Bambi (Cooke)/Chapter 20
XX
APPOINTMENT at three o’clock, Tuesday afternoon,” announced Strong’s wire on Monday morning.
“Hurray!” shouted Bambi, rushing into the kitchen to break the news to Ardelia, since the Professor was not there.
“Noo Yawk, bress yo’! Ain’t dat fine? Yo’ gwine see Mistah Jarvis?”
“Of course I’ll see him.”
“Yo’ can tote him back home, mebbe.”
“I’ll take the early morning train to-morrow.”
“I reckon I’ll fry up some chicken an’ bake some cakes, so yo’ can tote it right along wid yo'."
“Now, look here, Ardelia. I’m not going to pack any basket along on the train to New York. Jarvis can buy his fried chicken there.”
“He say dey ain’t no cookin’ lak’ dere is in dis town.”
“Well, it will have to do for a little longer. I’ll have my bag and plenty to carry.”
“Yo’ ain’t got no nat'chal feelin’ fo’ dat boy,” Ardelia scolded her.
When the Professor heard the news he evinced a mild surprise.
“Have you any money for this trip? I’m a trifle short, now. The bank notified me yesterday that I was overdrawn.”
“Professor, not again? What is the use of being a mathematician if you are always overdrawn?”
“The trouble is I forget to look at my balance. I just continue to draw until I am notified. You will see Jarvis, of course?”
“Yes.”
“You say you have business to attend to in the city?”
“Yes.”
“About the secret?”
“Yes.”
“Is the moment of disclosure approaching?”
She nodded.
“Well, I wish you the best of luck, my dear.”
“Thanks, Herr Professor.”
She took the early train in high good humour the next morning, clad in her most fetching frock.
“Even a stony-hearted manager could not be impervious to this hat,” was her parting comment to her glass.
She was very undecided as to whether she would go straight to Jarvis’s lodgings and surprise him, or wait until after the interview with Frohman. She finally decided that she could not wait until four o’clock, but that she would give Jarvis no hint of the coming momentous appointment. As she came into the city, she noted the bright, crisp winter day with pleasure—very different from that spring day when she and Jarvis had entered the gates together. But to-day was to-day and she was glad of it.
She took a taxi, with that sense of affluence which attacks one like a germ on entering the City of Spenders. The driver looked at her again as she gave the address. The trim, smart little figure did not look much like the neighbourhood she was headed for. Probably one of these settlement workers, he decided.
At first Bambi did not notice where she was going, so happy was she to be back in this gay city.
“I know you’re a Painted Lady, but you’re so pretty!” she smiled, as the streets ran by. Downtown and still downtown the taxi sped, past the Washington Square district, which they had explored together, shooting off at a tangent into the kind of neighbourhood where Bambi had fallen sick at the sights and the filth. They drew up before an old-fashioned house, with dirty steps and windows and curtains. It looked like a better-class citizen on the down grade, beside the neighbouring houses, which were frankly low-class. The driver opened the door and Bambi stared up at the place.
“Why, this can’t be it!” she exclaimed.
“This is the number you gave me.”
“Wait,” she said. She ran up the rickety steps, her heart sick with fear. She rang and waited and rang. Finally, a dirty head appeared out of an upstairs window.
“What d’yer want?” a voice demanded.
“Does Mr. Jarvis Jocelyn live here?”
“Three flights up-back,” and the window slammed.
“Wait for me, driver,” she called. She began to climb the dirty stairs, tears in her eyes.
“Oh, my dear, my dear!” she said, over and over again.
She knocked at the third-floor back, with no response; so she opened the door and entered. One dark area window, a bed, a chair, a dresser, an improvised table with piles of manuscript. It was cleaner than the awful entrance suggested. But, oh, it was pitiful! Such a place for a dreamer! Bambi leaned her head on the dresser and sobbed. That he had been reduced to this, that he had never told them, that he had refused the Professor’s money and chosen poverty! It nearly killed her, while it thrilled her with a pride unspeakable. If he had the strength for such a fight, nothing could conquer him. She started at a step outside, thinking that it might be he.
Suddenly she realized that he might not want even her to see this; that he might not want her to know of this drab tent where he crawled for sleep off the field of battle. She went to the narrow bed and laid her hand gently where his cheek would rest.
“Jarvis, my dear!” she whispered.
Then she went down the rickety stairs, out to the waiting cab. She was sick, heart and body, at the revelation of what his struggle meant. All the mother in her cried out at the physical distress of such surroundings to a nature sensitive to environment.
