Читать книгу Footlights онлайн

36 страница из 42

“Do you think he can hear?” she asked.

“’Course not.”

“I have to be so careful.”

She turned to him, eyes alight with interest as they started on up the Avenue. “Tell me about yourself. You’re another man, too.”

“Dad died shortly after I saw you,” he explained. “Apoplexy. And I thought of you, the break you had made, the gamble you took. So I gathered together what he left me, sold out to my brother Jim, and came to New York to stake everything on that voice you took such stock in. I went to Fernald and he thought he could do something with it. I’ve been in training so to speak ever since. And this season he got me the job with the Metropolitan.”

“If only I could hear you!”

“Oh, I haven’t done much—not yet. A few matinées and one or two Saturday nights. Next year, though, they’ve promised me a go at leads.”

“I knew if ever you had the chance you’d prove yourself.”

“I owe a great part of that chance to Randolph,—you know, Hubert Randolph. He’s one of the directors of the Metropolitan. I met him at Fernald’s studio last winter and it was through him that Fernald pushed me. He’s interested in you, by the way,—thinks you’re the greatest actress of the century.”