CHAPTER XIX
THE CLUE
Outside the door Dorothy again felt that girlish inclination to collapse. What excuse could she make to her friends for her delay? How would she get back to them? Perhaps they were looking all over the city for her and they might have even notified the police of her absence.
All the novelty of the theatre that had, for the past half hour, put a world between Dorothy and those outside of the stage dressing rooms, was now dispelled. What would she say or do when she met Rose-Mary? How could she now conceal her worry and anxiety? How was she to continue her search for Tavia?
The stage door opened into a dismal, narrow alley. Here Dorothy found herself in the midst of a scurrying crowd of working people, for several large factories had just shut down. The girl stood for a moment and looked helplessly about her. Presently she felt an arm on her shoulder and started in alarm.
“Dorothy!” exclaimed a voice, and she turned to see Nat standing beside her.
“Oh, Nat! I’m so glad!”
“So am I. Just step along this way. I knew you hadn’t come out the front way so I came here.”
Dorothy pressed her shoulder against her cousin in a helpless, imploring sort of way. He seemed to know what the action meant for instantly he had ready to recite, a most plausible explanation of her disappearance.
“You got left behind and were frightened,” he asked and answered in same breath. “I knew it – I told ’em all so. Then some of the ushers took you back and let you out of the stage door. Silly, to get alarmed over a little thing like that. But I couldn’t talk to Mrs. Markin – she was almost in hysterics. We’d better hurry back to relieve her suspense.”
“I should not have delayed talking, but really I was so – so frightened,” ventured Dorothy.
“Cert you were. Well, you just let me tell the story. It will save lots of trouble, but of course the girls will have to know all about the people you met – behind the scenes.”
Was ever there such a blessed boy as Nat? Here he had nicely explained all Dorothy’s troubles and in the simplest manner possible. How splendid boy cousins are, thought Dorothy. They have such a power of sympathy for girls – better than brothers – if girls would only allow them to exercise it – in a cousinly way.
Or did Nat know of Dorothy’s deliberate visit to the little actress who had played Katherine? Perhaps some one had told him his cousin was in the dressing room and he had just waited for her to appear at the stage door. Dorothy was sure Nat would save her from making any troublesome explanations, and when he asked her, in the most matter-of-fact way if she happened to meet the girl with the brown hair who looked so much like Tavia, she had no hesitation in telling him that she was Miss Riceman, and that she was a most charming young lady.
“She doesn’t look a bit like Tavia – close by,” added Dorothy, remembering the scene in the dressing room. “She is as refined and polite as possible. She showed me the way out.”
After telling that much of her adventure to Nat, Dorothy was well prepared to repeat the story to the others, without fear of disclosing the real object of her visit behind the scenes.
When Mrs. Markin was finally assured of Dorothy’s safety, and had actually listened with interest to her recital of the trip into stageland, and her encounters there, the matter was regarded as an incident fraught with untold curious bits of “real live adventure.” Girls do delight in investigating and exploring the unusual quite as much as boys do, although the latter are prone to attribute that faculty to themselves as something patented.
So it happens that when a girl does actually have an experience she and her companions know how to appreciate the novelty. That was how it turned out with Dorothy and her friends. Rose-Mary and Alma couldn’t hear enough of “behind the scenes” and Alma ventured to ask Dorothy to take them in through the stage door to make a second call on Miss Riceman, when she might introduce her friends to a real actress.
But Dorothy tried to appease their curiosity as best she could, telling over and over again how she got lost in the crowd, how the usher accosted her, and led her to the stage, and then how she got confused in her effort to find the “right door” (which was all true enough) and how it was then that Miss Riceman came out and invited Dorothy in. Then she related how she became faint and told of the water being brought, and so on, until the very closing of the stage door after her when she found herself in the alley with Nat at her side.
But now Dorothy was about to enter upon a delicate and what might prove to be a difficult adventure. She had to go to the manager’s office the next afternoon, but beyond that point, she dared not trust herself to think or plan. When night came, and all seemed to be asleep Dorothy, in her room in the big hotel, had a chance to look the situation squarely in the face.
