SECOND CHANCE

Ashburton Guardian, Volume 59, Issue 40, 26 November 1938, Page 2

SECOND CHANCE

By HOLLOWAY HORN. v ■

| (Author of “George," “Two Men and Mary,” Etc).

A Moving Story of a Man with a Past.

CHARTER YITT

SECOND HOUSE. . At tho Theatre Roval, Alossfprd, it is tho custom to exhibit in the vestibule the photos of the leading actors and actresses who will appear during the forthcoming week. Lsually the companies are, although Alosstord may not know it, second-rate, and the Theatre Royal, 'respite its grandiloquent name, has a hard struggle to maintain its position against the all-conquering cinemas.

Ferguson went to the theatre on the Saturday after he had been to the cinema with Alary Donovan. The company that week was a clever one. They gave a different play each evening, which, in istelf, is no mean feat for a travelling company. Me was rewarded with some excellent acting and on coming out noticed that the photos adorning the walls around the box office had been changed. There was a big one of Lucia Desmond, signed in the flamboyant writing he recognised: “Sincerely yours, Lucia Desmond.” It was what is known as a “studio” portrait. He gravely contemplated it for a moment or so before a. quiet smile touched his lips. Almost at once it left them and his face resumed its normal seriousness. Near to the big photograph lie noticed another, and this time the whole expression. of his face changed. It was of a dark, almost swarthy man and: bore the name “Teddio Wilson.” Superficially, “Teddie Wilson” was a goodlooking individual—as far as the photograph went, anyway. But the hard look which liad flashed into Ferguson’s face softened, and the queer little smile which the picture ol Lucia Desmund had brought to his lips came back. He turned away, and slowly walked back to his lodgings in Manor Street.

Tt was two houses nightly at the Theatre Royal and Ferguson had booked seats on the Monday for the second performance. He mot Mary Donovan outside tho theatre at a quarter to nine just as tho people were coming out from the first house. There did not appear to he many of them, but Monday Jiight is never very “good”—the word is used in its theatrical sense—in Mossford.

“ ‘Love and Baugh,’ ” lie said as he handed the programme to Mary after they had taken their seats.

“One might do worse,” she said, with a smile. “You certainly might do more laughing than you do,” she added as she turned to the programme.

“Lucia 'Desmund seems to appear in most scenes,” he said. “You like her, though?” “Yes. From what J. remember.” The circle in which, they sat was not more than half full when the orchestra started up. “I hope there are more people downstairs. It must bo depressing to play to empty seats,” she said. He nodded.

The first scene was a cafe in some South American port where the cabaret gave- the company an opportunity to show its individual talent, but, that evening, Mary Donovan was more interested in the man at her side than in the show. From the moment the lights went down she covertly watched him. He was sitting forward, chin cupped in his hands, and was evidently giving more attention to the hackneyed story and; music than the revue merited. But-, as far as she could see, his face was expressionless. There was a peculiar quality—a. huskiness—in Lucia Desmond’s voice, but even when she spoke for the first- time, Ferguson gave no sign. The revue was in two parts and at the interval Mary said, “Well, you’ve followed it very closely. Whajt do you think of it?” “Of the play . . . the revue?” “Yes. of course.”

He smiled: “It’s much like most of them,” he said. “For a travelling company, I thought it quite good. What did you think of Lucia Desmond?”

“She hasn’t had a great deal of opportunity so far.” “No. She’s very beautiful.” “I thought that Teddie Wilson was an offensive little beast.” he said.

“Teddie Wilson,” she repeated and glanced at the programme. “Oh yes, I remember. He was the gigolo. Hardly a ‘ sympathetic ’ character,” she smiled. “But surely you prefer it to the films?”

(To be Continued)

“Not to a good film. I’d' rather see a bad play than a bad film, I suppose.” She turned again to the programme. “This Teddie Wilson is the-business manager of the company as well,” she pointed out. He nodded. “He’s probably running it,”

“You seem to know rather a lot about the stage, Mr Ferguson,” she said and since she regretted the hint of a question in her words went mi before he could reply: “That little dancer was really good. She’ll go to the top.”

