come to the run-through tonight and watch me. And then I want you to be as honest as you were last spring. I’ve worked hard all summer, but I’m still not sure. I want you to tell me whether you think there’s any hope for me as an actor. You’re the only one I know I can trust. And it’s very serious. After you tell me, I’ll explain why.”
“Sure,” Archer said, relieved and ashamed of himself, thinking, I must stop reading all these realistic novels. “I’ll be there right after dinner.”
“And the truth,” Herres said, staring somberly at Archer. “Right out of the feed box. If you kid me, I’ll never forgive you as long as I live, Clement.”
“That’s an unfriendly kind of thing to say,” Archer said, troubled and annoyed.
“I mean it.” Herres got up. “Eight-thirty sharp,” he said as he went out.
Seating himself later in the rear of the empty auditorium, Archer realized he still felt resentful about Herres’ warning, and tried to clear it out of his mind so that he could judge fairly as the curtain went up. The play was Sidney Howard’s They Knew What They Wanted, and Herres had the role of the tough young wandering ranch hand who seduces the waitress-wife of the Italian farmer. Nancy played the wife and was astonishingly good, simple, pathetic, sensual, and finally pitiful. Archer refused to make up his mind about Herres until the play was over.
When the curtain was lowered, Herres and Nancy came out from backstage almost immediately. They had not been in costume and Herres came down the aisle pulling on his jacket.
“Let’s get out of here quick,” Herres said as Archer stood up. “Before that idiot Schmidt decides he has some new gems for us.”
Schmidt was the director. He had, so he said, once worked for Reinhardt in Germany, and was given to long, philosophical analyses. Herres also called Samson, the football coach, an idiot. Generosity toward his elders, especially the ones who attempted to teach him anything, was certainly not one of Herres’ strong points, Archer reflected, as they hurried out of the auditorium. For a half-second Archer wondered what Herres said about him after a dull Wednesday afternoon history class. The trouble was, Herres was accurate. Schmidt and Samson were idiots, or the academic equivalents of idiots.
“Nancy,” Archer said, when they were safely outside, and walking away from the building, “you were awfully good tonight.”
“The second act,” Nancy said. “I wasn’t bad in the second act.”
Archer smiled. That girl, he thought, is practically a member of Equity right now.
“Nancy,” Herres said when they came to Sorority Row, “this is where you say good night to the people and go home.”
“I don’t want to go home,” Nancy protested. “It’s early yet.”
“Home,” Herres said quietly. “Clement and I have some things to talk about. Men’s talk.”
“I hate men,” Nancy said, coming as near to a pout as she could manage. “I think men ought to be abolished.”
“Yes, darling,” Herres said, and kissed her, domestically, not paying any attention to the fact that Archer was watching. “Run along now.”
“Aren’t you even going to walk me home?” Nancy sounded aggrieved and Archer realized that she was still wound up and excited by the evening’s performance and wanted to continue sharing the excitement as long as she could.
“No, darling,” Herres said.
“I hope you’re miserable with each other,” Nancy said. But she went off down the street, her figure slim and docile under the shedding trees.
Handling women, Archer thought enviously, watching her, is a talent you’re born with. Either you have it or you never learn it. He could never get Kitty to do what he wanted except on the gravest and most crucial matters.
“I want a beer,” Herres said, starting toward the inn. “Acting is thirsty labor.”
“What if Samson hears of it?” Archer asked, swinging into step beside him. “In the
“Sure,” Archer said, relieved and ashamed of himself, thinking, I must stop reading all these realistic novels. “I’ll be there right after dinner.”
“And the truth,” Herres said, staring somberly at Archer. “Right out of the feed box. If you kid me, I’ll never forgive you as long as I live, Clement.”
“That’s an unfriendly kind of thing to say,” Archer said, troubled and annoyed.
“I mean it.” Herres got up. “Eight-thirty sharp,” he said as he went out.
Seating himself later in the rear of the empty auditorium, Archer realized he still felt resentful about Herres’ warning, and tried to clear it out of his mind so that he could judge fairly as the curtain went up. The play was Sidney Howard’s They Knew What They Wanted, and Herres had the role of the tough young wandering ranch hand who seduces the waitress-wife of the Italian farmer. Nancy played the wife and was astonishingly good, simple, pathetic, sensual, and finally pitiful. Archer refused to make up his mind about Herres until the play was over.
When the curtain was lowered, Herres and Nancy came out from backstage almost immediately. They had not been in costume and Herres came down the aisle pulling on his jacket.
“Let’s get out of here quick,” Herres said as Archer stood up. “Before that idiot Schmidt decides he has some new gems for us.”
Schmidt was the director. He had, so he said, once worked for Reinhardt in Germany, and was given to long, philosophical analyses. Herres also called Samson, the football coach, an idiot. Generosity toward his elders, especially the ones who attempted to teach him anything, was certainly not one of Herres’ strong points, Archer reflected, as they hurried out of the auditorium. For a half-second Archer wondered what Herres said about him after a dull Wednesday afternoon history class. The trouble was, Herres was accurate. Schmidt and Samson were idiots, or the academic equivalents of idiots.
“Nancy,” Archer said, when they were safely outside, and walking away from the building, “you were awfully good tonight.”
“The second act,” Nancy said. “I wasn’t bad in the second act.”
Archer smiled. That girl, he thought, is practically a member of Equity right now.
“Nancy,” Herres said when they came to Sorority Row, “this is where you say good night to the people and go home.”
“I don’t want to go home,” Nancy protested. “It’s early yet.”
“Home,” Herres said quietly. “Clement and I have some things to talk about. Men’s talk.”
“I hate men,” Nancy said, coming as near to a pout as she could manage. “I think men ought to be abolished.”
“Yes, darling,” Herres said, and kissed her, domestically, not paying any attention to the fact that Archer was watching. “Run along now.”
“Aren’t you even going to walk me home?” Nancy sounded aggrieved and Archer realized that she was still wound up and excited by the evening’s performance and wanted to continue sharing the excitement as long as she could.
“No, darling,” Herres said.
“I hope you’re miserable with each other,” Nancy said. But she went off down the street, her figure slim and docile under the shedding trees.
Handling women, Archer thought enviously, watching her, is a talent you’re born with. Either you have it or you never learn it. He could never get Kitty to do what he wanted except on the gravest and most crucial matters.
“I want a beer,” Herres said, starting toward the inn. “Acting is thirsty labor.”
“What if Samson hears of it?” Archer asked, swinging into step beside him. “In the
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