Chapter 15

"Laws, honey, I'se so excited, I cain't hol' my eyes shet. I got de Perfessor's dress suit cloes all laid out smooth, wif de buttons in de shirt, an' de white tie ready. Now, yo' let me help yo' all git dressed befo' I begin to wrassle wid dat tight skirt ob mine."

"All right, sit down and hold your hands till I jump into my bath."

While Bambi bathed, Ardelia shouted all the gossip of home through the bathroom door. Upon Bambi's reappearance, she insisted upon dressing her like a child. She put on her silk stockings and slippers, getting herself down and up with many a grunt. She constituted herself a critical judge in the hairdressing process, and fussed about every pin.

"Why ain't yo' all had one ob dese heah hair-fixers do yo' haid?"

"And make me look like a hair-shop model? Not much!"

"Well, yo' done purty good."

"Wait till I curl it," said Bambi, throwing up the window and popping her head out into the night air.

"Fo' de Lawd's sake, yo' curl yo' haih in Noo Yawk jes' lak yo' do at home."

"Why not? This cold, damp air is just the thing. Now look at me," she boasted, shaking her head so that the soft, curly rings fluttered like little bells about her face.

"Yo'll do," said Ardelia.

Bambi disappeared into the closet, and presently she popped out her head.

"Ardelia, prepare to die of joy. When you have seen my new dress, life has nothing more to offer you."

"I ain' gwine to die till after dis show."

Out of the closet Bambi danced, her arms full of sunset clouds apparently She held it up, and Ardelia's eyes bulged.

"Yo' don' call dat a dress?"

"Put it on me, and you'll call it a poem."

"Dey ain't nuthin' to it," she protested, as she slipped it over Bambi's head.

It was certainly a diaphanous thing of many layers of chiffon, graduating in colour from flame to palest apricot pink. It hung straight and simple on Bambi's lithe figure, bringing out all the colour, the dash, the fire-like quality in the girl's personality. The flush in her cheeks, the glow in her eyes, even the little curls, were like twisted tongues of flame. She whirled for Ardelia's inspection.

"I know dat ain't no decent dress, but yo' sho' is beautiful as Pottypar's wife."

"Who's she?"

"She's in the Bible!"

Bambi laughed.

"I look like the 'fire of spring,'" she nodded to her reflection. "Of course I'm beautiful! This is the biggest, happiest night of my life!"

A boy came for the Professor's clothes, and a little later that distracted gentleman presented himself to have his tie arranged, and to be looked over generally in case of omissions.

"My dear!" he exclaimed at sight of his daughter.

"_Aren't_ I wonderful?"

He put his hand under her chin and tipped her face to him.

"There is something about you to-night--elemental is the word--fire, water, and air."

She hugged him.

"Oh, but you've got a surprise coming to you this night. You are about to discover other unsuspected elements in your offspring."

"My dear, I'm so excited now I'm counting backward. Don't explode anything on me or I'll lose control."

"The secret is coming out to-night."

"Is it painful?"

"No, it's heavenly!"

Jarvis rapped.

"May I come in?"

"Yes."

He stood on the threshold a moment, a truly magnificent figure in his evening clothes.

"Jarvis!" breathed Bambi.

"Bambi!" exclaimed Jarvis, and they stood a-gaze. She recovered first.

"Do you like me?" she coquetted.

He walked about her slowly, considering her from all sides.

"Ariel!" he said at last.

"Oh, thank you, Apollo," she laughed, to cover the lump in her throat at his awed admiration.

They sent Ardelia's supper up to her, and the rest of them made an attempt at dining, but nobody could eat a thing. Bambi talked incessantly from excitement, and all eyes in the dining-room were focussed upon her.

Ardelia was in a tremor of pride when they went upstairs again. She shone like ebony, and grinned like a Hindoo idol. They admired her, to her heart's content, and she descended to the cab in a state of sinful pride.

Although they were early, the motors were already unloading before the theatre. They were to sit in the stage box, and as soon as the rest of them were seated Bambi went back on the stage to say good-evening to the company. The first-night excitement prevailed back there. Every member of the company was dressed and made up a good half hour too soon. They all assured the perturbed author that she need have no fears, everything would go off in fine shape. Somewhat relieved, she started to go out front, when she ran into Mr. Frohman.

