Basil said, “Gee!”
At quarter to seven the participants arrived in groups—Riply Buckner with the six boys he had gathered to serve as ticket takers and ushers; Miss Halliburton, trying to seem very calm and reliable; Evelyn Beebe, who came in as if she were yielding herself up to something and whose glance at Basil seemed to say: “Well, it looks as if I’m really going through with it after all.”
Mayall De Bec was to make up the boys and Miss Halliburton the girls. Basil soon came to the conclusion that Miss Halliburton knew nothing about makeup, but he judged it diplomatic, in that lady’s overwrought condition, to say nothing, but to take each girl to Mayall for corrections when Miss Halliburton had done.
An exclamation from Bill Kampf, standing at a crack in the curtain, brought Basil to his side. A tall bald-headed man in spectacles had come in and was shown to a seat in the middle of the house, where he examined the program. He was the public. Behind those waiting eyes, suddenly so mysterious and incalculable, was the secret of the play’s failure or success. He finished the program, took off his glasses and looked around. Two old ladies and two little boys came in, followed immediately by a dozen more.
“Hey, Riply,” Basil called softly. “Tell them to put the children down in front.”
Riply, struggling into his policeman’s uniform, looked up, and the long black mustache on his upper lip quivered indignantly.
“I thought of that long ago.”
The hall, filling rapidly, was now alive with the buzz of conversation. The children in front were jumping up and down in their seats, and everyone was talking and calling back and forth save the several dozen cooks and housemaids who sat in stiff and quiet pairs about the room.
Then, suddenly, everything was ready. It was incredible. “Stop! Stop!” Basil wanted to say. “It can’t be ready. There must be something—there always has been something,” but the darkened auditorium and the piano and violin from Geyer’s Orchestra playing “Meet Me in the Shadows” belied his words. Miss Saunders, Leilia Van Baker and Leilia’s friend, Estella Carrage, were already seated on the stage, and Miss Halliburton stood in the wings with the prompt book. Suddenly the music ended and the chatter in front died away.
“Oh, gosh!” Basil thought. “Oh, my gosh!”
The curtain rose. A clear voice floated up from somewhere. Could it be from that unfamiliar group on the stage?
I will, Miss Saunders. I tell you I will!
But, Miss Leilia, I don’t consider the newspapers proper for young ladies nowadays.
I don’t care. I want to read about this wonderful gentleman burglar they call The Shadow.
It was actually going on. Almost before he realized it, a ripple of laughter passed over the audience as Evelyn gave her imitation of Miss Saunders behind her back.
“Get ready, Basil,” breathed Miss Halliburton.
Basil and Bill Kampf, the crooks, each took an elbow of Victor Van Baker, the dissolute son of the house, and made ready to aid him through the front door.
It was strangely natural to be out on the stage with all those eyes looking up encouragingly. His mother’s face floated past him, other faces that he recognized and remembered.
Bill Kampf stumbled on a line and Basil picked him up quickly and went on.
Miss Saunders So you are alderman from the Sixth Ward? Rabbit Simmons Yes, ma’am. Miss Saunders Shaking her head kittenishly. Just what is an alderman? Chinaman Rudd An alderman is halfway between a politician and a pirate.
This was one of Basil’s lines that he was particularly proud of—but there was not a sound from the audience, not a smile. A moment later Bill Kampf absentmindedly wiped his forehead with his handkerchief and then stared at it, startled by the red stains of makeup on it—and the audience roared. The theater was like that.
Miss Saunders Then you believe in spirits, Mr. Rudd. Chinaman Rudd Yes, ma’am, I certainly do believe in spirits. Have you got any?
The first big scene came. On the darkened stage a window rose slowly and Mayall De Bec, “in a full evening dress,” climbed over the sill. He was tiptoeing cautiously from one side of the stage to the other, when Leilia Van Baker came in. For a moment she was frightened, but he assured her that he was a friend of her brother Victor. They talked. She told him naively yet feelingly of her admiration for The Shadow, of whose exploits she had read. She hoped, though, that The Shadow would not come here tonight, as the family jewels were all in that safe at the right.
The stranger was hungry. He had been late for his dinner and so had not been able to get any that night. Would he have some crackers and milk? That would be fine. Scarcely had she left the room when he was on his knees by the safe, fumbling at the catch, undeterred by the unpromising word “Cake” stencilled on the safe’s front. It swung open, but he heard footsteps outside and closed it just as Leilia came back with the crackers and milk.
They lingered, obviously attracted to each other. Miss Saunders came in, very kittenish, and was introduced. Again Evelyn mimicked her behind her back and the audience roared. Other members of the household appeared and were introduced to the stranger.
What’s this? A banging at the door, and Mulligan, a policeman, rushes in.
We have just received word from the Central Office that the notorious Shadow has been seen climbing in the window! No one can leave this house tonight!
The curtain fell. The first rows of the audience—the younger brothers and sisters of the cast—were extravagant in their enthusiasm. The actors took a bow.
A