“One thought I must keep before me,” she told herself. “I am bound to find Tavia and save her. To do this I will have to take great risks, and perhaps be very much misunderstood, but I must do it. Her risk is even greater than mine and if I appear to deceive people – even dear, good, thoughtful Nat, – I must do so to continue my search.”
Then the girl, with aching head, planned how she could get away to see the theatrical manager the next day. She would not pretend to have any plans made for going out, and then, just before the hour Miss Riceman had told her the manager’s office would be open, she would announce that she wanted to get some souvenirs of Buffalo to take home with her. This, she decided, would give her an opportunity to hurry away alone.
But, oh, how she dreaded to face that manager! If it were only a woman who was in charge of the office, but a man! And she had heard vague stories of how dreadfully rude some managers were to persons who bothered them. There were so many questions she would have to ask – enough to put any manager into bad humor she thought – and perhaps there would be young girls there like Tavia looking for engagements – they would overhear what she had to say. Oh, it was dreadful, the more she thought of it!
Dorothy buried her head deeper into the pillow and tried to sleep. She felt that she must get some rest or she would not be able to carry on the work that demanded so much of her strength, her brains and her courage. She needed them all now to follow up the clue of Tavia’s whereabouts given by Miss Riceman.
It was almost morning when Dorothy fell into an unquiet sleep, and it was glaring daylight, with the sun streaming into her window, when she awoke. Rose-Mary was moving about the room on tip-toe after some things, feeling the necessity of allowing Dorothy all possible rest, as she had appeared so exhausted after her experience of the previous day.
“I’m so sorry you are going away to-morrow,” spoke Rose-Mary, seeing that Dorothy was awake. “This is the last day we will have together for some time. I have enjoyed your visit so much.”
“I’m afraid I’ve been rather stupid,” apologized Dorothy, feeling as if she must make some excuse for her seeming indifference to Rose-Mary’s entertainment. “But, Cologne dear, I can never tell you how grateful I am for this chance to see Buffalo. It seems as if I had really entered a new world since I came into this big city.”
“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed everything, dear,” said Rose-Mary. “But you must rest to-day and not go sight-seeing any more. You will need to be fresh for your auto trip to-morrow morning.”
“Oh, yes, I’ll rest to-day,” replied Dorothy, as she slipped into her dressing-gown and approached the dresser. There she found a dainty array of remembrances Cologne had selected for her to take home. This was a surprise and it told Dorothy more plainly than words could, that Rose-Mary loved her, and so loved to make her happy.
There were some exquisite bits of undecorated china for Dorothy to add to her collection of hand-painted pieces, there was a “darling” little traveling mirror from Mrs. Markin, and Jack, who would not be left out in spite of his sister’s protestations that a strange young man could not give a young lady a present even if it was a sort of souvenir of Buffalo, had made Rose-Mary place on the table with the other tokens a cute little pocket camera. He secretly hoped his sister would just hint to Dorothy that he had selected it.
Such an array quite overpowered Dorothy and she threw her arms about Rose-Mary’s neck and cried as if her heart would break.
She calmed down after a while, but even when she and Rose-Mary were dressed the two had little spells of weeping at the thought of parting. Jack peeped in at the door, but when he saw his sister and Dorothy in an embrace, with tears in their eyes, he hurried away, muttering something about “fool girls crying when they’re happy,” and he “guessed he wouldn’t hang around to spoil their fun, if that was what they called a merry time.”
So the two girls were left to themselves to exchange confidences and talk over their fall meeting at Glenwood when school should begin again.
Time managed to slip around quickly that day, and, when afternoon came, Dorothy began to get nervous about her prospective visit to the manager’s office. It would surely seem rude to leave Rose-Mary alone, but nothing must deter her from carrying out her plan – no, not even the displeasure of her friends, and this was no small matter to Dorothy when she faced it – she who made such firm friendships when she did make them, and who was always an example of good breeding and politeness.
When her valise had been packed, so that the entire evening might be left for pleasure, and Nat and Ned had appeared from their quarters to make final arrangements about coming for Dorothy directly after breakfast, she glanced at her watch and found it lacked just half an hour of five o’clock! The boys were engaged in an argument with Rose-Mary, as to the relative beauty of Boston and New York, Ned holding that a Battery and a Bowery made New York the winner.
