Well, this was every bit as
exciting. Some days success seemed to be staring us in the eye, and the
kid got the line out as if he'd been an old professional. And then he'd
go all to pieces again. And time was flying.
"We must hurry up, Jimmy," I said. "The kid's uncle may arrive any day
now and take him away."
"And we haven't an understudy," said Jimmy. "There's something in that.
We must work! My goodness, that kid's a bad study. I've known deaf-mutes
who would have learned the part quicker."
I will say this for the kid, though: he was a trier. Failure didn't
discourage him. Whenever there was any kind of sweet near he had a dash
at his line, and kept on saying something till he got what he was
after. His only fault was his uncertainty. Personally, I would have
been prepared to risk it, and start the performance at the first
opportunity, but Jimmy said no.
"We're not nearly ready," said Jimmy. "To-day, for instance, he said
'Kick Freddie.' That's not going to win any girl's heart. And she might
do it, too. No; we must postpone production awhile yet."
But, by George, we didn't. The curtain went up the very next afternoon.
It was nobody's fault--certainly not mine. It was just Fate. Freddie
had settled down at the piano, and I was leading the kid out of the
house to exercise it, when, just as we'd got out to the veranda, along
came the girl Angela on her way to the beach.
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