THE CALL FROM THE PAST.

Observer, Volume XL, Issue 25, 21 February 1920, Page 19

THE CALL FROM THE PAST.

(By Leonard Mbbriok.)

(Continued from last week.) Rain was falling when the rehearsal finished. She hadn't an umbrella. "Which way do you go?" he asked as the stage-door slammed. "All Saints," she replied; "Rumford Street." "That's my way, too. I want a cab—l can give you a lift." "A cab?" She was openly astonished. "If you must squander money, you can take a penny car. But why not walk?" "Is that what you do in the wet?" "Well, if I took a cab every time it was wet in Manchester my salary wouldn't go far, would it?" "I have no idea what your salary is.'* "Three pounds," she said frankly. "It isn't much for a leading lady, eh?" "It isn't much for a leading lady, but it's a good deal for a young girl. In any other business three pounds a week wants a lot of earning." "Oh, I know," she said. "I've got young brothers in the city. They call me 'the millionaire of the family!'" "Do they like your being on tour alone?" "Well, you Bee, it was necessary for me to earn my own living; things weren't very bright at home when I grew up. I don't spend all my salary on the delicacies of the season —I send half to my mother every week. I couldn't be any help to her if I were, in a clerkship like the boys." "But you're fond of the stage, aren't you ? You sounded enthusiastic when you floored me with those questions." She shrugged her shoulders. "At the beginning I was in love with it; I've been in the profession eight years now. You're giving me all your umbrella!" "There's no expense attached to that," said Robert. The cars were full, and she was evidently averse from a cab ; so they travelled Oxford Street on foot, keeping close together. "I suppose you'll go and see a show to-night?" she inquired. "I hadn't thought of it," he said. "Shall you?" , t "There's nothing else to do when one isn't playing. It's ghastly sitting in diggings all the evening, isn't it?" "It must be dull if you're alone, he assented. It occurred to him that his own evening was going to be very dull indeed. "Oh, I'm not alone, I'm staying with the girl who play's "Aunt Rachel," but it's dull anyhow. We thought of asking for seats at the St. James's." ~ „ , . lul% , "I—l think," said Robert, "that I'll go, too. Perhaps I shall see you there. Or we might all go together, mightn't we " "Why, yes," she replied, it would be very nice. liet's l " "It would be delightful!" said Robert. "Yes, let's!" They had reached her door, and she asked him if he would go m and have some tea. He sanLhe would. They found the other girl at home, toasting crumpets. .Miss Wilson toasted crumpets. Robert toasted crumpets also. They all knelt on the hearthrug and toasted crumpets together. His hostesses cried that they were "rising in their profession, having the author to tea! He laughed. He cracked a 30}™. He wondered what Edward would say it he could see him. At the St. James's the girls obtained two stalls for nothing, and Robert insisted on paying for one, though Miss Wilson reproved him tor such waste of money. "We could quite easily have asked for three, she said. "It is silly of you! You make me angry." Greatly daring, he proposed supper when the performance was over. The rastaurants of Manchester are f«f to seek, but he 4i<in't know

that; he even told himself it mattered nothing if he were recognised; the girls were ladies, a man had a right to take his friends to supper! However, they wouldn't go. That is to say, Miss Wilson wouldn't go; the other girl looked as if she Avanted to. Miss Wilson said he must wait to see if his piece was a success. "If it makes a hit, wellperhaps!" He understood she i. it for granted he was poor — she wouldn't let him be extravagant: the situation was not without a charm.

They chattered gaily as far as her apartments. "I can't ask you in after the show," she murmured. "No, I know," he said, "I remember!" As he strolled on, he reflected that the day had been remarkably agreeable. He made for his lodgmg in high good humour. In Oxford Street he started, he received a shock, almost he staggered —he had perceived that he was whistling I

The terpsichorean gymnast gave him eggs boiled to perfection in the morning, and much better coffee than he got at home. As he tapped the second shell, it occurred to Robert that he had not opened a newspaper yesterday. Extraordinary! How often he had winced in recollecting that he never looked at a newspaper when he was a provincial actor! And actually he had b. as bad again. He bought several newspapers after breakfast — and kept glancing at the clock.

