The Adventures of Sally | Page 8

Most Broadway gossip filtered eventually into the boarding-house,
chiefly through the medium of that seasoned sport, the mild young man
who thought so highly of the redoubtable Benny Whistler, and she was
aware that the name of Reginald Cracknell, which was always getting
itself linked with somebody, had been coupled with that of Miss
Hobson. It seemed likely that in this instance rumour spoke truth, for
the lady was of that compellingly blonde beauty which attracts the
Cracknells of this world. But even so...
"It seems that Cracknell..." said Gerald. "Apparently this man
Cracknell..." He was finding Sally's bright, horrified gaze somewhat
trying. "Well, the fact is Cracknell believes in Mabel Hobson...and...
well, he thinks this part would suit her."

"Oh, Jerry!"
Could infatuation go to such a length? Could even the spacious heart of
a Reginald Cracknell so dominate that gentleman's small size in heads
as to make him entrust a part like Ruth in "The Primrose Way" to one
who, when desired by the producer of her last revue to carry a bowl of
roses across the stage and place it on a table, had rebelled on the plea
that she had not been engaged as a dancer? Surely even lovelorn
Reginald could perceive that this was not the stuff of which great
emotional actresses are made.
"Oh, Jerry!" she said again.
There was an uncomfortable silence. They turned and walked back in
the direction of the boarding-house. Somehow Gerald's arm had
managed to get itself detached from Sally's. She was conscious of a
curious dull ache that was almost like a physical pain.
"Jerry! Is it worth it?" she burst out vehemently.
The question seemed to sting the young man into something like his
usual decisive speech.
"Worth it? Of course it's worth it. It's a Broadway production. That's all
that matters. Good heavens! I've been trying long enough to get a play
on Broadway, and it isn't likely that I'm going to chuck away my
chance when it comes along just because one might do better in the
way of casting."
"But, Jerry! Mabel Hobson! It's... it's murder! Murder in the first
degree."
"Nonsense. She'll be all right. The part will play itself. Besides, she has
a personality and a following, and Cracknell will spend all the money
in the world to make the thing a success. And it will be a start,
whatever happens. Of course, it's worth it."
Fillmore would have been impressed by this speech. He would have

recognized and respected in it the unmistakable ring which
characterizes even the lightest utterances of those who get there. On
Sally it had not immediately that effect. Nevertheless, her habit of
making the best of things, working together with that primary article of
her creed that the man she loved could do no wrong, succeeded finally
in raising her spirits. Of course Jerry was right. It would have been
foolish to refuse a contract because all its clauses were not ideal.
"You old darling," she said affectionately attaching herself to the
vacant arm once more and giving it a penitent squeeze, "you're quite
right. Of course you are. I can see it now. I was only a little startled at
first. Everything's going to be wonderful. Let's get all our chickens out
and count 'em. How are you going to spend the money?"
"I know how I'm going to spend a dollar of it," said Gerald completely
restored.
"I mean the big money. What's a dollar?"
"It pays for a marriage-licence."
Sally gave his arm another squeeze.
"Ladies and gentlemen," she said. "Look at this man. Observe him. My
partner!"
CHAPTER II

ENTER GINGER

1

Sally was sitting with her back against a hillock of golden sand,
watching with half-closed eyes the denizens of Roville-sur-Mer at their

familiar morning occupations. At Roville, as at most French seashore
resorts, the morning is the time when the visiting population assembles
in force on the beach. Whiskered fathers of families made cheerful
patches of colour in the foreground. Their female friends and relatives
clustered in groups under gay parasols. Dogs roamed to and fro, and
children dug industriously with spades, ever and anon suspending their
labours in order to smite one another with these handy implements.
One of the dogs, a poodle of military aspect, wandered up to Sally: and
discovering that she was in possession of a box of sweets, decided to
remain and await developments.
Few things are so pleasant as the anticipation of them, but Sally's
vacation had proved an exception to this rule. It had been a magic
month of lazy happiness. She had drifted luxuriously from one French
town to another, till the charm of Roville, with its blue sky, its Casino,
its snow-white hotels along the Promenade, and its general glitter and