"Good-evening. If you are as well as you look, you're all right," he smiled at her.

"I feel like a loaded mine about to blow to pieces," she answered.

"Hold on for a couple of hours more. Does Jarvis know yet?"

"Not yet."

He laughed and went on. Bambi returned to the box, where she sat far back in the corner. The house was filling fast now. More than a little interest was evinced in the strange box party of big Jarvis, the Professor, and Ardelia. Richard Strong nodded and smiled from a nearby seat.

"We should have come in late, just as the curtain rose," whispered Bambi. "We must not be so green again."

"Why so, daughter?"

"Then we wouldn't be stared at."

"Are we stared at? By whom?"

The overture interrupted her reply. The seats were full now as high as the eye could reach the balconies. Bambi scanned the faces eagerly. Would they like the play? If they only knew what it meant to Jarvis and to her to have them like it!

The curtain rose. For two full moments she could not breathe. The act started off briskly, and little by little her tension relaxed. She laid her hand on Jarvis's knee and it was stiff with nervous concentration. The first genuine laugh came to both of them like manna from heaven.

"It's all right," Bambi whispered to Jarvis. He nodded, his eyes glued to the stage. Of all kinds of creative work, dramatic writing can be the most poignant or the most satisfactory. It is the keenest pleasure to see characters whom you have invented given life and personality if the actors are clever. The Jocelyns had the aid of practically a perfect cast. The sense of power that comes with the laughter or the tears of an audience aroused by your thoughts is a very real experience. Bambi "ate up her sensations," as Strong had said. As the curtain descended after the first act the applause was instantaneous and long.

"They like it," Bambi said with a sigh.

"Yes, thank God!" from Jarvis.

"You told me not to take this seriously, Jarvis," she reminded him.

"Does anybody know who wrote this book?" the Professor inquired.

"Not yet. We are to know to-night. I wonder where she is?" Jarvis added to Bambi.

"I've thought that fat old one in the opposite box," she said wickedly. "Why did you ask, father?"

"It is a diverting idea. The girl is like you, or maybe it is the similarity of the names that suggests it."

"What do you think about the play, Ardelia?"

"Law, honey, 'tain't no play-actin' to me. It's jes' lak' bein' home wid yo' an' de' Perfessor and Marse Jarvis. Dose folkses is jes' lak yo' all."

Bambi laughed outright. Ardelia was the only one who guessed.

"I trust you do not compare me to that impractical old fiddling man," the Professor protested to Ardelia.

"Sh! Here's the curtain!" warned Bambi.

The second act went like a breeze. Laughter and applause punctuated its progress. The house was warming up. Bambi slipped her hand into Jarvis's, and he held it so tight that she could feel his heart beat through his palm. There was no doubt about it at the end of the second act. It was going. The company took repeated curtain calls, smiling at the Jocelyns.

"I'm grinning so I shall never get my face straight again," Bambi said to Richard, who came to the box to congratulate them.

"Looks like a go," he said, cordially.

Even Jarvis unbent to him, and insisted upon his sitting with them for the third act. Bambi added a smiling second. She had explained to Richard, in advance, why she did not invite him to share the box.

"I am having a most unexpectedly good time," the Professor admitted to them all.

Jarvis's state of mind was painful as the last act began. In the next thirty minutes he was to meet the woman he thought he loved. Since his confession to Bambi the night before, a doubt had raised its head to stare at him as to the real depth of his feeling for his unknown inamorata. Had he really been moved by love, or was it only a need of sympathy for his hurt pride that had driven him to her? Bambi's strange behaviour, her admission that she did not love Strong, most of all those moments when she lay in his arms--they had upset all his convictions and emotions. He paid no attention to the act at all, torn as he was as to what the night would bring him.

He was aroused by storms of applause. The curtain went up again, and again; the company bowed solo and in a group. Then calls of "Author! Author!" were heard all over the house. Bambi clutched Jarvis's sleeve and drew him back of the box.

"Go on! You've got to go out and bow. You do it alone, Jarvis----"

In answer he took her arm and propelled her in front of him, back on the stage.

