The Understudy Page #4

"The Understudy" by Robert Barr is a satirical novel that explores the world of theater through the experiences of its protagonist, an understudy who grapples with the challenges of ambition, unfulfilled dreams, and the often absurd realities of the performing arts. Set against the backdrop of a bustling theatrical scene, the story delves into themes of identity, envy, and the pursuit of recognition, as the understudy navigates the complexities of relationships and the unpredictable nature of show business. With Barr's trademark wit, the novel offers a humorous yet insightful commentary on the precarious balance between success and obscurity in the life of an artist.

• Short story

								

not know my physician's name?"

The girl blushed deeply when she realised that she had had such a long
conversation with one to whom she had never been introduced. She had
regarded him as an invalid, who needed a few words of cheerful
encouragement, but as he stood up she saw that he was much younger than
his face and appearance had led her to suppose.

"My name is Mary Radford," she said.

"Miss Mary Radford?" inquired Ormond.

"Miss Mary Radford."

That walk on the deck was the first of many, and it soon became evident
to Ormond that he was rapidly becoming his old self again. If he had
lost a friend in England, he had certainly found another on board ship
to whom he was getting more and more attached as time went on. The only
point of disagreement between them was in regard to the confronting of
Jimmy Spence. Ormond was determined in his resolve not to interfere
with Jimmy and his ill-gotten fame.

As the voyage was nearing its end, Ormond and Miss Radford stood
together leaning over the rail conversing quietly. They had become very
great friends indeed.

"But if you will not expose this man," said Miss Radford, "what then is
your purpose when you land? Are you going back to the stage again?"

"I don't think so," replied Ormond. "I shall try to get something to do
and live quietly for awhile."

"Oh!" cried the girl, "I have no patience with you."

"I am sorry for that, Mary," said Ormond, "for, if I can make a living,
I intend asking you to be my wife."

"Oh!" cried the girl breathlessly, turning her head away.

"Do you think I would have any chance?" asked Ormond.

"Of making a living?" inquired the girl, after a moment's silence.

"No. I am sure of making a living, for I have always done so; therefore
answer my question. Mary, do you think I would have any chance?" and he
placed his hand softly over hers, which lay on the ship's rail. The
girl did not answer, but she did not withdraw her hand; she gazed down
at the bright green water with its tinge of foam.

"I suppose you know," she said at length, "that you have every chance,
and you are merely pretending ignorance to make it easier for me,
because I have simply flung myself at your head ever since we began the
voyage."

"I am not pretending, Mary," he said. "What I feared was that your
interest was only that of a nurse in a somewhat backward patient. I was
afraid I had your sympathy, but not your love. Perhaps such was the
case at first."

"Perhaps such was the case--at first, but it is far from being the
truth now--Sidney."

The young man made a motion to approach nearer to her, but the girl
drew away, whispering--

"There are other people besides ourselves on deck, remember."

"I don't believe it," said Ormond, gazing fondly at her. "I can see no
one but you. I believe we are floating alone on the ocean together, and
that there is no one else in the wide world but our two selves. I
thought I went to Africa for fame, but I see I really went to find you.
What I sought seems poor compared to what I have found."

"Perhaps," said the girl, looking shyly at him, "Fame is waiting as
anxiously for you to woo her as--as another person waited. Fame is a
shameless hussy, you know."

The young man shook his head.

"No. Fame has jilted me once. I won't give her another chance."

So those who were twain sailed gently into Southampton Docks, resolved
to be one when the gods were willing.

Mary Radford's people were there to meet her, and Ormond went up to
London alone, beginning his short railway journey with a return of the
melancholy that had oppressed him during the first part of his long
voyage. He felt once more alone in the world, now that the bright
presence of his sweetheart was withdrawn, and he was saddened by the
thought that the telegram he had hoped to send to Jimmy Spence,
exultingly announcing his arrival, would never be sent. In a newspaper
he bought at the station, he saw that the African traveller, Sidney
Ormond, was to be received by the Mayor and Corporation of a Midland
town, and presented with the freedom of the city. The traveller was to
lecture on his exploits in the town so honouring him, that day week.
Ormond put down the paper with a sigh, and turned his thoughts to the
girl from whom he had so lately parted. A true sweetheart is a
pleasanter subject for meditation than a false friend.

Mary also saw the announcement in the paper, and anger tightened her
lips and brought additional colour to her cheeks. Seeing how averse her
lover was to taking any action against his former friend, she had
ceased to urge him, but she had quietly made up her own mind to be
herself the goddess of the machine.

On the night the bogus African traveller was to lecture in the Midland
town, Mary Radford was a unit in the very large audience that greeted
him. When he came on the platform she was so amazed at his personal
appearance that she cried out, but fortunately her exclamation was lost
in the applause that greeted the lecturer. The man was the exact
duplicate of her betrothed.

She listened to the lecture in a daze; it seemed to her that even the
tones of the lecturer's voice were those of her lover. She paid little
heed to the matter of his discourse, but allowed her mind to dwell more
on the coming interview, wondering what excuses the fraudulent
traveller would make for his perfidy.

When the lecture was over, and the usual vote of thanks had been
tendered and accepted, Mary Radford still sat there while the rest of
the audience slowly filtered out of the large hall. She rose at last,
nerving herself for the coming meeting, and went to the side door,
where she told the man on duty that she wished to see the lecturer. The
man said that it was impossible for Mr. Ormond to see any one at that
moment; there was to be a big supper; he was to meet the Mayor and
Corporation; and so the lecturer had said he could see no one.

"Will you take a note to him if I write it?" asked the girl.

"I will send it in to him; but it's no use, he won't see you. He
refused to see even the reporters," said the door-keeper, as if that
were final, and a man who would deny himself to the reporters would not
admit Royalty itself.

Mary wrote on a slip of paper the words, "The affianced wife of the
real Sidney Ormond would like to see you for a few moments," and this
brief note was taken in to the lecturer.

The door-keeper's faith in the constancy of public men was rudely
shaken a few minutes later, when the messenger returned with orders
that the lady was to be admitted at once.

When Mary entered the green-room of the lecture hall she saw the double
of her lover standing near the fire, her note in his hand and a look of
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