<h2 id="c18">CHAPTER XVIII <br/><span class="small">BEHIND THE SCENES</span></h2>
<p>For a moment Dorothy felt as if she must make
her way back after her friends—it was so terrifying
to find herself in such a press—but a glance at
the wavering canvas that now hid from the public
the company of players and helpers, inspired her
with new courage. She would go behind the
scenes and see if that girl was Tavia!</p>
<p>In a short time the theatre was emptied, save
for the ushers and the boys who dashed in and out
among the rows of seats, picking up the scattered
programmes, and making the place ready for the
evening performance. One of the ushers, seeing
Dorothy, walked over to her.</p>
<p>“Waiting for anybody?” he asked mechanically,
without glancing up at her, but indicating that
he was ready to turn up the seat before which she
was standing.</p>
<p>“Yes,” replied Dorothy.</p>
<p>“In the company?” he inquired next.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_173">[173]</div>
<p>“Yes. The young lady who played Katherine.”</p>
<p>“This way,” the young man exclaimed snappily,
but in no unpleasant tone. He led the way
along the row of seats, down an isle and through a
very narrow door that seemed to be made of black
oil cloth.</p>
<p>Dorothy had no time to think of what was going
to happen. It had all come about so quickly—she
hardly knew how to proceed now—what
name to ask for—or whether or not to give her
own in case it was demanded. She wondered
what the actress would think of her if Katherine
did not turn out to be Tavia.</p>
<p>“You mean Miss Riceman,” the usher went on
as he closed the narrow door. “This way,
please,” and, the next moment, Dorothy found
herself behind the scenes in a big city theatre.</p>
<p>The place was a maze of doors and passageways.
Wires and ropes were in a seeming tangle
overhead and all about were big wooden frames
covered with painted canvas—scenes and flies that
slid in and out at the two sides of a stage, and
make up a very important part of a theatrical
company’s outfit.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_174">[174]</div>
<p>These immense canvases seemed to be all over,
and every time Dorothy tried to walk toward a
door indicated by her guide, who had suddenly
disappeared, she found she was in front of or behind
some depiction of a building, or the side of a
house or a street. Mechanics were busy all about
her.</p>
<p>Suddenly a girl thrust her head from one of the
many doors and shouted to an unseen person:</p>
<p>“Nellie! Nellie, dear! I’m ready for that ice-cream
soda. Get into your street togs quick or
you’ll be having soup instead—”</p>
<p>“Nellie! Nellie!” came in a chorus from all
sides, though the owners of the voices remained
hidden, and then there rang out through the big
space a spontaneous burst of a line from the chorus
of the old song:</p>
<div class="verse">
<p class="t0">“I was seeing Nellie home. I was seeing Nellie home.</p>
<p class="t0">It was from Aunt Dinah’s quilting party, I was seeing Nellie home.”</p>
</div>
<p>“Ha! Ha! How’s that, Nellie?” inquired a
deep bass voice.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_175">[175]</div>
<p>Dorothy stood for a moment, not knowing what
to do. This was better than the play, she thought,
as she vaguely wondered what sort of life must be
led behind the scenes. Then the thought of her
position sent a chill over her. She must seek out
the performer who went by the name of Miss
Riceman, and then—</p>
<p>By this time a number of the characters appeared
from their dressing rooms, and Dorothy stepped
up to a girl with an enormous hat on her head,
and a pair of very small shoes in her hand. As
the girl sank gracefully down on an upturned box
to adjust her ties, and, incidentally, to get a breath
of air after the atmosphere of the stuffy dressing
room, Dorothy asked timidly:</p>
<p>“Can you tell me where Miss Riceman’s dressing
room is?”</p>
<p>“That first door to the left,” answered the girl,
tilting her big hat back far enough to allow a
glimpse of her questioner.</p>
<p>Dorothy stepped up to the door. Surely Tavia
could not be there! Dorothy’s heart beat furiously.