Suddenly Dorothy jumped up from the porch chair where she had been sitting.
“I believe I’ll just run down town to get some more souvenir postal cards,” she said bravely, as she started to leave the veranda. She had her purse in her hand, and there was no need to wear a hat.
“Why?” asked Cologne in natural surprise. “I thought you had plenty.”
Nat saw the flush of color that came into Dorothy’s cheeks.
“And I’m with you!” he declared, getting up from his place and assisting his cousin down the steps. “So long,” he called back. “Do the best you can, Ned. I’ll be back directly. Just want to make sure that Doro doesn’t fall by the wayside again,” and at that the two cousins bolted off laughing, Dorothy having recovered her composure when she saw how quickly Nat came to her relief. Ned and Rose-Mary were taken so by surprise at the sudden move that they seemed dazed, and the look on their faces at the bolt of the two only made the departing ones more merry.
“Nat,” said Dorothy as they turned the corner, “I really wanted to go to some place – ”
“Go ahead then,” he answered, “only, Doro, you know Ned and I are responsible for you and you had best tell me about it. You know I won’t interfere – only to be sure it’s all right.”
“Nat, you are such a good cousin,” began Dorothy.
“Good?” echoed Nat. “Why, you don’t say so? Make a note of that and tell the others – they would never believe me. There, did you see that streak of sunshine stick to my brow? It was a halo, sure thing. But, I say, what are you going to do, anyhow?”
“To look for Tavia,” replied Dorothy miserably.
“Thought so. But where is the looking to be done this time?”
“I thought I would inquire at the office of the theatre. They might happen to know something.”
“All right, come along. I’ll wait outside. Theatre people, especially managers and those in the office, are usually very busy and won’t keep you long.”
This was said with all possible kindness, but, somehow, it gave Dorothy a cold chill. She was so afraid of facing the manager. Oh, if she only could let Nat go in with her! But that would not be fair to Tavia, whose secret, if she ever discovered it, she determined to keep inviolate. She must do it alone, and do it secretly to save Tavia from the possible consequences of her folly, should it turn out that she really was with a company “on the road.”
One more block and Nat and Dorothy were in front of the theatre where they had attended the play the day before. They stood before the great open lobby, empty now save for a few workmen who were busy with mops scrubbing the tiled marble floor. Nat took Dorothy’s arm.
“There’s the office of the manager, right over there,” he said, indicating a small door that bore no mark to distinguish it from many others that opened from the foyer. “I’ll wait here for you. Now, don’t be afraid to push yourself up front if there’s a crowd waiting for him. We haven’t any too much time.”
With all the courage that Dorothy could summon to her aid she walked up to the little door, opened it and stepped inside a little ante-room. She was in the manager’s office, and the presence of several other persons, who turned to stare at her did not serve to put her at her ease.
CHAPTER XX
DOROTHY AND THE MANAGER
Dorothy sank into a chair near the door. Two or three important-looking women were moving about restlessly, awaiting their turn to pass beyond the portal guarded by a stout youth, and face the manager in his private rooms. Others, younger and more timid, sat quite still in their chairs, as did Dorothy, and the girl could imagine that they were silently praying for success in the prospective interview with one who might decide their fate. Dorothy seemed beyond thinking consistently about her own circumstances; she just sat there and waited. The youth at the door of the private office looked at her sharply. Doubtless he was wondering whether she had an appointment, or whether she was one to be allowed to enter out of her turn because of some “pull.”
It seemed to Dorothy that the very place rang with an appeal for place, for position – for opportunity, although not a word was spoken. But the look on the faces of those waiting spoke louder than words.
Finally a girl in a red hat went in and came out so quickly that the others looked at her curiously. She murmured something that showed she had been treated with scant ceremony. Then a very stout woman, wearing an enormous veil brushed past Dorothy. She was not escorted in by the boy, but dashed past him as the girl in red came out. Then, when the woman with the excess of avoirdupois came out, the boy stepped up to Dorothy.
