Dorothy Dale's Great Secret

When her valise had been packed, so that the entire evening might be left for pleasure, and Nat and Ned had appeared from their quarters to make final arrangements about coming for Dorothy directly after breakfast, she glanced at her watch and found it lacked just half an hour of five o’clock! The boys were engaged in an argument with Rose-Mary, as to the relative beauty of Boston and New York, Ned holding that a Battery and a Bowery made New York the winner.

Suddenly Dorothy jumped up from the porch chair where she had been sitting.

“I believe I’ll just run down town to get some more souvenir postal cards,” she said bravely, as she started to leave the veranda. She had her purse in her hand, and there was no need to wear a hat.

“Why?” asked Cologne in natural surprise. “I thought you had plenty.”

Nat saw the flush of color that came into Dorothy’s cheeks.

“And I’m with you!” he declared, getting up from his place and assisting his cousin down the steps. “So long,” he called back. “Do the best you can, Ned. I’ll be back directly. Just want to make sure that Doro doesn’t fall by the wayside again,” and at that the two cousins bolted off laughing, Dorothy having recovered her composure when she saw how quickly Nat came to her relief. Ned and Rose-Mary were taken so by surprise at the sudden move that they seemed dazed, and the look on their faces at the bolt of the two only made the departing ones more merry.

“Nat,” said Dorothy as they turned the corner, “I really wanted to go to some place – ”

“Go ahead then,” he answered, “only, Doro, you know Ned and I are responsible for you and you had best tell me about it. You know I won’t interfere – only to be sure it’s all right.”

“Nat, you are such a good cousin,” began Dorothy.

“Good?” echoed Nat. “Why, you don’t say so? Make a note of that and tell the others – they would never believe me. There, did you see that streak of sunshine stick to my brow? It was a halo, sure thing. But, I say, what are you going to do, anyhow?”

“To look for Tavia,” replied Dorothy miserably.

“Thought so. But where is the looking to be done this time?”

“I thought I would inquire at the office of the theatre. They might happen to know something.”

“All right, come along. I’ll wait outside. Theatre people, especially managers and those in the office, are usually very busy and won’t keep you long.”

This was said with all possible kindness, but, somehow, it gave Dorothy a cold chill. She was so afraid of facing the manager. Oh, if she only could let Nat go in with her! But that would not be fair to Tavia, whose secret, if she ever discovered it, she determined to keep inviolate. She must do it alone, and do it secretly to save Tavia from the possible consequences of her folly, should it turn out that she really was with a company “on the road.”

One more block and Nat and Dorothy were in front of the theatre where they had attended the play the day before. They stood before the great open lobby, empty now save for a few workmen who were busy with mops scrubbing the tiled marble floor. Nat took Dorothy’s arm.

“There’s the office of the manager, right over there,” he said, indicating a small door that bore no mark to distinguish it from many others that opened from the foyer. “I’ll wait here for you. Now, don’t be afraid to push yourself up front if there’s a crowd waiting for him. We haven’t any too much time.”

With all the courage that Dorothy could summon to her aid she walked up to the little door, opened it and stepped inside a little ante-room. She was in the manager’s office, and the presence of several other persons, who turned to stare at her did not serve to put her at her ease.

CHAPTER XX

DOROTHY AND THE MANAGER

Dorothy sank into a chair near the door. Two or three important-looking women were moving about restlessly, awaiting their turn to pass beyond the portal guarded by a stout youth, and face the manager in his private rooms. Others, younger and more timid, sat quite still in their chairs, as did Dorothy, and the girl could imagine that they were silently praying for success in the prospective interview with one who might decide their fate. Dorothy seemed beyond thinking consistently about her own circumstances; she just sat there and waited. The youth at the door of the private office looked at her sharply. Doubtless he was wondering whether she had an appointment, or whether she was one to be allowed to enter out of her turn because of some “pull.”

It seemed to Dorothy that the very place rang with an appeal for place, for position – for opportunity, although not a word was spoken. But the look on the faces of those waiting spoke louder than words.

