The Testing of Gilda

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The third act of the play was hastening to its dramatic close, and the packed house sat breathlessly awaiting the climax. Would Laura go back to her life of sin? Would the pol- ished, wealthy, influential man of the world prevail upon her to give up the struggle with failure and poverty and go back to him ? Laura was unable to pay the landlady the rent for her simple lodgings. She lunched in her room on crackers and a bottle of milk. Her clothes were getting shabby. She was financially "down and out." She was discouraged beyond words. And just then came this man and offered to take her back, clothe her in silks, feed her with the finest in the land, and see that she had a leading part in the theatrical world in which he was interested. The struggle to decide was on. But what would John say, John, the man whom she had left — back in Colorado the man who loved her, and whom she loved? They had met out there, they had forgiven each other their fail- ings for the sake of the true love which had come to them. They had parted, she to go back to New York and make her career on the stage, he "to make his pile" before he would come to claim her. But John had, seemingly, forgotten her, had not sent her any money to help her. What would John say? It was so much easier to go with this man who would pro- vide her with all the material luxuries she desired, yes, so much easier. Could she not go back to the old life just for a little while ? She would not tell John, though she had promised to tell him if she ever did. She had to live There was a period of tense silence on the stage as well as in the auditorium. Laura stood by the open window looking out at the smoke and traffic of the crowded city. The man stood at the farther end of the room, watching his victim, waiting for the decision which he knew would be for him. Laura turned slowly, lifted a haggard face to the man, and began :"I will — Just then a young girl arose from a seat in the front row of the gallery of the theatre, and in a voice loud enough to be heard in all parts of the house, she cried !" "Don't go, oh, don't go with him

*This story won first place in the March Era story contest, Illus- trations by Le Conte Stewart.

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730 IMPROVEMENT ERA There was a momentary pause" in the play, a murmur of amused comment by the audience, and then the act was closed. — Laura went back to her life of shame she chose the easier way.

Miss Gilda Edgeworth was not a professional actress. She had taken part in school entertainments ever since she could talk, and she had played leading lady in the high school dramatics. In the small western city where she lived there were not enough theatre-going people to support a stock company giving daily performances. Mr. Walter Holt, bookkeeper for the new Har- vester Company, claimed to be a semi-professional stock com- pany manager. It was he who organized this town company and put on the boards of the local theatre a number of plays. He declared that there was talent enough in the town to warrant first class productions, and a number of royalty plays were presented in the course of the winter. He soon discovered Gilda Edge- worth, cast her in the most difficult roles, and predicted for her a brilliant career, if she would continue in the profession. At the ''height of the season," they presented "The Downward Road," a play which had had a run of a hundred nights in New York, and an equal number, it was claimed, in Chicago. The difficult part of Laura, the girl who took the downward road, was played by Gilda Edgeworth, and it taxed her histrionic abilities to the utmost. At the close of the performance, on the night when the little disturbance came from the gallery, Miss Edgeworth, fully dressed for the street, lingered about the wings of the stage. Mr. Holt, coming out from his dressing room, saw her, and immediately went up to her. "I congratulate you," he exclaimed eagerly, "you did splen- didly." "Thank you — was a very hard part it to play," she said. "Yes, it is ; and I assure you, some stars have done no better than you did tonight." "I— I want to talk to you, Mr. Holt. I—" "Well, we'll go down the street and have a bite to eat. Then you can tell me what you have to say." "Thank you, but I would rather not tonight. I'm very tired but tomorrow, where can I meet you?" "I shall call at the house." "If you will, please. Good night." He would have pleaded the privilege of escorting her home, but her big brother now appeared and carried her safely away. About five in the afternoon, Walter Holt called at the Edge- worth residence and Gilda herself let him in. The parlor was warm and cozy. A fire glowed in the grate, and easy chairs in the warmth invited them to sit. The young man had never seen his

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"leading lady" in the quiet of her home before. Devoid of paint and make-up and clad in a becoming" house dress, she fitted the home more perfectly than she did the stage and Mr. Holt, at that ;

moment, would have been glad of the opportunity of telling her so. "Thank you for coming," she said, as she seated herself in a

The fire in the grate glowed dimly." "The parlor was warm and cosy."

732 IMPROVEMENT ERA chair opposite him by the grate. "I wanted to tell you that I can- not go on with the play we are rehearsing." "Oh, what is the matter? are you not well?" "I'm well enough. It isn't that. I don't think I'm doing just the right thing to present to the public what I am doing — to hold up to them such ideas and ideals." "I don't quite understand." "Well, that you may understand, let me make some com- ments on the play we have just closed. All along I have been troubled about it, but I closed my heart against what I supposed was foolish sentiment, and went on with it to the end." "You don't mean that interruption last evening. Why, that was a wonderful compliment to your acting. The girl was car- ried away. She thought for the moment that it was real." "No, Mr. Holt, I don't mean that, although the incident had a deep meaning. It was more than an incident, it was a warn- ing, an expression of a feeling that was general in that big audi- — ence last night. Listen" the speaker leaned into the glow of the — fire which played on her expressive face "that girl who could not keep still is a neighbor of ours. I know her and she knows me. This morning she came to beg my pardon. She sat right there in the chair you are in, and, with tears in her eyes, she said this :