It was rather jolly to sally forth to rehearsal, though rain was falling when it was time to go. He entered the theatre with zest to-day. Even he resented less stiffly the vociferous man's calling him "my boy." Miss Wilson's pale face smiled at him as at a friend. He conversed with one or two other members of the company, and saw his way to inserting a topical allusion in the dialogue. Pink pronounced it "devilish good." Robert the Reviving was gratified that Pink thought his line "devilish good." When he Avas asked vociferously if he would "come across and have a drink," he didn't say "no." They drank prosperity to the piece in a vulgar bar. And he took back a box of sandwiches, and Peggy Wilson, and "Aunt Rachel," and he, shared them in the stalls.

Almost the next thing Robert realised vividly was that it was Friday. (Rain was falling.) It amazed him ho\y the interval had flown. "Aunt Rachel" had gone over to Bury, where her fiance was playing at the "Royal," and Miss Wilson, left alone, was coming in to tea. Robert had ordered cream with the tea and Simnel cake. He stood at the window eager-eyed; the signboard of the "mechanical chimney-sweep" did not obtrude itself to him. He remembered how long it was since he last watched for a girl to come to tea. . .

But when she turned the corner he remembered only that he was to have a gracious afternoon. He wheeled the armchair to the hearth for her, and brought her a footstool. She was less talkative than ;isual. Somehow the first few minutes it ere disappointing. "I have to go on Tuesday," he remarked presently; "and then it'll be all over." , "But you're coming to Ashton-un*-der-Lyne for the production?" "I don't know; I don't know that I shall be able to. I wish I hadn t to go back—l haven't enjoyed anything so much for years. By the way, I want you to. do me a favour —1 want you girls to come to supper with me on Monday night. I thought we might go and see a show"—he didn't notice that he was saying "shew" again, instead of "theatre —"and have a little supper here afterwards. I'd suggest a restaurant, but there'd be no time to eat anything-before we were turned out."

"What would your landlady say?" "I've sounded her. I said, I suppose you wouldn't think there was any harm in my bringing two ladies in to supper after the show one evening?' 'Certainly not, Mr. Lawless,' she said. 'Would you like it hot or cold?' That's a landlady that is a landlady. Will you?" "We'll see about it," said Miss Wih'ou. "You might say 'yes,' " he beg-s-eci. "Give me a happy memory for the end." "But it won't be the end; we shaW of tec see you, shan't we, if the pxce runs?" "Perhaps it won't run. And even if it does-i-I'm a busy man." "Too busy to think of your pals? What do you do?" 'Are we pals?" he questioned. "I'm yours; but are you mine? Really? You've known me such a very little while." "No longer than you've known me." "It's not the same thing, though. You meet lots of men; I don't meet lots of girls. To rae this week has been quite out of the common; to you it's only one of the fifty-two." "What do you do in London?" she inquired again; "What are you ?' "A dry stick!" said Robert. "Well, you aren't a dry stick in Manchester!" she said. It was not a brilliant reply, but she couldn't have made one that would have pleased him more. Yet the tea was a failure. She never ate cake, she told him; somehow she didn't care for tea either this afternoon—she sipped about a quarter of a cupful. He had scarcely stirred his own when she was declaring she must go. "You won't think it rude of me if I run away now?" He gave her her muff blankly. A creature of moods, as changeful as an April day! But' when she was sunny, how sunny! The table looked pathetic to him when she had gone He stood at the window, downcast; the signboard of the chim-ney-sweep darkened the road. Mademoiselle Superba put the Simnel cake on the top of the piano, because there wasn't a sideboard,and it stood there uncovered till it was dusty. Then the night of the supper arrived, and there were a galantine, and prawns in aspic, and a mayonnaise; and the first thing the creature of moods did when she came in was to pounce on the dutsy cake and devour a slice before she took "her hat off. "Peggy!" exclaimed the other girl reprovingly. "I may?" she cried, flashing a glance at Robert. Yes, she knew she might! She knew she might do anything she chose there. "I'm going to have more light!" she said) and lit another burner of the gaselier. . Mademoiselle Superba — majestic in black silk, with pendant pearls in her ears, and her hair dressed like Truefitt's window—looked in for a moment to ask if all was well. Robert thanked her for doing it so extremely well. Peggy said sweetly, I hear you're in the Profession, too? The woman was pleased at that. So was Robert—it was nice of Peggy. Because there was no sideboard, cutlery and plates were set forth on the piano; because there were no champagne glasses, they drank the champagne out of tumblers. "Didn't I forbid you to be extravagant?" cried Peggy. He liked "forbid." "Forgive me!" he smiled. "This once," she laughed. 'But you must be very economical in London." . ~ ~ "I shall have no parties hke it in London,l assure you." "Nor I!" said she. "Do you live in London?" She threw him a nod. "Crouch End." ,/ , tt . , "Tell me more," he urged. And let me give you both some salad! "More? Well, <> nee we na( * a ser " vant. Now we haven't. Ido housework when I'm at home—l blacklead the grates. That's why my hands aren't pretty."