Finally a girl in a red hat went in and came out so quickly that the others looked at her curiously. She murmured something that showed she had been treated with scant ceremony. Then a very stout woman, wearing an enormous veil brushed past Dorothy. She was not escorted in by the boy, but dashed past him as the girl in red came out. Then, when the woman with the excess of avoirdupois came out, the boy stepped up to Dorothy.

“Your turn,” he said kindly. Then it occurred to Dorothy that every one so far had been kind to her. Were these people, that others had spoken of so slightingly, not all respectful and polite to any one who seemed to merit such consideration? She felt that they were not half as black as they had been painted.

The next moment the anxious girl was in the private office of the manager. It was a small room, but not gloomy in spite of the fact that it was in the midst of a darkened theatre. A fine rug was on the floor and there were a few well-chosen pictures on the walls, the electric lights showing them off to advantage.

While the manager, who sat in a big revolving chair, looked over some papers on his desk before turning to Dorothy, she had an opportunity to see that there hung before him what were evidently family photographs. One was of a little girl and another of a youth. Surely, she thought, a man who had time to look at his children’s pictures during business hours could not be so very harsh because his time was taken up by a girl.

“Well?” asked the manager suddenly as he wheeled around in his chair, wiping his glasses carefully but not seeming to look at Dorothy.

She caught her breath with a gasp. The moment had come. Her heart was beating painfully.

“I – I came to – to ask if you – if you have on your books the name of a young lady – Miss Octavia Travers?” she managed to stammer out. “A young lady with the ‘Lady Rossmore’s Secret’ company, I believe.”

“Travers,” repeated the manager thoughtfully, “Travers? Seems to me I have. Is she your sister?”

“Not exactly, but I have always regarded her as such – we have been very close friends all our lives.”

“Not a very long time at that,” remarked the manager with a smile. “But what is it you want to know about her?”

“To get her address.”

“Let me see, I’ll look it up – but if she is such a close friend of yours why didn’t she send you her address? She knew where she was going to be,” and he spoke pointedly.

Tears welled into Dorothy’s eyes, and she felt that she could not trust herself to speak. The manager looked critically at her. Then he laid aside the book he had picked up to consult.

“Run away?” he asked.

“RUN AWAY?” HE ASKED

Dorothy nodded.

“Well, don’t feel so badly about it, my girl. We’ll see if we can’t find her for you. But first you had better tell me the story. It will help greatly. You see when we engage a girl and she happens to prove satisfactory we have no excuse for dismissing her unless she might be under age – and then her parents – of course – ”

“But I must keep the entire matter from her parents,” interrupted Dorothy. “I must find Tavia myself and I know when I do she will listen to me and it will be all right again.”

Dorothy was visibly trembling. The manager folded his arms and looked at her thoughtfully.

“You’re quite a young girl to undertake this,” he said finally. “But I like your spirit, and I’m going to help you. I tell you, my child, the stage is no place for a young person who has had no experience with the ways of the world. I never encourage a young girl to go on the stage. There are plenty of older characters whom we can get and then there is less danger. But this girl you are looking for – was she about your height?”

“Yes, with very brown hair,” replied Dorothy. “And such lovely light brown eyes.”

“Let me see,” and he consulted the book again. Dorothy waited anxiously, as he turned page after page. Then he stopped. “Yes, here it is,” he said. “Christina Travers. That must be the girl. They rarely give the name just right.”

“Yes, she might say Christina,” admitted Dorothy. “The girls at school called her ‘Chris’ for short.”

“Well, she is with the ‘L. R. S.’ company – I beg your pardon, I mean the ‘Lady Rossmore’s Secret’ company. We get in the habit of abbreviating it. It’s a light thing we put on for a filler. I’m afraid it isn’t doing any too well, which, however, may make it easier for you to induce your friend to give it up.”

“Oh, I hope I can!” and Dorothy left her seat and came to stand beside the manager’s desk. She had lost nearly all her fear and nervousness now.

“They play in Rochester to-night,” went on the manager consulting his list. “Then they go to Rockdale – ”

“Only one night in Rochester?” asked Dorothy, showing some surprise and disappointment.

“Well, one night of that I fancy will be enough for any place,” was the manager’s laughing reply. “However, they may stay over to-morrow. But Rockdale is only a few miles from there. You could easily catch them at Rockdale. Is there anything more I can do for you?”