Bambi (Cooke)/Chapter 25
XXV
BAMBI felt the renewed vigour with which Jarvis attacked the final problems of their task. He was working toward the goal of his affections, a meeting with his lady. She, too, felt the strain of the situation, and keyed herself up to a final burst of speed. The middle of February came, bringing the day which ended their labours.
“Well, I believe that is the best we can do with it,” Jarvis said.
“Yes, our best best. For my part, I feel quite fatuously satisfied. I think it is perfectly charming.”
“I hope the author will be pleased,” he said earnestly.
“I’m much more concerned with Mr. Frohman’s satisfaction. If he likes it, hang the author!”
“But I want to please her more than I can say.”
“You have a great interest in that woman, Jarvis. What is it about her that has caught your attention?”
“It is difficult to say. As I have grown into her book, so that it has become a part of my thought, I have been more and more absorbed in the personality of the woman.”
“You told me the heroine was like me—once.”
“Did I?” in surprise.
“You’ve changed your mind, evidently?”
“No-o. Her brilliance is like you.”
“But not her other qualities?”
“She seems softer, more appealingly feminine to me, than you do. You have so much more executive ability—”
“You think I’m not feminine?”
“I didn’t say that,” he evaded.
“Why do you insist upon thinking the author and heroine to be one person?”
“Just a fancy, I suppose. But the book is so intimate that I feel consciously, or otherwise, the woman has written herself into ‘Francesca.’”
“You may be approaching an awful shock, my dear Jarvis, when you meet her.”
“I think not.”
“These author folk! She’ll be a middle-aged dowd, mark my words.”
He rose indignantly, and put the last sheets of the manuscript away. She watched him, smiling.
“Shall you go to New York to-morrow?”
“Yes, if I can get an appointment by wire. I am going to see about it now.”
“I do hope he will be sensible enough to put it on right away.”
“He told me to rush it. I think he means an immediate production.”
“The end of our work together,” mused Bambi.
He turned to her quickly.
“You care?”
“Don’t you?”
“It has really been your work, Bambi.”
It was her turn to be startled, but evidently he had no ulterior meaning.
“Not at all. I think it is wonderful how well we work together, considering—”
“Considering?” he insisted.
“Oh, our difference in point of view, and, oh, everything!” she added.
“It would disappoint you if it were our last work together?”
“What an idea, Jarvis! I look forward to years and years of annual success by the Jocelyns.”
He frowned uncomfortably, as if to speak, thought better of it, and kept silence.
“I’ll go send my wire,” he said.
She kissed her finger tips to his receding back. Later, too, she went to the telegraph office and sent the following wire.
“Mr. Charles Frohman:
“See Jarvis, if possible, to-morrow. Play finished. Sure success.
“Francesca Jocelyn.”
The secretary answered Jarvis’s wire at once, making the appointment at eleven o’clock on the morrow.
“It seems incredible that anything could run as smoothly as this for me,” said Jarvis, as he read the dispatch.
“That’s because I’m in it,” boasted Bambi, with a touch of her old impudence. “I’m your mascot.”
“That must be it.”
“It means a midnight train for you, to make it comfortably. Do you suppose you will stay more than a day?”
“I should think not. I don’t know.”
Ardelia came in with a yellow envelope.
“Sumpin’ doin’ roun’ dis heah house. Telegram boy des’ a-ringin’ at de’ do’ bell stiddy.”
“For me?” said Bambi.
“Mrs. Jarvis Jocelyn, Sunnyside, New York.
“Mr. Frohman will see you at three o’clock to-morrow.”
Bambi gazed at it a moment, a bit dazed, then she laughed.
“Anything the matter?” Jarvis inquired.
“No-o. Oh, no.”
This was how it happened that Mr. Jarvis Jocelyn took the midnight train to New York, while Mrs. Jarvis Jocelyn followed on an early morning one.
“But why, if you both have to go to that city of abominations, do you not go together?” inquired the Professor.
“Part of the secret,” she reminded him.
“Dear me, I had forgotten we were living in a plot. How is it coming out?”
“I will know to-day, definitely, just how, when, and where it is coming out.”
Jarvis presented himself at the theatre at eleven sharp, and felt a thrill of righteous pride when he was ushered into the private office without delay. His vow that he would enter without so much as a calling-card had come true sooner than he had hoped.
Mr. Frohman smiled in his friendly way, and shook hands.
“How’s my friend, the ex-Jehu?” he laughed.
“Fine! I hope you are well.”
“I’m all right. How’s the play?”