" 'Miss Gilda, it may have been foolish of me, but I couldn't help it. Your acting became real to me. I followed you in your — struggles to do the right thing there were twelve of us girls up there, and some of them I know need just now all the assistance they can get to keep right. We followed you. We gloried in your pluck. We felt for you, we lived with you. You became our god- dess. And then just when you should have shown your grit, when you should have spurned the base propositions of your tempter, — why, you failed you failed us. You chose the easiest way. Oh, if you had only died fighting! What an inspiration you would " have been to us.' Walter Holt did not smile at this recital. When he was not watching Miss Edgeworth's face, he was looking into the fire. "What could I say to that, Mr. Holt? I tried, in a halting way, to explain that it was just a play; but to tell you the simple truth I had no argument to refute that girl's case against me." "Well, you know, Miss Edgeworth, art is not always pleas- ant. Ours is to hold up the mirror to nature, and often ugly and sad things are reflected." "I don't object to holding up the ugly and the sad, if there is some good end to be gained; but consider, for a moment, The

D onward Road. All through the play, the sin of immorality is treated as something quite commonplace. Virtue is disposed of for fine food and clothes. Mr. Holt, you have not lived in this community long perhaps you do not know that nine-tenths of our ;

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audience, last night, have been taught that adultery is the greatest sin one can commit, next to the shedding of innocent blood. Our

oung men and young women have been admonished to guard their virtue as sacredly as their lives. I shudder when I think

that by my acting I might have lessened this teaching, that I might have intimated to those young girls that to sin is a possible way of escape from poverty." He murmured something about art. "Art," she exclaimed, in tone and gesture which she could never hope to equal on the stage, "the art of living is greater than the art of acting. What are the things of art in comparison to the things of life? What is my stage career when weighed against even the humblest of God's creatures?" She arose and stepped to the table where she nervously opened and closed the book she had been reading. "No, I'm through with acting, if by it I may suggest that the downward road is preferable because it is easiest." "Another thing," she interrupted him as he was about to speak, "did it ever strike you that 'The Downward Road' makes the sin of lying grosser than that of immorality. Why, the male characters prate of the despicableness of the deceit of lying; but there is no evidence of a troubled conscience in regard to the immoral lives they lead." "What then shall we do with 'Without the Bonds?'" asked Mr. Holt. "Of course, I see why you refuse to play Valerie West in that." "That's why I am telling you now so that you may get some- one else to take my part. I'm through." "I'm sorry, Miss Edgeworth." — "I don't know what vou are sorry for excuse me, Mr. Holt," looked up from his contemplation of the she smiled at him as he you are sorry unto repentance, don't put on 'Without fire "but ; if " the Bonds.' "Why?" for my girl a bad play, bad for this community, bad "It's Valerie West, the pure, simple-minded friends Listen, Mr. Holt: artist's model draws everybody's sympathies to her. She and the artist for whom she poses, fall in love. He wishes to marry her. such a marriage would estrange him from She refuses, because family— would ruin him socially. Then, in one of the great his it commonplace conven- climaxes of the play she seems to rise above be his wife, without the marriage form tionality and offers to that she is not doing a and she does this in a way that implies that she is sacrificing for the sake of love. The ereat wrong, but goes out that she is doing a truly heroic act. Now, impression my girl friends sitting in front of me, Mr Holt I can imagine word and gesture in the part of Valerie, following my every

734 IMPROVEMENT ERA wrapped up in me, and then, being shocked with such a proposi- tion from a pure minded girl." "Perhaps they would not be shocked," suggested he. "Your New York or Chicago audiences may not be, but I would be sorry indeed if ours were not shocked. I don't think our people are calloused to such things, and I hope they never shall be. A tender consciousness of right and wrong is a strong safeguard." "But in the end Valerie learns that she is wrong in her views." "In the book, that is true, but not in the play. Someone with a distorted idea of art has taken liberties with the story. The play is bad. I wouldn't present it." Walter Holt did not reply; but he looked strangely at this girl. Never before had one spoken to him like this on the rela- tionship between the drama and life. Was she acting ? He hoped not. There seemed nothing more to keep the young man. Miss Edgeworth had said what she wanted to say, and now remained silent. The short winter day was closing, and the dusk was creeping into the house. The fire in the grate reddened the room with its warm light. The silence becoming somewhat emphatic, Gilda arose, went to the windows and pulled down the blinds. Then she was about to switch on the light. "Don't," he said. "The fire-light alone is so cozy. Come, won't you sit in this chair by the hearth. From this vantage point you have pleaded your case, and you have won. Now, Miss Edgeworth, I also have a case to plead, and I hope I shall be as successful as you have been." Gilda dropped into the big arm chair opposite him. She won- dered what his "case" might be. His tone, always respectful to her, now seemed to portend something more important than drama and stage. Although in the past, these two had been on the most friendly terms, there had been no love making. He had been very "nice" to her. He had taken her a number of times to an after-the-play supper but then, was he not the manager, and ;