"Don't," he said, pained. Her hancis Averen't pretty, but he revered them now he knew the reason. "Peggy!' said tne other girl, dismayed. The other girl Avas obsessed by""manners" when'she Avas out. ' 'I'm frightfully untidy in the morning. In novels the poor heroine always has on "simwy cuffs and collars" with her gags. Pickles! In real life the poor heroine has to think of the laundry bills. Oh! you d be shocked at me in the morning. After the boys have gone, I turn a room out sometimes—my skirt pinned up, and a duster over my head! Can you see me ? Mother's not very strong—the cooking's business enough for mother. Then I go up to the - agents', and try to get something to do. In a very smart costume, with a picture hat—l made it!—and white gloves. Oh! you d bo impressed by Peggy m the afternoon! you Avouldn't recognise me in the Strand. You're not seeing my best clothes here, don't thmk it —I'm in an engagement, I'm stopping the expenses!" "Peggy!" groaned the other girl again. He divined a kick under the table. "You're coming doAvn to see the dress rehearsal on the sth., Mr. LaAvless?" she struck in. "It atouM be a treat to me, but I can't; I've somewhere else to go." "It would be a 'treat' to him!" pealed Peggy. "We shall be kept in the theatre half the night—we shall be dog-tired—and he Avould find it a 'treat'! What it is to be young! Wher-i haA-e yeu to go, Mr. Dramatist?" "I have to go to a very dull public dinner on the sth," he said. "I shall thinlc of you dog-tired in the gaiden act when they serve the chapon roti." "Send us the chapon roti," she said, "it'd be much more use!" She snatohed a sprig of parsley from a dish, and stuck it in her hair — "Mother always tried to kill my passion for dress!" she cried. He proffered her mayonnaise, and she said she Avanted to play the piano. Though he feared that even a landlady avlio Avas a terpsichorean gymnast might have objections to her rattling "Florodora" at one in the morning, his spirits were high until she forsook the music-stool and sank to reminiscence on the hearthrug. Then she made his heart ache; she told him some of her vicissitudes —no engagement, no money, ne food. His eyes filled as he listened. What this girl had been through! It was tAvo o'clock. He saAV his guests home. (Rain Avas falling.) "Good-nightr-good-bye!" he looked at Rumford Street for the last time — how familiar it had become! "Don't forget me," he heard himself whispefc, clasping Peggy's hand. Her fze assured him. She went, in— c step Avas desolate; he tunned thoughtfully away. And as he walked back to the room Adhere she had been he knew he was in" love—with her, with the Theatre, with the life he used to lead. In the wet, black streets of| Manchester he saAV the naked truth,"? and he realised that his life was a failure. . A man could change his environment, but not himself. He feljfe that he avouH be happier earning, three pounds a Aveek, like her, on the stage, than he would ever be as Robert Blackstone, K.C. One mustn't say these things; but he Mt it—felt that he would rejoice to be a minor acton- again, and see Peggy in the morning, and sec Peggy every day. "No Flies on Flossie" tottered for six nights, died, and was buried. You may read those facts elsewhere.These are facts concerning "No Flies on Flossie," Avhich you may read only here. And in Garden Court, Temple, there was for a long time a distinguished barrister debating a subtle point. He questioned if, Avhen he made a trip to the past j*nd grew enamoured of it, he fell in love with a girl, or only with an atmosphere. Because that