He could have come back to the sunny, airy rooms he had made his, at home; but he had chosen to stay and win. So many things she had not understood about him were made clear now, and she wondered if Richard Strong had found him there. No wonder Jarvis had repulsed him, taken unawares, and at such a disadvantage!
“Oh, why didn’t you let me know and help?” she repeated. She had the man take her round and round the Park, where it was quiet. She must get herself in hand. She felt that at the slightest excuse she would burst into hysterics! More than ever, now, must she be mistress of herself for the coming interview. She must fight to catch the big manager’s attention, and win her way with him. She drew her furs about her, closed her eyes, and tried to shut out the sight of that sordid, wretched room, where handsome big Jarvis was paying the toll to success—toll of blood and brain and nerves, paid by every man or woman who mounts to the top! She saw him climbing wearily those dirty stairs, coming into the cell. Over and over she saw it, like a moving-picture film repeated indefinitely.
At quarter before three she ordered the driver to the Empire Theatre. This time his face cleared. Actress, of course. Probably went to the slums to look up a drunken husband. He drew up at the theatre, demanded a queen’s ransom for her release, and stood at attention. She was too nervous to notice the amount, and paid it absently, dismissed him, and hurried to the elevator.
She was first shown into the general-domo’s office, where she was catechised as to her name and her business. She waited fifteen minutes while her name was passed down the line. Word came back that Mr. Frohman was engaged. Would she please wait?
“I’ll wait, but my appointment was at three,” she said.
The major-domo looked at her as if such lèse majesté deserved hanging. In fifteen minutes more she was conducted into an anteroom, where she was turned over to a secretary. Her business was explained to him. In due course of time word came out that Mr. Frohman would be through in ten minutes. She was moved, then, to a tiny room next the sacred door leading into the inner mystery. Twenty minutes passed, then a youth appeared.
“Mr. Frohman will receive you now,” he announced in solemn tones.
Bambi refrained from an impulse to say, “Thank you, St. Peter,” and followed into the private office. For a second she was petrified with fear, then with the courage of the terror-stricken she marched down the long room to the desk where Mr. Frohman sat looking at her.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” said he.
Bambi fixed her shining eyes upon him and smiled confidently.
“I feel as if I’d gotten into the Kingdom of Heaven for a short talk with God!”
The smile on the manager’s face broke into a laugh. “Is it as bad as that? Sit down and see how you like it up here?”
“Thanks,” she said, sinking into the big chair beside the desk.
“So you wrote ‘Francesca,’ did you?”
“I did.”
“You look pretty young to know as much about life as that book tells.”
“Oh, I’m old in experience,” she boasted.
He looked closely at her ingenuous face, and laughed again.
“You don’t look it. I think there’s a play in that book.”
“So do I.”
“Did you ever write a play?”
“No, but I’ve helped on several plays. I know a great deal about them,” she assured him.
“Do you? Well, that’s more than I do. Any of the plays that you have helped on been produced?”
“That isn’t fair of you,” she protested. “I should have boasted about it if they had.”
“A skilled playwright could take the heart of your story and build up a clever comedy.”
“Could we have Richard Bennett, Marguerite Clarke, and Albert Bruning play the parts?”
“Oh, ho, you’ve got it all cast, have you?”
She nodded.
“And I know just the man to make the play.”
“Do you? So do I. Whom do you choose?”
“Jarvis Jocelyn.”
“Jarvis Jocelyn? Who’s he?”
“He’s a young playwright. He hasn’t had anything produced yet, but he’s extremely clever, and I do so want him to have the chance.”
“Jarvis Jocelyn! Seems as though I had heard that name. Oh, your name is Jocelyn,” he added. “Is this a relative?”
“Sort of—husband.”
“Husband? So you’re married?” in surprise.
“Yes. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll have to tell you some personal history.”
“Go ahead. I wish I could think where I had heard that fellow’s name.”
“He submitted a play to you, called ‘Success.’”
“What—the cab-driver? You mean to say you’re married to the cab-driver?”
“Cab-driver?”
“The ‘Success’ fellow came in here, in a long coat and a top hat. Said he was driving a hansom to help a friend and incidentally turn a penny himself. Big, handsome, blond fellow. I remember, I liked him.”
Surprise, pain, then understanding, flashed across her face, and somehow the manager knew that he had betrayed a secret to her and that it hurt. She controlled herself quickly, and answered him.
