Dorothy Dale's Great Secret

“I am looking for a young girl named Octavia Travers,” began Dorothy bravely, “and I thought possibly she might be with this company.”

“Was she with this company previously? I don’t seem to recall the name.”

“Oh, I don’t know that she is with any company,” Dorothy hastened to add, feeling how foolish it must seem to be looking for a girl in a theatrical troupe when one had no more assurance that she might be with such a company than that she might be working in a department store.

“Haven’t you her address?” asked Miss Riceman, as she stood before the glass, daubing on some cold cream to remove the last of the “make-up” from her face.

“No,” answered Dorothy miserably enough. “I only wish I had.”

The actress with the cream jar turned around in time to see the tears coming into Dorothy’s eyes. Miss Riceman dropped the jar down on her improvised dresser and came over to where her visitor sat on the trunk.

“Tell me all about it,” she said kindly, sitting down beside Dorothy. “Perhaps I can help you. She is not your sister, is she?”

“No,” was the answer, and then began a confidence of which Dorothy had scarcely believed herself capable. She told how Tavia was as much to her as a sister could be, and how she feared her chum had taken to the stage on account of her peculiarities while at school. Then Dorothy described Tavia’s appearance – how pretty she was – what beautiful hair she had.

“And her eyes,” Dorothy almost cried, “I have never seen eyes like Tavia’s. They are as soft a brown as the inside of a chestnut burr.”

“Exactly!” chimed in Miss Riceman. “I would not be surprised but that I saw that very girl the other day. It was in the manager’s office. She came alone and she looked – well – I knew at once that she was a total stranger to the business. And when the manager asked how old she was (for they have to be particular about age you know) I think she said seventeen, but I knew she was not quite as old as that.”

Dorothy clasped her hands in a strained gesture. How she wanted to find Tavia, yet how she feared to discover her in this way!

“That might be her,” she faltered thoughtfully.

“If it was, she is with a company playing on the same circuit we do,” went on Miss Riceman. “Let me see,” and she consulted a slip of paper pinned to the wall. “Yes, they follow us in some towns. It was the ‘Lady Rossmore’s Secret’ company that the girl I am speaking about applied to, and I’m sure she was engaged, for I was interested in her appearance, and later I asked some one about her. Now the thing for you to do is to come to the manager’s office here to-morrow afternoon, between five and six. He has control of several companies, including the one I’m with and the L. R. S. as we call it for short, the ‘Lady Rossmore’s Secret’ I mean. Just ask him for your friend’s address – or, better still, just ask where the company is playing and she’ll be sure to be with it. He might not pay much attention to you if he thought you were looking for some one in particular and hadn’t any clue to her whereabouts.”

“I’ll do it,” said Dorothy determinedly, as she arose to go.

“Now don’t leave here until you are positive you feel all right,” cautioned Miss Riceman. “I’m sure I’m very glad to have met you and I hope I have been able to help you. I’m sorry I can’t tell you where the Rossmore company is, but I haven’t made a memoranda of the complete booking as I sometimes do. I thought I had it on a slip of paper but I find I haven’t.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ve helped me a lot,” exclaimed Dorothy, hardly able to put her gratitude into words, but the busy little actress looked entirely satisfied with her visitor’s thanks as she showed Dorothy the way out of the stage door. She smiled cheerily at her as she waved her hand in good-bye and then she went back behind the scenes again, to her dressing room to resume the removal of the “make-up” from her face.

CHAPTER XIX

THE CLUE

Outside the door Dorothy again felt that girlish inclination to collapse. What excuse could she make to her friends for her delay? How would she get back to them? Perhaps they were looking all over the city for her and they might have even notified the police of her absence.

All the novelty of the theatre that had, for the past half hour, put a world between Dorothy and those outside of the stage dressing rooms, was now dispelled. What would she say or do when she met Rose-Mary? How could she now conceal her worry and anxiety? How was she to continue her search for Tavia?

The stage door opened into a dismal, narrow alley. Here Dorothy found herself in the midst of a scurrying crowd of working people, for several large factories had just shut down. The girl stood for a moment and looked helplessly about her. Presently she felt an arm on her shoulder and started in alarm.

“Dorothy!” exclaimed a voice, and she turned to see Nat standing beside her.

“Oh, Nat! I’m so glad!”

“So am I. Just step along this way. I knew you hadn’t come out the front way so I came here.”

Dorothy pressed her shoulder against her cousin in a helpless, imploring sort of way. He seemed to know what the action meant for instantly he had ready to recite, a most plausible explanation of her disappearance.

“You got left behind and were frightened,” he asked and answered in same breath. “I knew it – I told ’em all so. Then some of the ushers took you back and let you out of the stage door. Silly, to get alarmed over a little thing like that. But I couldn’t talk to Mrs. Markin – she was almost in hysterics. We’d better hurry back to relieve her suspense.”

“I should not have delayed talking, but really I was so – so frightened,” ventured Dorothy.

“Cert you were. Well, you just let me tell the story. It will save lots of trouble, but of course the girls will have to know all about the people you met – behind the scenes.”

Was ever there such a blessed boy as Nat? Here he had nicely explained all Dorothy’s troubles and in the simplest manner possible. How splendid boy cousins are, thought Dorothy. They have such a power of sympathy for girls – better than brothers – if girls would only allow them to exercise it – in a cousinly way.

Or did Nat know of Dorothy’s deliberate visit to the little actress who had played Katherine? Perhaps some one had told him his cousin was in the dressing room and he had just waited for her to appear at the stage door. Dorothy was sure Nat would save her from making any troublesome explanations, and when he asked her, in the most matter-of-fact way if she happened to meet the girl with the brown hair who looked so much like Tavia, she had no hesitation in telling him that she was Miss Riceman, and that she was a most charming young lady.