“I don’t think I noticed her particularly.” The second part of the Revue was rather more exciting than the first, but it was all hackneyed, second-rate stuff. By the end of the evening, Mary Donovan was even more certain that he knew—or rather that he had known — Lucia Desmund.

RECOGNISED. It. was raining slightly when they left the theatre and they caught a ’bus instead of walking back to her home. “Care for some cocoa?” she asked as they reached the door. “I don’t think 1 will to-night,” he said. “Thank you, though. i have rather a head. I’m afraid I’ve been a dull companion.”

“Nonsense,” she said. “I always feel that if people are really friends there’s no need to keep on talking.’’

He nodded. “And I value your friendship more than I can say.” “And 1 yours,” she said frankly. “Goodnight!”

“Good-night. . .and thank you,” he said as lie turned away. From the top of the steps she watched his tall figure as he hurried along the road. He was bending a little forward against the wind and the rain. She watched him a moment before she turned to open the door and make her wav to the warm, comfortable sit-

Copyright.

ting room, where Airs Donovan assuredly waited for her with the inevitable but welcome cocoa.

It was a wild night and Ferguson was glad to achieve the quiet haven of Number Five. Mrs Gaddesden was in bed and the fire in the sitting room was nearly out. but it was still warm. On an impulse ho went up to his bedroom and unlocked a. small leather box which he kept in his suitcase. From it lie took a photo of a girl and re-locked tho box and went downstairs again. Tt was the photo of Lucia Desmund. She was younger when it was taken, than in the photo by the side of the pay box at the Theatre Royal, but she had autographed it: “Ever yours, Lucia.”

That queer smile hovered for a moment on his lips as he looked down at the photograph: “Ever yours, Lucia,” he said aloud. Slowly, methodically, he tore the photo into small pieces and after stirring the file to a blaze dropped them on it. Presently the pieces began to blacken and curl up and suddenly burst into flames. He watched them, still with, that queer, strained smile on his lips, until nothing was left of the photo but small flakes of greyish ash. He stood watching tho darkened fire for some minutes, but suddenly seemed to pull himself together: “Well—that’s that,” he said aloud and turned to the door.

The following evening Ferguson left tlie office a minute or so before Mary Donovan. Sometimes they met on the steps leading to the street, but on this occasion lie was ahead of her. Market Street leads from London Road to Market Square, in which the Theatre Royal is situated and as Ferguson turned out of the main entrance and towards London Road a girl who was coming in the opposite direction came face to face with him.

Mary Donovan saw it ; she was a yard or so behind them. Apparently‘"he did not recognise the girl, but there was no question as to whether she had recognised him. She had pulled up and was staring after him as if she had seen a. ghost.

She was Lucia Desmund; Alary Donocan knew her at once. Evidently she was on her way to the theatre. She was, judged at least by Mossford standard, beautifully dressed, hut there was a strained look on her face. She turned and for a few steps followed his retreating figure, but apparently thought better of it, and pulled up so that she and Mary Donovan came face to face. was perfectly made up, but in that moment her guard was down and Alary Donovan glimpsed the woman behind the professional mask. And she was sorry for her. Whatever she had done, however glamorous her life, the woman in Mary Donovan pitied her. It was the face of a woman who had consciously missed the few simple things which are really w r orth having.

in less than an horn: she would be on tlie stage and twice would go through the whole of the revue that night. “Love and Laugh!”

Slowly and thoughtfully Mary Donovan walked on. Even as she had watched, Lucia Desmufid’s face had changed, the mask she held up to the world had been replaced. But for a moment there had been no mask.

She caught her usual ’bus and passed Ferguson as he was turning into Manor Street, but he did not see her.

What was the connection between these twain? What their storv?

And what concern, she suddenly asked herself some minutes later as the trolley-bus came to rest at the end of her road, was it of liers? Nor had she answered any of these questions when she sat down to her evening meal. The following afternoon Mary Donovan was in Mr Mumford’s office alone. The manager was not yet back from his lunch, which, with him, was a movable feast and for once in a way, Mary had little or no work on hand. Her thoughts had wandered, as they had frequently done of late, but the telephone recalled her to herself.