was she not the leading lady? "May I begin at the beginning?" he asked slowly and care- fully, "and tell you a little about myself?" "You have been patient with me. Why should not I now listen?" "Thank you. * * I might have been an actor, a profes- sional actor. Some people have been kind enough to tell me I would have succeeded, had I kept on but early in the game I ;

found out that some professions, and notably that of the stage, usually take those who engaged in them exclusively out of touch with life and as you have expressed it, life is vastly more valuable ;

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than any art for art's sake. Art, so we are told, must of neces- sity be selfish. Actors, for instance, can have no ideal family life — they must be wedded to their art, and woe be to any ulterior influence which comes to the actor to divide his affections. I came to these conclusions, happily, in time, and that's why I am now a bookkeeper instead of a possible star." The young man smiled at his own egotistical suggestion. Gilda, with elbow on arm-chair and chin in hand, followed him, as he continued: "You may think it strange, then, that I have been encourag- ing dramatic performances here in the town. Of course, what we have done is largely amateurish, though I must say we have developed an unusual amount of talent among the young people. I do not think any of these people will become professional actors. I hope this, at least for you, Miss Edgeworth."

"Why for me only, Mr. Holt? Surely if—" "See, how selfishness crops out. I had really forgotten, for a moment, the consideration due the many —in my thought of you. * * And now I must plead guilty of thinking of you a good deal, Miss Edgeworth." Gilda said nothing of this outburst of confidence. "May I tell you frankly that I have found what I have been seeking for years. I think I have found a girl whose very nature is so delicately attuned to what is beautiful or ugly, to what is

right and what is wrong that she refuses to present even in play- acting the ugly and the wrong. Listen !A number of times I have cast the part of Laura in The Downward Road' and Valerie in 'Without the Bonds' to young ladies I have known and taken an interest in; but never until now have they objected to their playing such parts. None of these girls sensed what you have sensed that no one can handle soiled things, even in play, without contamination." "Then I, Mr. Holt, am contaminated !"— this with some fire in her tone. "No, no not you this experience of yours has but demon- ; ;

strated your delicacy of perception, your fineness of mind and heart. These other girls did not know that they were handling * soiled things. You did, and that's the difference. * * This has been a little experiment on my part to find the girl of my ideals. I have found that girl, Gilda, Miss Edgeworth, and—" "What about those other girls? and what about those other audiences, Mr. Holt? It seems to me that not only is art selfish,

but so are those who use it for their own ends."_ This was a thrust into an unguarded position. Truly, the man had been so wrapped up in his own trying-out schemes, that those he had not sensed the harm he might have been doing to

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736 IMPROVEMENT ERA whom he had used as means. His unfairness came to him now, however, and it was a point in his favor that it did come. He was silent for a time. The fire in the grate glowed dimly red, and was nearly out but neither noticed that. ;

"Yes," he admitted, "perhaps I have been selfish also, and have done wrong in my selfishness. If I could undo any such wrong, I would. But I may get your pardon, may I not? Don't think me wholly mean. If selfishness blinded my eyes, love has now opened them; and by that beautiful light, I see you, my dear girl, in all your radiant glory. I love you. I have blundered towards you, but I am in the light now, and please, I beg of you, !" do not send me out into the outer darkness He arose, and with outstretched hands, he stepped closely

"She placed the table between them."

to her. She retreated, trembling, and pale of countenance. "Don't," she pleaded, "please don't." She placed the table be- tween them. "Forgive me," he said. "I have upset you terribly. You have not expected this from me. But I had to tell you. I know I have no claims on your love; but all I ask now is that I might be given a chance. At present we'll not do any more acting, either of good or bad plays. Let us but live. Let us try to enter the life God intended for us. Let us take our time, and study each other. I am willing that you should know all about me. I am satisfied with what I know of you. I —

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There came a knock on the door. Gilda went out to answer it. came back. Presently, she "It was the dinner announce- ment," she said. "Will you stay?" "As you say. Would you care to have me stay ?" — "Well, no; not this evening, some other time." "Then I'll go now." She fetched his coat and hat, and together they went to the door. "May I come again?" he asked. "Do you think you ought?" "There can be no question about that. I shall come, if you do not forbid it and I shall not take a refusal from you, no, not ;

now —never, Gilda." "Good night, Mr. Holt." "Good night, Gilda. I shall call off all rehearsals. We had barely started, you know, with the new play. I shall be here by eight o'clock, tomorrow evening, — no, by seven-thirty." He took the offered parting hand. "You'll give me a chance, will you not?" "Everyone should have a fair chance," she said.

GILDA.

(Illustrations by Le Conte Stewart.)