"Here they are! give them full stage!" said the stage manager, ringing up the curtain. "Now, go ahead, right out there!"

He opened a door in the set and Jarvis and Bambi went on. There was a hush for a second, then a big round of applause. Bambi laughed and waved her hand. There was a hush of expectancy.

"Now, Jarvis, go on!" she prompted him.

Jarvis, cold as death, began to speak. He thanked everybody in the prescribed way, beginning with the audience, ending with the company. He said he was happy that they liked the play, but that he was making the speech under false pretenses. All the credit for the success must go to two women, his wife and collaborator----Here he turned to include Bambi, but to his astonishment she was gone. The audience laughed at his discomfiture, but he turned it off wittily. The other woman, the one to whom most of the credit was due, was the author of the book. She had so far hidden behind an anonymity, but he believed she was in the house to-night, and it was to her that their congratulations should be offered. Cries of "Author! Author of the book!" with much clapping of hands. Jarvis stood there, scarcely breathing, cold sweat on his brow, waiting for her to come. The applause became a clamour. The door opened and Bambi floated in. She did not see the audience, her eyes were fixed on Jarvis's face, and the strange expression she saw there. She came to him, put her hand in his, and smiled. He was so obviously nonplussed that the people grasped a new situation and were suddenly still. Bambi smiled at him and spoke:

"Dear People: If you have had as much fun to-night as I have, we owe each other nothing! And the most fun of all is the astonishment of Mr. Jarvis Jocelyn, who discovers himself to be a bigamist. He's married to the co-dramatist and the author, and he never knew it! That I wrote the book has been a secret until this minute. If you hadn't liked the play, I never _would_ have admitted that I wrote it. You're the very nicest first-nighters I ever met, and we are both most grateful to you, the bigamist and I."

There was wild applause, flowers were tossed from the boxes, calls of "Brava!" greeted the little bowing figure clinging tightly to the big man's hand. They finally made their escape to the wings, and Bambi turned to Jarvis for what was to her the real climax of the evening.

He looked at her so strangely that she laid her hand on his arm.

"You aren't glad?" she questioned, anxiously.

Some members of the company surrounded them with congratulations, and when they were free they had to hurry out to rescue the rest of the family.

"What did you think of the secret, Daddy?"

"My child, I am past all thought. I wish to be taken home, put to bed, and allowed to recover slowly. I have had a shock of surprise that would kill a less vigorous man."

"But you liked it? You were glad I did it?"

"I am so proud of you that I am imbecile. Let us go home."

Richard shook both her hands in silent congratulation.

"Where is Jarvis?" asked her father.

A search failed to find him. Richard made a trip back on the stage, but he was not there.

"We won't wait, if you will put us into our cab," Bambi said to him.

He saw them all off, promising to send Jarvis along if he saw him.

"What do you suppose became of him?" demanded the Professor.

But Bambi did not answer. All the triumph of the evening counted for nothing to her now. Jarvis had been hurt or angered at her revelation. He had deliberately gone off and left her, regardless of appearances. She spent the night in anxious listening for his return, but morning found his rooms vacant, his bed untouched. Bambi's heart misgave her.

XXIX

Jarvis was never sure what happened to him after he came off the stage with Bambi. Something had exploded in his brain, and his only thought was to get away, away from all the noisy, chattering, hand-shaking people, to some quiet place, where he could think.

On the way back to the box in Bambi's train, he had been separated from her a minute, long enough to spy the stage door, to slip out and away. He headed uptown without design, walking, walking, at a furious pace. Bambi, herself, was the Lady of Mystery to whom he had offered his devotions. The thing which hurt him was that she had tricked him into declaring himself, probably laughed at his ardour. It made him rage to think of it. What had been her object? He could not decipher her riddle at all. If she wanted his love, she might have had it for the taking, without all this play-acting nonsense. These was no use in his ever expecting to understand her or her motives. He might as well give it up and be done with it.

He built up the whole story, bit by bit. Her mysterious trips to town were in regard to the book, of course. The "butter-'n'-eggs" money came from royalties. Strong had published the story in his magazine: hence their intimacy. His thought attacked this idea furiously, then he remembered Bambi's words, "I love Richard Strong as my good friend, and in no other way."