“Yes, that was Jarvis. We were married last spring, and we both set out on a career. I kept mine a secret, and just by luck I succeeded. But Jarvis”—here her eyes filled with tears—“you’ve no idea how hard it is to be a playwright! Everybody thinks what a snap it is to collect royalties when you are a Broadway favourite, but they don’t know all those terrible days and nights before you get there, and what it means if you never do get there.”
“I know,” he nodded. “So you want to give this fellow the chance to make this play?”
“I want to more than I ever wanted anything in my life.”
“Well, well!” he said, in surprise at her earnestness.
“I want you to send for him, give him the commission, and never mention me.”
“Why not?”
“I do not want him to know that I had anything to do with it.”
“He doesn’t know you wrote the book?”
“No.”
“And you’re married to him, you say?”
She nodded.
“Upon my word, you’re a queer pair! Are you Francesca, and is he the musician of the story?”
“Well, they are based on us, rather.”
He laughed.
“Dear, kind Mr. Frohman, will you do this?”
“I told the fellow to try his hand at a comedy. He might handle this, if we could hold him down. Awful preacher, isn’t he?”
“He’s young,” she answered patronizingly. The manager covered a smile.
“Won’t he recognize himself and you in the book?”
“I think not. He’s so unobserving, and he does not suspect me at all. He’ll never know.”
“You may have to work with him on the play.”
“Oh, he’ll appeal to me for help. He always does. We will do it together, only he will not know about the author.”
“You will have to come to rehearsals.”
“I’ll come as wife of the playwright, or co-author.”
“You’ve got it all thought out, haven’t you?”
“I have.”
“Sounds like a farce plot to me. Give me my instructions again. You want me to send for him, tell him to make a play out of this book—”
She smiled and nodded.
“Suppose he asks me who the author is?”
“You could say that she insisted upon preserving her anonymity.”
“What else do I do?”
“That’s all.”
“If this is your idea of a short interview with God, you certainly make good in dictating his policy to him!”
Bambi’s laughter rippled and sang.
“But you will do it?”
“I’ll make a start by calling the cabby.”
She rose and held out her hand.
“I’m so glad you’re like this,” she said. “I shall love doing things with you.”
“Much obliged. I’m glad you came in. You’ll probably hear from one of us as to the next move in the matter. Good-bye!”
“Good-bye and thanks, Mr. God.”
His laugh followed her out. He sat for several minutes thinking about her and her plan. He recalled Jarvis’s fine, unconscious exit at the time of his interview. He rang for a boy, and demanded Jarvis’s address.
Bambi walked out, treading on air. She had won her point. She had got Jarvis his chance. She thought it all out—the coming of Frohman’s letter, his joy over the commission, how he would announce it to her. She laughed aloud, so that several people turned to look at her and a man slowed up and fell in step.
She went into a tea-shop to have tea, calm down, and decide on the next step. Would she stay over-night, summoning Jarvis to meet her next day, or should she go home on the night train and not see him at all? Could she bear to see his face with the imprint of poverty and discouragement? He had been so reduced as to be forced to drive a cab, she might even meet him on the avenue! No, she would go home to-night, and let Jarvis come to her with news of his victory.
So she surprised the Professor at breakfast.
“Morning!” she cried.
“Bambi! We didn’t expect you so soon.”
“I finished what I had to do, so here I am.”
“And Jarvis?”
“Oh, he’s well.”
“Was he surprised to see you?”
“Very.”
“Is he getting on?”
“Slowly. But he will win.”
“If he can learn to be practical—”
“He’s learning,” said Bambi, grimly.
“When is he coming home?”
“He did not say.”
“Nobody buys his plays yet?”
“Not yet.”
“I’m not surprised. That woman, you know, in the play he read us—”
“Don’t talk about her till I get my breakfast.”
He looked at her in surprise, she was so seldom irritated. She rang for Ardelia.
“Why, Miss Bambi, honey! I didn’t see yo’ all comin’.”
“Here I am, and hungry, too.”
“How’s Mistah Jarvis?”
“All right. Breakfast, Ardelia, I perish.”
“Did you have a successful trip?” inquired her father.
“I did, very.”
“How did you find Babylon?”
“As Babylonish as ever.”
She seemed strangely disinclined for conversation, so her wise parent left her to her meditations and her breakfast. But he patted her as he passed to go out.
“We’re glad to have you back, my daughter.”
She brushed his cheek with her lips, understandingly.