he Avas in love, still in love, Avas indisputable ; he looked back constantly and yearned. The sole doubt was what he Avas in love Avith. It was the weak spot in the case, and with his usual keenness he had put his finger on it—he discerned how liable he was to be deceived, how naturally he might v be attributing to the girl the fascination that belonged to the surroundings. If it was the atmosphere that lent Peggy enchantment, he Avould be insane to choose a Avife so different from, say, the placid matron avlio blessed Edward. Por contra, if he loved Peggy herself, why should he tramp the room like this instead of asking her to marry him ? He SAVore that he did love the girl herself. He trembled lest her halo Avas the limelight. Then having come to a conclusion, he found her advertisement in "The .Stage," and wrote asking her to call on him "at Mr. Blackstone's chambers." She went promptly. The dignified clerk ushered her into Robert's presence, and Robert had never scon that room look so gay. "How good of you to come!" he exclaimed happily. "How good., of you to think of me, you mean!" she said—"l've been 'out' ever since "No Flies" finished; have you Avritten another piece, and are you going to offer me a good part in it? I say, you do know swells!" "Who. Blackstone?" She nodded. "Do you think he'll come in Avhile I'm here? I Avas reading about him the other day— Miss Peggy Wilson would be going strong, meeting celebrities of tffe Bar! This is the Blackstone, isn't it, the K.C.?" "He's a very rocent K.C.," murmured Robert; "there's his iicav wig in that box." "Oh, do let me look!" she said, darting radiantly. "May I?" "You may even try it on, if you like," said' Robert; "he wouldn't mind." She had her hat-pins out in a second. "Oh, isn't Peggy going strong!" she laughed. "How does it suit me?" And then, turning from the strip of glass, "Why are you so grave all of a sudden? Didn't you mean me to?" "Yes, yes; I was thinking what a fool I had been not to beg you to come sooner," sighed Robert. "Take it off, and let me talk to you." "Serious?" "Very serious—an engagement." "You are a trump!" she said; "I've Avanted one so badly." "Ah, but you mustn't accept this unless you like it, and I hope you Avon't mind its being a short engagement. Peggy, I love you. I love the ground you walk on, and the clothes you Avear, and everything you say and do. Will you be my wife?" "Oh!" she gasped. Her face Avas colourless. "Can't you care for me?" "I do care," she Avhispered, and —It seemed incredible, yet they Avere round her! and his heart was thumping like a boy's. "O my sweet!" he .stammered, releasing her sat last. Just like a boy again— \"0 my sAveet!" And her colour had come back, and she smiled up at him with a smile that no other woman had ever equalled. "Let me put on my hat before Blackstone comes in," she said joyously; "look what you've done to my hair — it'd give us aAvay!" "Peggy," said Robert, "I'm Blackstone." The smile faded; she stood gazing at him Avide-eyed. "T called myself 'Lawless' when I wrote that farce, and then I chucked writing and went in for the Bar. I had forgotten all about the thing for years Avhen I got Pink's liote, but I couldn't resist going doAvn to the Call; I went as a lark, nobody knew me, I thought it wouldn't make any difference. And then I met you, it made all the difference in the world! Why don't you laugh?"

"You are a. great man," said the girl solemnly; "you oughtn't to marry me."

"(S my dearest, dear," he cried, "don't you understand that I—the real T—am the man you saw there, and that only you do see the real 'me?' London has forgotten the author of that piece, but he didn't die, darling—his heart's just the same, though he looks so different. Robert Blackstone's the man Avho Avears the wig and gown, and can make things right for your mother and the youngsters, and avlio'll give you a title by and by, my loa-'c ; but your husband'll be the bohemian avlio toasted the crumpets, and lodged at Mademoiselle- Superba's, the terpsichorean gymnast! You shan't have time to Svish' for anything—l'd like to buy the Earth for you!—and you must come to hear me 'speak,' and I want you to be proud of our position; but at home I shall always be the 'boy' avlio foil in love Avith you, Peggy, the

'Bob LaAvless' avlio Avent to look for his youth—and found it!" Beyond the open window, the flowers of the garden were bright in sunshine, and the fountain tinkled dreamily. There was a nurse-maid Avith a child among the flo Avers; he knew with thanksgiving that-he Avas doing Avell to marry. "Will you kiss me again, sweetheart?" " "Yes," she said— "Bob !"