There was no doubting the sincerity of that declaration. Besides, Bambi never lied. She had not deceived him, then, with any deliberate plan to alienate his affections so that she could be free to go to Strong. No light along that line of questioning.

He went on, feeling his way, step by step, to the point of the dramatization of the book. Here he paused long. Surely he had not been her dupe here. He was Frohman's choice as dramatist. But was he? She and Frohman had come to some understanding, because she had gone to see him the day the play was delivered. No, that could not be, for he found her at home when he returned. He could not find a piece to fit into the puzzle at this point. He went over their joint work on the book--her book. He understood, now, how she was so sure of every move, why she knew her characters so well. What a blind fool he had been not to see that Francesca was herself! How she had played with him about that, too. How she drew him out about the other characters. He stopped in his tracks as the last blow fell. The musician was intended for a study of him--that hazy, impossible dreamer, with his half-baked, egotistical theories of his own divine importance. Why, in God's name, had she married him if that was her opinion of him? His brain beat it over and over, to the click of his heels on the pavement.

The fiddler was the Professor, of course. Any one but a blind man would have seen it. So she had made mock of them, the two men nearest to her, for all the world to laugh at! That she wanted to punish him for not coming up to her expectations, that he could understand, but why had she betrayed the Professor whom she loved?

He reviewed the period of rehearsals--her sure touch revealed again. She knew every move. She even saw herself so clearly that she could correct the actress in a false move. She had held herself up for public inspection, too. He had to admit that. It seemed so shameless to him, so lacking in reserve.

He urged his mind on to the night now passing, the night he had looked forward to, for so many months, as the first white stone along the road to success. Well, it had been a success, but none of his. Bambi's--all Bambi's. She had conceived the book, worked out the play, and rehearsed it, to a triumphant issue. It was all hers! The only part he could claim was that Frohman had sent for him. But had he? Was it possible he had only humoured Bambi in her desire to give him a chance? He would find out the truth about that, and if it were so, he could never forgive her.

He saw her coming toward him in reply to the calls for "Author!" her eyes fixed on him, shining and expectant! What had she wanted him to do? Was it possible she expected him to be pleased?

Broad daylight found him far up toward the Bronx, weary, footsore, and hungry. When he came to himself he realized that he must send some word to the club of his whereabouts. He wrote a message to Bambi:

"I shall not come back to-day. I cannot. You have hurt me very deeply.

"JARVIS."

He put a special delivery stamp on it and mailed it. He found some breakfast, and went into the Bronx Park, where he sat down under the bare trees to face himself.

In the meantime Bambi, after a sleepless night, was up betimes. At breakfast she protested that she was not at all worried. Jarvis had no doubt decided to celebrate the success in the usual masculine way. He would come home later, with a headache.

"But Jarvis isn't a drinking man, is he?" the Professor inquired.

"No, but it's the way men always celebrate, isn't it?"

The Professor wanted the whole story of the writing of the book, the prize winning, Mr. Frohman's order, and all, so, after breakfast, she made a clean breast of it, and they laughed over it for a couple of hours. Then Jarvis's message came. Her face quivered as she read it.

"What is it, dear? Is it Jarvis?"

She nodded, the slow tears falling.

"He isn't hurt?"

"Not physically hurt, but I've hurt his feelings. Oh, Daddy, I've made such a mess of it. I wanted to be dazzled by my success, because he thinks I'm a helpless sort of thing, and now he only hates me for it."

She broke down and wept bitterly. The Professor, distressed and helpless, took her into his arms and petted her.

"There, there, Baby, it will work out all right. Just let us go home, where we're used to things, and everything will look different."

"Yes, that's it, we'll all go home," sobbed Bambi, wiping her eyes.

"Where is Jarvis?"

"I don't know. But I can leave word for him here that we've gone back home."

"Then we can get the two o'clock train. Nothing but misery comes to people in these cities."

