her mother
about it and she had not confided in
Mollie, who once had known all her secrets.
Indeed, had she not even felt glad that
Mollie had decided not to return to the
cabin after school that day but to remain
in town with a friend, so that no uncomfortable
family questions could be raised.</p>
<p>By special request Betty was invited
not to talk on the journey in, so that
Polly could have the opportunity for
repeating to herself the poems she had
made up her mind to recite and go once
more over Juliet’s famous lament.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_172">[172]</div>
<p>The hall at the Professor’s was unusually
dark when Meg herself, to the girls’ delight,
opened the front door. Polly was by this
time in too agitated a condition to stop for
asking questions, but although Betty was
not, Meg did not seem willing to answer
them. Instead she kept shaking her head
and pointing mysteriously toward their
drawing room door. “The stranger was
already in there, yes, her father knew him,
Polly must not mind that the visitor had
his wife with him, she was also an actress
upon whose judgment he placed the greatest
reliance, but the girls were not to do more
than bow to her, as it bored her to meet
people.”</p>
<p>If the hall was dark the drawing room
was even darker, but then before joining
the Camp Fire club Meg had been a
proverbially poor housekeeper, so she probably
had neglected to open the drawing
room shutters and, as it was a dark February
afternoon, the light that came through
the slats was not sufficient. Betty felt
most distinctly that she was not going
to enjoy the approaching interview, that
there was already something odd and
uncomfortable about it, but she had no
opportunity for confiding her views and
Polly was not in a critical humor. As for
the darkness Polly was decidedly grateful
for it. If she had to get up and recite
before Meg and Betty and the two strangers
it would be far easier to be in the half
shadow than to have their critical glances
full upon her. This drawing room recitation
before so small an audience did not
appeal to Polly anyhow, certainly it held
none of the glamour of the stage, the music,
the footlights, the feeling that you were no
longer your real self but a performer in some
other drama in some different world.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_173">[173]</div>
<p>Betty sat down at once in a far corner,
as she saw no notice was to be taken of
her, but Polly felt herself having her hand
shaken coldly by a tall, broad-shouldered,
middle-aged man wearing glasses, with an
iron gray, pointed beard and iron gray hair
pulled low down over his forehead. He
seemed, however, not to have the least
desire for conversation, for waving Polly
toward the center of the room, he at once
asked her to show what she could do,
without introducing his wife nor making
the least satisfactory explanation of his
own presence in Woodford, his acquaintance
with Miss Margaret Adams, nor his right
to have solicited this meeting with Polly.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_174">[174]</div>
<p>However, none of these points weighed
upon the girl’s mind at the time. The
man looked just as she expected an actor-manager
might look, and as for his wife,
she could see nothing of her but a figure
dressed in a long traveling coat and wearing
a hat and heavy veil, who had not even
deigned to glance in her direction.</p>
<p>“What—what shall I begin with?” Polly
inquired anxiously. “Miss Adams, our
teacher of elocution at the High School,
says that young girls should try simple
recitations, that it is absurd for us to
attempt to reveal the great emotions such
as one finds in Shakespeare’s plays, or
Ibsen’s or Maeterlinck’s, that we must wait
until we know something more of life for
them. I did not feel sure what you would
think about it, but I know some English
poems, very famous and very beautiful,
perhaps you would like me to begin with
one of them?”</p>
<p>There was a slight hesitation in Polly’s
voice because personally she found the
simple poems much more difficult than the
big ones and her taste did not incline
toward Whitcomb Riley, or Eugene Field,
toward any of the simple character work,
which would have been the best possible
training for her at the present time.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_175">[175]</div>
<p>But the critic fortunately agreeing with
Polly’s point of view shook his head gravely
over her suggestion of English verses.</p>
<p>“No,” he said a little pompously, it
must be confessed, “try the most difficult
thing you know and even if you do not
make an entire success of it I will be better
able to judge what you can do.” The
man spoke in a hoarse, strained voice
which to Betty’s ears sounded forced and
peculiar.</p>
<p>“Would you—would you think it very
foolish if I tried Juliet’s speech before she
takes the poison?” Polly then asked timidly.
“I know I can’t do it very well, it is one
of the greatest speeches in the whole world
of acting, but perhaps for that very reason
I like to attempt it.”</p>
<p>Polly had thrown off her red coat and
hat in the hall, but she was wearing her
best frock, a simple cashmere made in a
single piece, with a crushed velvet belt
of a darker shade and a collar and cuffs
of real Irish lace which her mother had
sent as a Christmas gift from Ireland.
Her hair was very dark and her coloring
vivid, so perhaps she did not look so
utterly unlike the Italian Juliet, whom it
is difficult for us to believe was only fourteen
at the time of her tragic love story.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_176">[176]</div>
<p>“Farewell,—and God knows when we
shall meet again,” Polly began in a far
less melodramatic fashion than one might
have expected; indeed, Betty thought her
voice exquisitely pathetic and appealing
and even Meg, who had not the slightest
sympathy with Polly’s dramatic aspirations,
was subtly impressed.</p>
<div class="verse">
<p class="t0">“I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins,</p>
<p class="t0">That almost freezes up the heat of life.</p>
<p class="t0">I’ll call them back again to comfort me.—</p>
<p class="t0">Nurse!—What should she do here?</p>
<p class="t0">My dismal scene I needs must act alone.</p>
<p class="t0">Come, phial.</p>
<p class="t0">What if this mixture do not work at all,</p>
<p class="t0">Shall I be married, then, to-morrow morning?</p>
<p class="t0">No, no;—this shall forbid it:—lie thou there—”</p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_177">[177]</div>
<p>And here Polly is being carried away
by the thrill of her own performance.