“Your turn,” he said kindly. Then it occurred to Dorothy that every one so far had been kind to her. Were these people, that others had spoken of so slightingly, not all respectful and polite to any one who seemed to merit such consideration? She felt that they were not half as black as they had been painted.
The next moment the anxious girl was in the private office of the manager. It was a small room, but not gloomy in spite of the fact that it was in the midst of a darkened theatre. A fine rug was on the floor and there were a few well-chosen pictures on the walls, the electric lights showing them off to advantage.
While the manager, who sat in a big revolving chair, looked over some papers on his desk before turning to Dorothy, she had an opportunity to see that there hung before him what were evidently family photographs. One was of a little girl and another of a youth. Surely, she thought, a man who had time to look at his children’s pictures during business hours could not be so very harsh because his time was taken up by a girl.
“Well?” asked the manager suddenly as he wheeled around in his chair, wiping his glasses carefully but not seeming to look at Dorothy.
She caught her breath with a gasp. The moment had come. Her heart was beating painfully.
“I – I came to – to ask if you – if you have on your books the name of a young lady – Miss Octavia Travers?” she managed to stammer out. “A young lady with the ‘Lady Rossmore’s Secret’ company, I believe.”
“Travers,” repeated the manager thoughtfully, “Travers? Seems to me I have. Is she your sister?”
“Not exactly, but I have always regarded her as such – we have been very close friends all our lives.”
“Not a very long time at that,” remarked the manager with a smile. “But what is it you want to know about her?”
“To get her address.”
“Let me see, I’ll look it up – but if she is such a close friend of yours why didn’t she send you her address? She knew where she was going to be,” and he spoke pointedly.
Tears welled into Dorothy’s eyes, and she felt that she could not trust herself to speak. The manager looked critically at her. Then he laid aside the book he had picked up to consult.
“Run away?” he asked.
“RUN AWAY?” HE ASKED
Dorothy nodded.
“Well, don’t feel so badly about it, my girl. We’ll see if we can’t find her for you. But first you had better tell me the story. It will help greatly. You see when we engage a girl and she happens to prove satisfactory we have no excuse for dismissing her unless she might be under age – and then her parents – of course – ”
“But I must keep the entire matter from her parents,” interrupted Dorothy. “I must find Tavia myself and I know when I do she will listen to me and it will be all right again.”
Dorothy was visibly trembling. The manager folded his arms and looked at her thoughtfully.
“You’re quite a young girl to undertake this,” he said finally. “But I like your spirit, and I’m going to help you. I tell you, my child, the stage is no place for a young person who has had no experience with the ways of the world. I never encourage a young girl to go on the stage. There are plenty of older characters whom we can get and then there is less danger. But this girl you are looking for – was she about your height?”
“Yes, with very brown hair,” replied Dorothy. “And such lovely light brown eyes.”
“Let me see,” and he consulted the book again. Dorothy waited anxiously, as he turned page after page. Then he stopped. “Yes, here it is,” he said. “Christina Travers. That must be the girl. They rarely give the name just right.”
“Yes, she might say Christina,” admitted Dorothy. “The girls at school called her ‘Chris’ for short.”
“Well, she is with the ‘L. R. S.’ company – I beg your pardon, I mean the ‘Lady Rossmore’s Secret’ company. We get in the habit of abbreviating it. It’s a light thing we put on for a filler. I’m afraid it isn’t doing any too well, which, however, may make it easier for you to induce your friend to give it up.”
“Oh, I hope I can!” and Dorothy left her seat and came to stand beside the manager’s desk. She had lost nearly all her fear and nervousness now.
“They play in Rochester to-night,” went on the manager consulting his list. “Then they go to Rockdale – ”
“Only one night in Rochester?” asked Dorothy, showing some surprise and disappointment.
“Well, one night of that I fancy will be enough for any place,” was the manager’s laughing reply. “However, they may stay over to-morrow. But Rockdale is only a few miles from there. You could easily catch them at Rockdale. Is there anything more I can do for you?”
“No, thank you,” and Dorothy turned away.
“If I can now, or later, just let me know,” went on the manager. Then he wished her good-bye and turned back to his desk.