By dint of much hurry they caught the train, Ardelia protesting up to the moment when the train started that they couldn't possibly make it. Bambi sat, chin on hand, all the way, a sad, pale-faced figure. No one could suspect, to see her now, that she had been the brilliant flame-thing of the night before. Once the Professor patted her hand and she tried to smile at him, but it wasn't much of a success.

When they entered the house, and Ardelia bustled about to get them some tea, Bambi sat dejectedly, with all her things on, among the travelling-bags.

"Be of good courage, little daughter," her father said.

"Oh, Father Professor, are the fruits of success always so bitter--so bitter?" she cried to him.

XXX

The first week of the play went by, and it was an assured success. The royalty for the first seven days was a surprise, which would have thrown Bambi into raptures under ordinary circumstances. But the Bambi of these days and rapture were no longer playmates.

There had been no word from Jarvis since that time of the first brief message. Bambi went about the house a thin, white-faced, little ghost, with never a song or a smile.

"Fo' Gawd, Perfessor, it makes me cry to look at Miss Bambi, an' I don' dare ask her what's de mattah."

"I think we must just let her alone, Ardelia. She'll work this thing out for herself." But he, too, was alarmed at the change in her.

The more she thought of how she had thrown away Jarvis's love, the more she lacerated herself with reproaches. Her fatal love of play-acting had brought her sorrow this time. How could she have done it? Why didn't she see that Jarvis would never understand what made her do it, that he would resent it.

Some days she was in a fury at him for not understanding her. Other days she wanted him so that she could scarcely refrain from taking a train to New York and looking for him. In her sane moments she knew that the only thing she could do now was to wait.

Richard Strong came down to dine and spend the night, and one thing he said added to her misery.

"Jarvis stayed in town, didn't he?" he remarked.

"Yes."

"Looking after things there, I suppose? I passed him on the street yesterday, but he didn't see me."

"You passed him yesterday?" breathlessly.

"Yes. The opening and the strain of the rehearsal knocked him out, didn't it? He looked as gaunt as a monk."

"Jarvis takes things very seriously."

"By the way, how did he take your joke?"

She looked directly at him and answered frankly: "He didn't think it was funny at all."

"Oh, that's a pity."

"I'm through with jokes, Richard, through with them for all time," she said, her lips quivering.

"Oh, no--try one on me, I'd like it," he laughed to cover her emotion, and changed the subject quickly.

When he returned to town he called up the Frohman offices, asking for Jarvis's address. He was still at the National Arts Club, they assured him. So that evening he presented himself there unannounced. He found Jarvis alone in the reading-room, a book open before sightless eyes. He rose to greet Strong, with evident reluctance.

"I'm glad to find you, Jocelyn. I have something particular to say to you."

"So? Sit down, won't you?"

"I've just come back from Sunnyside, where I spent the night. I wanted to settle the details of your wife's next serial."

"Yes."

"Have you seen her since the opening night?"

"No."

"I think she is either very ill, or very unhappy, possibly both. She seems such a frail little thing that one dreads any extra demands on her. I knew you stayed on to look after the business here, of course.... You know the dear, blind, old Professor. Naturally you are the person to look after her, and I thought it would be just like her not to say a word to you about it all, so here I am, playing tame cat, carrying tales. Go down to-night, Jocelyn, and take that girl away somewhere."

"They think she's ill?" Jarvis repeated.

"She looks it to me. If she were my wife, I'd be alarmed."

He rose as he finished, and Jarvis rose, too. They looked each other in the eyes.

"Thank you!" said Jarvis.

He suddenly realized, without words of any kind, that this man suffered as he did, because he, too, loved Bambi. He was big enough to come to her husband with news of her need. By a common impulse their hands met in a warm hand-clasp.

"She needs you, Jocelyn," Strong said.

"You're a good friend, Strong," Jarvis answered.

When he had gone, Jarvis hurried to his room and began to pack his bag. His heart beat like a trip-hammer with excitement. He was going to Bambi! She needed him. He had endured a week of the third degree, practised upon himself. He had peered into every nook and corner of his own soul. He knew himself for a blind, selfish egotist. He was ready now to fling his winter garments of repentance into the fires of spring. He understood himself, though Bambi baffled him more than ever. Never mind. She needed him. Strong said so--and he was going to her.