“I have it here. It is good.”
“Good, is it?” Mr. Frohman’s eyes twinkled.
“Yes. My—Mrs. Jocelyn worked at it with me, and I have to admit that the success, if it is one, is largely due to her.”
“She is a writer, too?”
“No, but she has a keen dramatic sense. She understands character, too.”
“So? Lucky for you. Does she want her name on the bills?”
“She has never spoken of it, but I wish her to go on as co-dramatist.”
“All right. Clever wife is an asset. Now we’ve got just two hours. Go ahead—read me what you’ve got there.”
Jarvis unpacked the manuscript and began. He had worked over the scenes so often with Bambi that he fell into her dramatic way of “doing” the scenes. Once or twice the manager chuckled as he recognized her touch and intonation on a line. Certainly Jarvis had never read so well. He was encouraged by frequent laughs from his audience. There were interruptions now and then, criticisms and suggestions. As he read and laid down the last page, Mr. Frohman nodded his head.
“Pretty clever work for amateurs,” he said.
“You think it will go?”
“With some changes and rearrangements. Yes, I should say so.”
“Are you thinking of producing it soon?”
“Yes, if I can make satisfactory arrangements with the author I’ll put it in rehearsal right away.”
“I think the author will be satisfied.”
The manager looked a question.
“We have been corresponding during my work on it,” Jarvis explained.
Mr. Frohman stared, then laughed.
“We can soon find out whether she’s pleased. She is due here at three o’clock to-day.”
“She is coming here to-day?” Jarvis exclaimed.
“Yes.”
“Could I talk to her then—there is so much—”
“Sorry. I promised there would be no one here. Some crazy idea about keeping her name a secret.”
“Of course. I would not intrude,” said Jarvis, hastily. “She wrote me that she would leave rehearsals to you and me.”
“Did she? Will your wife want to come to rehearsals?”
“I think so. Would there be any objections?”
“Not if she is co-author.”
“She is very clever.”
“I don’t doubt it. You leave that copy here. I’ll go over it, in part, with the author, and let her take it to look over. I will wire you what day I want to get the company together for a reading.”
“All right, sir.”
“If the author is satisfied with this, I’ll have a contract made out to submit to you and your wife. In the meantime, do you want an advance?”
“No, thanks.”
“All right. You’ll hear from me. You’ve done surprisingly well with this, Jocelyn—you, or your wife.”
“Thank you. Good-day.”
“Good-day.”
At three o’clock the other member of the Jocelyn family arrived.
“You are good to see me. I would have burst with curiosity before Jarvis got back,” she began the minute she got inside the door.
“I naturally wanted to consult the author before I accepted the play.”
“Is it any good? Are you going to take it?”
“What do you think about it? Are you satisfied?”
“Yes. I think it’s a love of a play.”
He laughed.
“How much of it did Jarvis do?”
“Oh, a great deal!”
“Not enough to spoil it, eh?”
“He has worked very hard,” she said seriously.
“He tells me he has corresponded with the author during his work, and he begged to be here for this meeting.”
“Did he? Bless his heart! It has been so funny—that correspondence! He’s crazy about that author-lady.”
“Either you are very clever, or he’s very stupid, which is it?”
“Both.”
“When are you going to tell him the truth?”
“The opening night.”
“Upon my word, you have got a dramatic sense. Blaze of success, outbursts of applause, husband finds wife is the centre and cause of it. That sort of thing, eh?”
“Yes, but don’t say it like that. It sounds silly and cheap.”
“Husband will be mad as fury at the whole thing.”
“You don’t think that, do you? That would spoil the whole thing so entirely,” she said in concern.
“You’re the dramatist, I’m only the manager,” he laughed.
They talked about the cast, the sets, and other practical details.
“You’re coming to rehearsals, aren’t you?” he asked her.
“Rather!”
“Jarvis prepared me for that.”
“Did he? Well, he won’t be much good. He can’t act.”
“I told him you would look over the play, then I would call the company together for a reading.”
“Consider the script looked over. Do call it quick, Mr. Frohman; I can hardly wait.”
“What about contracts? Do you want one as author, with another to you and Jarvis as playwrights?”
“No, that’s too complicated. Let’s have one for the whole thing, then we can divvy up what there is.”
“Suits me. I’ll see you next week, then. Better make arrangements to stay in town during rehearsals.”
“Oh, yes, we will”
“I think we will pull off a success. This is very human, this stuff. Good-bye.”
“You’ve been such a dear. We’ve just got to succeed for your sake. Good-bye, and thanks.”