Dorothy’s cheeks were flushed when she stepped up to Nat in the lobby where he was watching the men putting in place the photographs of the next week’s performers. He seemed to have forgotten all about his cousin.
“Oh, is that you?” he asked, and he looked like some one suddenly awakened from a dream. “I do believe if I stood here much longer I’d be put into a frame by mistake. How did you make out?”
“You mustn’t ask,” answered Dorothy pleasantly. “You see I can’t quite report on it yet.”
“Oh, very well. I was only wondering – ”
“But you mustn’t wonder. You agreed to act as my escort and so you must be content with that. I can only tell you that I am perfectly satisfied with the interview I had.”
“Which means that our little friend Tavia is not with any company. Well, I’m glad of it. I always did give her credit for having better sense. But you see, Doro, you are such a romancer that you sometimes make stories out of dreams. But I must say you do look ten years younger. That manager must have been a nice fellow.”
“He was,” answered Dorothy, glad that Nat, as usual, had jumped to a conclusion and decided the matter of the interview for himself, leaving her free to go on without contradicting or making any explanations. It was so much better under the circumstances, she thought, that not even Nat should know the truth.
But just how she was going to carry out the remainder of her task secretly she could not quite determine. However, she had now become accustomed to doing each part as it presented itself, without planning further into the future, and, in that manner, she hoped to be able to proceed until the last link in the chain of her search had been completed.
“We must get the souvenir cards,” Nat reminded her, as they came to a store with the pretty-pictured varieties in the window. “I’ll just buy a pack of mixed ones – it will save time.”
But Dorothy was not thinking of souvenir cards. Thoughts came to her of the play at Rochester, with Tavia as one of the characters – Tavia who must be timid amid her new and unaccustomed surroundings in spite of her apparent recklessness – yes, Tavia would be much frightened at what she had done, Dorothy was sure of it, when the girl, so far away from home and friends found herself before a critical audience in a theatre.
“If I could only reach her before another night,” Dorothy thought, “but how can it be managed?”
The boys would start for home to-morrow, and of course Dorothy would have to go with them. Something would surely happen —must surely happen before then to help her, Dorothy thought, with a confidence which great emergencies sometimes inspire.
“Now I suppose,” remarked Nat, as he made his way out of the post-card store, “if you were to send one of these particularly bright red ones to Tavia at Dalton she would send one back on the next mail, wishing you a merry Christmas, for all your trouble. What do you suppose she would say if she knew of the merry chase that had been going on after her, and all the places you have been looking for her? And all the while she was as safe as little Bo-peep.”
“But I don’t intend to send her any cards until she writes me first,” answered Dorothy. “She owes me an apology for not writing to me.”
“Same here,” said Nat. “I’ll treat her the same way. The saucy little thing,” he added facetiously, “not to answer our nice long letters. She ought to be slapped.”
Dorothy laughed at her cousin’s good humor. It was better that he should take this view of the case than that he should suspect the real facts. Dorothy glanced at some of the cards as they hurried along back to the hotel.
“Now there’s one,” pointed out Nat, “that would just suit the circumstances. A girl doing a song and a smile – that’s the ‘turn’ Tavia has been doing to you, Doro. We must save that one for her.”
“Yes,” answered Dorothy abstractedly, taking the card in her hand. It was the picture of a girl in chorus costume, and was enscribed with an appropriate verse.
“Don’t you see,” explained Nat, “they’ve got everything down to a post-card basis now. That one is intended to be used in place of making a party call when a gentleman has blown a girl to a theatrical good time. She just sends this card back and that suffices for formal thanks.
“Of course it might not just suit our set,” he conceded, “but for those in the post-card clientele it’s a cinch, as the poet says. I tell you after a while we will be able to carry on all our business correspondence with picture postals and not be under the necessity of writing a word. Great scheme, Nat (patting himself on the left shoulder with his right hand), get a patent on your new post-card.”
They had now reached the hotel. The veranda was deserted as the hour for dinner was almost at hand and the guests were dressing. Nat left Dorothy at the elevator, with a warning to be ready early in the morning. Then he hurried to where he and Ned were staying.