She was trembling so she could hardly
knock, but managed to give a faint tap.</p>
<p>“Who?” called a girlish voice.</p>
<p>“Miss Dale,” answered Dorothy mechanically,
feeling as if she would almost be willing to give up
her search for Tavia if she could be well out of the
place. There was a moment’s wait and then the
door swung open.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_176">[176]</div>
<p>“Come in,” invited the girl from within the
little room. “Oh, you’re Miss—let me see—I’m
afraid I’ve forgotten your name—you’re
from the <i>Leader</i>, aren’t you?”</p>
<p>“No,” replied Dorothy, breathing easier, now
that she found herself alone with a girl—a simple
human being just like any other girl. “I am
looking for—for a friend,” she went on, stammeringly,
“and I thought perhaps you could tell
me—”</p>
<p>“You poor child,” interrupted Miss Riceman
whose toilet was so unceremoniously interrupted
“just come in and sit down on this trunk. Then
let me get you something. You actually look ill.”</p>
<p>“I’m just—just a little fri—frightened,”
Dorothy gasped, for indeed she was now feeling
queer and dizzy, and it was all getting black before
her eyes.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_177">[177]</div>
<p>“Nettie!” called the actress, “get me some
cold water and call to the girls in the ‘Lair’ and
see if they have made coffee. Hurry now,” to the
woman who helped the actresses dress. Then she
offered Dorothy a bottle of smelling salts.
“Take a whiff of that,” she said kindly. “The
woman will be back soon with some ice water.
I’m sorry you’re not well. Was it the smell from
the gas lights? I don’t see why they make us poor
actresses put up with them, when they have electric
light in front. It’s abominable! And the
smoke from the powder they use to make the
lightning! It fairly chokes me,” and she blew
aside a curling wreath of vapor that sifted in
through the door. A moment later the woman
handed in a pitcher of water and a glass. “No
coffee?” in answer to some message. “Well, all
right.”</p>
<p>The actress flew over to a box that served as a
dresser and poured out a glass of water for Dorothy.
As she did so Dorothy had a chance to look
at Katherine, whom she imagined might be Tavia.
There was not the slightest resemblance now that
the actress had her “make-up” off. How could
a little paint, powder and the glare from the footlights
perform such a miracle, thought Dorothy.
This girl was as different from Tavia as Dorothy
was herself. And yet she did look so like her—</p>
<p>“Here’s a nice drink of water,” spoke Miss
Riceman.</p>
<p>“Now please don’t let me bother you so,”
pleaded Dorothy, sitting up determinedly and trying
to look as if nothing was the matter. But she
sipped the water gladly. “I’m quite well now,
thank you, Miss Riceman, and I’ll not detain you a
moment longer from your dressing.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_178">[178]</div>
<p>“Nonsense, child, sit still. You won’t bother
me the least bit. I’ll go right on. Now tell me
who it is you’re looking for?”</p>
<p>Dorothy watched the actress toss aside a mass
of brown hair that was so like Tavia’s. Then
she saw a string pulled and—the wig came off.
The real, naturally blond hair of Miss Riceman
fell in a shower over her shoulders.</p>
<div class="fig">> <ANTIMG src="images/p178.jpg" alt="MISS RICEMAN’S HAIR FELL IN A SHOWER OVER HER SHOULDERS" width-obs="500" height-obs="691" /> <p class="center"><span class="small">MISS RICEMAN’S HAIR FELL IN A SHOWER OVER HER SHOULDERS</span></p> </div>
<p>Turning to Dorothy the performer instantly realized
that the scene was new to her visitor and,
with that strange, subtle instinct which seems to
characterize the artistic professional woman, she
at once relieved the situation by remarking:</p>
<p>“Do you know we never feel like removing our
‘make-up’ before the reporters. Even women
representatives of the press (and of course we
never admit any others to our dressing rooms)
have such a funny way of describing things that
I should be mortally afraid of taking off my wig
before one. I thought you were Miss—Oh,
what’s her name—I never can think of it—from
the <i>Leader</i>. I expected her to call. But, do you
know that women reporters are just the dearest
set of rascals in the world? They simply can’t
help being funny when it’s a joke on you. Now,
whom did you say you were looking for? I do
rattle on so!”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_179">[179]</div>
<p>All this, of course, was giving Dorothy time—and
she needed it badly, for her story was by no
means ready for a “dress rehearsal.”</p>
<p>But there was something so self-assuring about
the actress—she was not in the least coarse or
loud-spoken—she was, on the contrary, the very
embodiment of politeness. Dorothy felt she
could talk freely with her about Tavia.</p>
<p>“I am looking for a young girl named Octavia
Travers,” began Dorothy bravely, “and I
thought possibly she might be with this company.”</p>
<p>“Was she with this company previously? I
don’t seem to recall the name.”</p>
<p>“Oh, I don’t know that she is with any company,”
Dorothy hastened to add, feeling how foolish
it must seem to be looking for a girl in a theatrical
troupe when one had no more assurance
that she might be with such a company than that
she might be working in a department store.</p>
<p>“Haven’t you her address?” asked Miss Riceman,
as she stood before the glass, daubing on
some cold cream to remove the last of the “make-up”
from her face.</p>
<p>“No,” answered Dorothy miserably enough.
