So Gerry also forgot what was going on in the world about them, forgot what was being required of other young men, even though she had daily talks with the soldiers.
But at last the night for the public performance of "As You Like It"
arrived.
The Camp Fire girls had not erred in their prediction that their guardian"s reputation was sufficient to insure them a large audience.
Mrs. Burton had secured the aid of a well-known California actor, Arthur Whitney, to play _Orlando_ to her _Rosalind_. For the past two weeks he had been living in one of the hotels near the open-air theater, where he had many friends.
In the neighboring cities and towns the newspapers had devoted columns of unpaid advertising to notices of the play and the opportunity it afforded for seeing the famous American actress. Added to this was the fact that the proceeds from the performance were to be devoted to the recreation fund for the boys in the southern California cantonment.
Long before the night of the performance, every ticket of admission to the theater had been sold, and as much standing room as possible.
Fronting the entrance to the open-air theater stood three or four palm trees so trimmed as to give the effect of a green canopy.
Inside the theater were rows of rustic benches and in the foreground the open-air stage surrounded by a background of shrubs. Around the enclosure was a thick hedge.
Once inside the little theater and one was in so unique a setting, it was as if one were shut away in an enchanted world.
No more charming place could have been discovered for the performance of Shakespeare"s comedy. The atmosphere and the scenery of the "Forest of Arden" were already secure.
A thrill of antic.i.p.ation ran through the audience with the tinkling of a number of bells to announce the opening of the play.
Then the actors entered from behind a screen of shrubs to the left of the stage. The first conversation is between _Orlando_ and old _Adam_.
The real interest of the audience waited, of course, upon the appearance of the star, and soon after _Rosalind_ and _Celia_ appeared on the lawn before the _Duke"s_ palace.
Mrs. Burton had played the character of _Rosalind_ many times; the courage and gaiety of one of the most charming of all Shakespeare"s heroines were essentially her own characteristics.
Tonight, on making her entrance, she had to pause for a moment to acknowledge the storm of applause. The first speech was _Marta"s_, and Mrs. Burton was glad of the respite, remembering her own tragic first appearance and wondering if Marta could be suffering half so much.
Several times before the actual performance, she had been afraid that her solicitude for her amateur company would seriously interfere with her own acting.
Marta managed her first speech as _Celia_ bravely. If one recalls her line, it is a brief one:
"I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry."
Then _Rosalind_ takes the center of the stage and while she is there, but few eyes are turned away from her. All the grace and charm of the one-time Polly O"Neill returned to the great actress in the hours when she was playing, and now added to her natural gifts were the long years of experience and training.
Tonight Mrs. Burton"s voice charmed her audience with its peculiar magic, her every movement kept one fascinated.
Marta Clark too scored a distinct success as _Celia_. She had been awkward and self-conscious at rehearsals and no one had believed in her. But whether she needed the spur of the actual production, or had learned more than any one realized from playing with Mrs. Burton, certainly she showed unusual ease and pliancy for an amateur actress.
More than once during the performance Mrs. Burton managed to whisper her congratulations, stirring Marta to fresh efforts.
Gerry did not do a great deal of acting, but as _Phebe_ she was such a ravishingly pretty shepherdess that one thought of little else. Peggy"s character study of _Audrey_, the country wench, showed such an amusing combination of stupidity and common sense that in spite of the unimportance of the part, she won a real triumph.
Lieutenant Carson at least presented a fine appearance as the melancholy _Jaques_.
The one failure among the company of youthful artists was Felipe Morris, upon whose natural ability Mrs. Burton and all the other players had depended.
It was surprising, for during all the rehearsals Felipe had always acted so agreeably that even the stage manager had only words of praise for him.
Yet the _Touchstone_ who danced gracefully out before the footlights on the occasion of the real performance was a different _Touchstone_.
By a kind of natural instinct Mrs. Burton instantly recognized the fact.
Even through his make-up and his motley costume of stripes and caps and bells, one could discern that Felipe"s thoughts were not concentrated upon his performance.
_Touchstone_ spoke his lines with the proper combination of drollery and impertinence, yet there was no suggestion of real wit or merriment. The very jangling of his bells was depressing.
Once in a hurried moment behind the scenes Mrs. Burton managed to inquire: "Is there anything the matter, Felipe? Are you not well?"
Felipe only laughed and shook his head. "What should be the matter? Am I falling down on my part? I shall try and brace up in the next act."
If _Touchstone_ was a failure in his acting, Felipe sang as never before. It was not Gerry alone, listening behind the scenes, who was completely fascinated.
One of _Touchstone"s_ ballads is of the eternal romance of love and spring time. Felipe"s voice held a freshness, a clear sweetness that went straight to the hearts of his audience.
"It was a lover and his la.s.s, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, That o"er the green corn-field did pa.s.s In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding; Sweet lovers love the spring."
The play was finally over, and if the curtain could not be rung down, at least the players bowed their thanks and farewells, standing together in a long line with Mrs. Burton in the center.
In order that they might avoid the confusion and fatigue of meeting so many strangers and receiving their congratulations after the play had ended, Mrs. Burton previously had invited her company of actors to motor over to Sunrise camp to a supper party as soon as they could slip away.
Gerry was returning in the motor with Mrs. Burton.
She chanced to be standing alone for a moment waiting for the others who were shaking hands with some new acquaintances, when Felipe Morris touched her upon the arm.
"Gerry, I must speak to you by yourself tonight after we reach the Sunrise camp. Please, no matter what happens, let nothing interfere with my seeing you. I have something to tell you and something to ask you which will affect all our future."
CHAPTER XV
"I Will Marry You, if Ever I Marry Woman"
To Gerry Williams it seemed as if their long supper party would never end.
The supper was served outdoors on a number of small tables. Through an accident Gerry was seated at so great a distance from Felipe that it was not possible to see his face and so guess from his expression something of what he desired to tell her.
Gerry was puzzled. If what he wished to say had to do with their future happiness, why had he looked so disturbed? And why should it be imperative that he make his confession tonight?
Already it was late, past midnight, and they were both weary. There would be tomorrow and other days.
Really she would have preferred not to talk with Felipe alone tonight.
To slip away from the others would be difficult, and without Mrs.
Burton"s consent Gerry did not like the idea. Yet she did not dare ask for permission, being convinced that because of the lateness of the hour her request would be refused.