Almost she believes she beholds a slight
suggestion of admiration in the blue eyes
of the critic who most assuredly is watching
her efforts with a great deal of interest.
Unhappily, however, in her preparation
for this great occasion, Polly has forgotten
the necessary stage equipment and now at
this instant remembers that Juliet requires
a dagger to make this moment properly
realistic. The girl is in a delicious state
of excitement. For the time being actually
she is feeling herself the terrified and yet
superbly courageous Juliet, and there on
the parlor table, as though by direct
inspiration, is reposing a steel paper cutter
of the Professor’s.</p>
<p>With a quick movement of her hand
Polly seizes the desired dagger, but also she
seizes something else along with it, for the
table cover comes off at the same instant,
almost overwhelming Juliet in a rain of
papers, ornaments and books.</p>
<p>Polly feels as though she would faint
with chagrin and mortification, so suddenly
and so uncomfortably is she brought back
to the hard realities. “I am so dreadfully
sorry,” she starts to say, but before she
has finished, her attention is arrested by the
behavior of the mysterious veiled lady.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_178">[178]</div>
<p>She had given a hysterical giggle, first
one, then another, as though she were
never going to be able to stop. Meg’s
face is also crimson with the effort to
control her laughter, although she is
looking nervously, almost imploringly, toward
her strange visitor.</p>
<p>The solitary man in the room has simply
turned his back upon the whole situation
and is gazing steadfastly at the closed
windows.</p>
<p>Polly thinks perhaps she is losing her
senses, for there had been something familiar
in that excited laughter which is now turning
almost into a sob, and yet of course the
idea was ridiculous. Polly then turned
entreatingly toward Betty Ashton as her
one sure rock of salvation in a vanishing
world, and Betty never forgot the expression
in her friend’s eyes, the look of wounded
dignity, of disappointed affection, of almost
resentful disbelief. For in Betty’s returning
glance she found a confirmation of her
worst fears.</p>
<p>The truth of the matter was that Betty
had been suspicious of the little group of
spectators of her friend’s recitation almost
as soon as Polly began her speech. She
was not under the pressure of so much
excitement and had time and opportunity
to look about and examine people and
things more closely.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_179">[179]</div>
<p>The woman in the long cloak—evidently
her clothes were of the ready-made variety,
for they certainly did not fit. Also she
seemed very slender for a full grown woman,
and in spite of her intention to remain
unobserved was curiously nervous.</p>
<p>And the man? He was trying to keep
his face in the shadow, but from Betty’s
point of observation a ray of afternoon
sunlight fell directly across his face. The
line where his beard began was extremely
distinct and his cheeks above it brown and
boyish. Besides, though he did wear
glasses, his eyes showed fear, amusement
and Polly was right in a way, for they did
show a certain amount of admiration,
although they were certainly never the
eyes of a censorious dramatic critic. For
several moments Betty had been longing
to interrupt Polly’s speech-making but
had not known exactly how, and indeed
had hardly dared. Perhaps if she could
get Polly away before she ever found things
out it would be best. Polly’s temper
was never very good, and this would hurt
her in all the ways in which she was most
sensitive.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_180">[180]</div>
<p>The girl’s face was white as chalk as
she now ceased gazing at Betty and walked
quietly across the room toward the supposedly
strange woman who had risen at
her approach and was trembling violently.</p>
<p>“It is a joke, Polly, don’t be angry;
we thought if you could just see how silly
play acting seemed to other people you
would give it up,” the voice shook a little.</p>
<p>For Polly was ominously pale and quiet
as she gently untied the veil and lifted
off the stranger’s hat.</p>
<p>“So you wanted to see how much of a
fool you could make of me, didn’t you,
Mollie? Well, you have succeeded splendidly,
dear; I can’t imagine how you could
have had any greater success!” And
Polly shut her lips tight together and
clenched her hands. If only Betty and
Meg and Mollie knew how furiously, suffocatingly
angry she was they would probably
be afraid to have anything to do with
her.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_181">[181]</div>
<p>But Meg was approaching her with her
usually happy face somewhat clouded.
“I am afraid you must think pretty poorly
of us all, Polly, really it just looked funny
to us at first, we only meant to tease you.
But now, while I am willing to confess, it
does seem rather hateful of us and I want
to apologize to you for my part in this
whole proceeding.”</p>
<p>Still Polly made no answer, only when
Mollie rather timidly put her arms about
her saying: “Please do, Polly dear, forgive
us and don’t take the whole thing so
seriously, you are fond enough of a joke
yourself,” she quietly pushed Mollie aside
and turned toward Betty.</p>
<p>“Please take me home then, Betty, for
I am afraid I have furnished all the amusement
this afternoon that I feel equal to.”
But when Betty’s arms went about her,
Polly trembled so violently that she had
to hide her head on her friend’s shoulder
and just for an instant a choked sob shook
her. Both girls, however, were moving
toward the closed drawing room door, but
before they could leave the room a tall
form barred their way.</p>
<p>“You can’t go until I have spoken to
you,” Billy Webster said almost rudely in
his determination to be obeyed. He had
taken off his beard, wig and glasses and his
face showed almost as white as Polly’s.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_182">[182]</div>
<p>But Polly looked directly at him with
eyes that apparently did not see him.</p>
<p>“I never wish to have to speak to you
again so long as I live, Mr. Webster,”
she said quietly, “And you can be quite
happy, because whatever old scores you
may think you owe me, you have paid me
back this afternoon with interest.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_183">[183]</div>
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