“I only wish I had.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_180">[180]</div>
<p>The actress with the cream jar turned around
in time to see the tears coming into Dorothy’s eyes.
Miss Riceman dropped the jar down on her improvised
dresser and came over to where her visitor
sat on the trunk.</p>
<p>“Tell me all about it,” she said kindly, sitting
down beside Dorothy. “Perhaps I can help you.
She is not your sister, is she?”</p>
<p>“No,” was the answer, and then began a confidence
of which Dorothy had scarcely believed
herself capable. She told how Tavia was as much
to her as a sister could be, and how she feared her
chum had taken to the stage on account of her peculiarities
while at school. Then Dorothy described
Tavia’s appearance—how pretty she was—what
beautiful hair she had.</p>
<p>“And her eyes,” Dorothy almost cried, “I have
never seen eyes like Tavia’s. They are as soft a
brown as the inside of a chestnut burr.”</p>
<p>“Exactly!” chimed in Miss Riceman. “I
would not be surprised but that I saw that very
girl the other day. It was in the manager’s office.
She came alone and she looked—well—I knew
at once that she was a total stranger to the business.
And when the manager asked how old
she was (for they have to be particular about age
you know) I think she said seventeen, but I knew
she was not quite as old as that.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_181">[181]</div>
<p>Dorothy clasped her hands in a strained gesture.
How she wanted to find Tavia, yet how she feared
to discover her in this way!</p>
<p>“That might be her,” she faltered thoughtfully.</p>
<p>“If it was, she is with a company playing on
the same circuit we do,” went on Miss Riceman.
“Let me see,” and she consulted a slip of paper
pinned to the wall. “Yes, they follow us in some
towns. It was the ‘Lady Rossmore’s Secret’
company that the girl I am speaking about applied
to, and I’m sure she was engaged, for I was interested
in her appearance, and later I asked some
one about her. Now the thing for you to do is to
come to the manager’s office here to-morrow afternoon,
between five and six. He has control of
several companies, including the one I’m with and
the L. R. S. as we call it for short, the ‘Lady
Rossmore’s Secret’ I mean. Just ask him for
your friend’s address—or, better still, just ask
where the company is playing and she’ll be sure to
be with it. He might not pay much attention to
you if he thought you were looking for some one
in particular and hadn’t any clue to her whereabouts.”</p>
<p>“I’ll do it,” said Dorothy determinedly, as she
arose to go.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_182">[182]</div>
<p>“Now don’t leave here until you are positive
you feel all right,” cautioned Miss Riceman.
“I’m sure I’m very glad to have met you and I
hope I have been able to help you. I’m sorry I
can’t tell you where the Rossmore company is,
but I haven’t made a memoranda of the complete
booking as I sometimes do. I thought I had it on
a slip of paper but I find I haven’t.”</p>
<p>“Oh, I’m sure you’ve helped me a lot,” exclaimed
Dorothy, hardly able to put her gratitude
into words, but the busy little actress looked entirely
satisfied with her visitor’s thanks as she
showed Dorothy the way out of the stage door.
She smiled cheerily at her as she waved her hand
in good-bye and then she went back behind the
scenes again, to her dressing room to resume the
removal of the “make-up” from her face.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_183">[183]</div>
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