Main Street (Barnes & Noble Classics Ser - Sinclair Lewis [125]
Carol, smart in maid’s uniform, coaxed the temporary stagehands to finish setting the first act, wailed at Kennicott, the electrician, “Now for heaven’s sake remember the change in cue for the ambers in Act Two,” slipped out to ask Dave Dyer, the ticket-taker, if he could get some more chairs, warned the frightened Myrtle Cass to be sure to upset the waste-basket when John Grimm called, “Here you, Reddy.”
Del Snafflin’s orchestra of piano, violin, and cornet began to tune up and everyone behind the magic line of the proscenic archcz was frightened into paralysis. Carol wavered to the hole in the curtain. There were so many people out there, staring so hard—
In the second row she saw Miles Bjornstam, not with Bea but alone. He really wanted to see the play! It was a good omen. Who could tell? Perhaps this evening would convert Gopher Prairie to conscious beauty.
She darted into the women’s dressing-room, roused Maud Dyer from her fainting panic, pushed her to the wings, and ordered the curtain up.
It rose doubtfully, it staggered and trembled, but it did get up without catching—this time. Then she realized that Kennicott had forgotten to turn off the houselights. Some one out front was giggling.
She galloped round to the left wing, herself pulled the switch, looked so ferociously at Kennicott that he quaked, and fled back.
Mrs. Dyer was creeping out on the half-darkened stage. The play was begun.
And with that instant Carol realized that it was a bad play abominably acted.
Encouraging them with lying smiles, she watched her work go to pieces. The settings seemed flimsy, the lighting commonplace. She watched Guy Pollock stammer and twist his mustache when he should have been a bullying magnate; Vida Sherwin, as Grimm’s timid wife, chatter at the audience as though they were her class in high-school English; Juanita, in the leading role, defy Mr. Grimm as though she were repeating a list of things she had to buy at the grocery this morning; Ella Stowbody remark “I’d like a cup of tea” as though she were reciting “Curfew Shall Not Ring Tonight”;da and Dr. Gould, making love to Rita Simons, squeak, “My—my—you—are—a—won’erful—girl.”
Myrtle Cass, as the office-boy, was so much pleased by the applause of her relatives, then so much agitated by the remarks of Cy Bogart, in the back row, in reference to her wearing trousers, that she could hardly be got off the stage. Only Raymie was so unsociable as to devote himself entirely to acting.
That she was right in her opinion of the play Carol was certain when Miles Bjornstam went out after the first act, and did not come back.
VI
Between the second and third acts she called the company together, and supplicated, “I want to know something, before we have a chance to separate. Whether we’re doing well or badly tonight, it is a beginning. But will we take it as merely a beginning? How many of you will pledge yourselves to start in with me, right away, tomorrow, and plan for another play, to be given in September?”
They stared at her; they nodded at Juanita’s protest: “I think one’s enough for a while. It’s going elegant tonight, but another play—Seems to me it’ll be time enough to talk about that next fall. Carol! I hope you don’t mean to hint and suggest we’re not doing fine tonight? I’m sure the applause shows the audience think it’s just dandy!”
Then Carol knew how completely she had failed.
As the audience seeped out she heard B. J. Gougerling the banker say to Howland the grocer, “Well, I think the folks did splendid; just as good as professionals. But I don’t care much for these plays. What I like is a good movie, with auto accidents and hold-ups, and some git to it, and not all this talky-talk.”
Then Carol knew how certain she was to fail again.
She wearily did not blame them, company nor audience. Herself she blamed for trying to carve intaglios in good wholesome jack-pine.
“It’s the worst defeat of all. I’m beaten. By Main Street.