“She doesn’t look a bit like Tavia – close by,” added Dorothy, remembering the scene in the dressing room. “She is as refined and polite as possible. She showed me the way out.”

After telling that much of her adventure to Nat, Dorothy was well prepared to repeat the story to the others, without fear of disclosing the real object of her visit behind the scenes.

When Mrs. Markin was finally assured of Dorothy’s safety, and had actually listened with interest to her recital of the trip into stageland, and her encounters there, the matter was regarded as an incident fraught with untold curious bits of “real live adventure.” Girls do delight in investigating and exploring the unusual quite as much as boys do, although the latter are prone to attribute that faculty to themselves as something patented.

So it happens that when a girl does actually have an experience she and her companions know how to appreciate the novelty. That was how it turned out with Dorothy and her friends. Rose-Mary and Alma couldn’t hear enough of “behind the scenes” and Alma ventured to ask Dorothy to take them in through the stage door to make a second call on Miss Riceman, when she might introduce her friends to a real actress.

But Dorothy tried to appease their curiosity as best she could, telling over and over again how she got lost in the crowd, how the usher accosted her, and led her to the stage, and then how she got confused in her effort to find the “right door” (which was all true enough) and how it was then that Miss Riceman came out and invited Dorothy in. Then she related how she became faint and told of the water being brought, and so on, until the very closing of the stage door after her when she found herself in the alley with Nat at her side.

But now Dorothy was about to enter upon a delicate and what might prove to be a difficult adventure. She had to go to the manager’s office the next afternoon, but beyond that point, she dared not trust herself to think or plan. When night came, and all seemed to be asleep Dorothy, in her room in the big hotel, had a chance to look the situation squarely in the face.

“One thought I must keep before me,” she told herself. “I am bound to find Tavia and save her. To do this I will have to take great risks, and perhaps be very much misunderstood, but I must do it. Her risk is even greater than mine and if I appear to deceive people – even dear, good, thoughtful Nat, – I must do so to continue my search.”

Then the girl, with aching head, planned how she could get away to see the theatrical manager the next day. She would not pretend to have any plans made for going out, and then, just before the hour Miss Riceman had told her the manager’s office would be open, she would announce that she wanted to get some souvenirs of Buffalo to take home with her. This, she decided, would give her an opportunity to hurry away alone.

But, oh, how she dreaded to face that manager! If it were only a woman who was in charge of the office, but a man! And she had heard vague stories of how dreadfully rude some managers were to persons who bothered them. There were so many questions she would have to ask – enough to put any manager into bad humor she thought – and perhaps there would be young girls there like Tavia looking for engagements – they would overhear what she had to say. Oh, it was dreadful, the more she thought of it!

Dorothy buried her head deeper into the pillow and tried to sleep. She felt that she must get some rest or she would not be able to carry on the work that demanded so much of her strength, her brains and her courage. She needed them all now to follow up the clue of Tavia’s whereabouts given by Miss Riceman.

It was almost morning when Dorothy fell into an unquiet sleep, and it was glaring daylight, with the sun streaming into her window, when she awoke. Rose-Mary was moving about the room on tip-toe after some things, feeling the necessity of allowing Dorothy all possible rest, as she had appeared so exhausted after her experience of the previous day.

“I’m so sorry you are going away to-morrow,” spoke Rose-Mary, seeing that Dorothy was awake. “This is the last day we will have together for some time. I have enjoyed your visit so much.”

“I’m afraid I’ve been rather stupid,” apologized Dorothy, feeling as if she must make some excuse for her seeming indifference to Rose-Mary’s entertainment. “But, Cologne dear, I can never tell you how grateful I am for this chance to see Buffalo. It seems as if I had really entered a new world since I came into this big city.”

“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed everything, dear,” said Rose-Mary. “But you must rest to-day and not go sight-seeing any more. You will need to be fresh for your auto trip to-morrow morning.”

“Oh, yes, I’ll rest to-day,” replied Dorothy, as she slipped into her dressing-gown and approached the dresser. There she found a dainty array of remembrances Cologne had selected for her to take home. This was a surprise and it told Dorothy more plainly than words could, that Rose-Mary loved her, and so loved to make her happy.

There were some exquisite bits of undecorated china for Dorothy to add to her collection of hand-painted pieces, there was a “darling” little traveling mirror from Mrs. Markin, and Jack, who would not be left out in spite of his sister’s protestations that a strange young man could not give a young lady a present even if it was a sort of souvenir of Buffalo, had made Rose-Mary place on the table with the other tokens a cute little pocket camera. He secretly hoped his sister would just hint to Dorothy that he had selected it.

Such an array quite overpowered Dorothy and she threw her arms about Rose-Mary’s neck and cried as if her heart would break.

She calmed down after a while, but even when she and Rose-Mary were dressed the two had little spells of weeping at the thought of parting. Jack peeped in at the door, but when he saw his sister and Dorothy in an embrace, with tears in their eyes, he hurried away, muttering something about “fool girls crying when they’re happy,” and he “guessed he wouldn’t hang around to spoil their fun, if that was what they called a merry time.”

So the two girls were left to themselves to exchange confidences and talk over their fall meeting at Glenwood when school should begin again.

Time managed to slip around quickly that day, and, when afternoon came, Dorothy began to get nervous about her prospective visit to the manager’s office. It would surely seem rude to leave Rose-Mary alone, but nothing must deter her from carrying out her plan – no, not even the displeasure of her friends, and this was no small matter to Dorothy when she faced it – she who made such firm friendships when she did make them, and who was always an example of good breeding and politeness.