The Ladies’ Magazine.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXVII, Issue 2550, 10 July 1909, Page 4 (Supplement)

The Ladies’ Magazine.

BLINKEYES—'THEATRICAL AGENT (By Oliver Sandys, in the “Lady’s He aim.”) Blinkeyes, opening the schoolroom door with unusual suddenness, stood amazed and blinking on the. threshold. Her now governess, Miss Thornton, was talking aloud to herself —talking, weeping, laughing, gesticulating. ' When she saw Blinkeyes she abruptly stopped, and the color mounted to her pretty face.

“Oh! I didn’t know you were there, Theodosia,” she gasped.

“■‘Blinkeyes,’ please/ 5 said the small' lady, shutting the door carefully behind her. 'She climbed into her seat behind the pile of lesson-books and thoughtfully picked up Reading Without Tears.

“What were you doin’ jus’ now?” she asked when she had found her place.

She fixed her innocent blue eyes on Miss Thornton, and Miss Thornton tried to look her small charge in the face.

“Oh, I was only repeating something,” she answered, with a toush of nervousness. ‘Something out of a book.”

“Do some more,” entreated Blinkeyes. “I’d never seen anything like it—except in featres.” She deliberated for a few moments. “Was it actin’?” she burst out, pushing her lesson-books off the table in her excitement.

“Yes,” .confessed Miss Thornton dismally. “I’m afraid it was, darling.” She looked confused. “You won’t tell anybody, will yoil ?” Blinkeyes blinked with ono eye. It was a purely, accidental optical effect, hut it looked like a wink of comprehension. -

“’Courso not,” she answered. “I understand. You can’t help it. It s one of those fings that come out like—like spots.” She patted her small chest mysteriously. “I’m full of secwets. Evewybody tells me fings because I’m little, an’ it doesn’t fuatter. James, f’winsjance. He ought never to have been a footman, becauser of his weak heart. It’s that what makes him dwop the plates, you know; alvough I do give him all Daddie’s old powous plasters for it. I know all about him, an the poetry he wites to his young woman. An’ Cook tells me fings, an’ Annie, the housemaid, an’ Movher an’ Daddie, an’ Auntie Clare. She’s the governess who mawwied my Uncoo .Jack. Once she was rich, an’ when she .got poor she came to teach me. She liad run away fwom someone who had wanted to mawwy her. It was Uncoo Jack weally, though of course she didn’t know- it. .. An’ when I found out, because she talked in her .sleep, I invited Jack to come an’ stay with iis, an’ you should have seen them when I awwanged the surprise, here in my •nursery!” Her eyes sparkled triumphantly. “So you can tell me fings too, if you like. I’m —safe as houses.” Miss Thornton laughed and kissed her. “You dear!” she said. “There’s nothing much to tell. I’m—-I suppose I-’m what they call stage-struck. Ever .since I was a little girl—your age, Blinkeyes—l’ve' wanted to act. I used to dress up and imagine I was on the .stage; and the older I got the more I loved it.”

“That’s just how I feel about my •Golliwog,” agreed her small listener. “The older he gets the more devoted I vain to him. Go on.”

"Well, that’s all. Mv parents died, arid so I had to do something for my ‘■living. I couldn’t get anything to do •on the stage. You see, 1 hadn t any • money, or what is called influence. *‘l know,” nodded Blinkeyes. .“Same 4iiig as knowing Cywil Maud or Air 'Twee, an’ people like that.” . “.Yes, I sxjppose so,” concurred Miss 'Thornton lugubriously, “and as I didn't 'know any of them, I thought—” “So you came to teach me. Cuwi■oujs,” mused Blinkeyes. “Stwikes me,” khe went on presently, “you’ll be off ■the. stocks soon.” “Whatever do you mean, Blinkeyes ?” “I was only ’finkin’ of my ovher TJncoo—the Admiral,” returned Blinkeyes enigmatically. “It’s a vewy gweat pity that I can’t keep a nice go- • verness. I .shall never be educated pwoperly. Have you written to any of them?” she added, with seeming incon.=sequence. ‘‘Any of wh&ni?” “Featre. people. I had a nurse once who did, but she never got an answer.” Miss Thornton up the lessonbooks. ' ■'**' *'•' • “We must make .a start, Blinkeyes,” »he sighed. “Yes,” answered Blinkeyes, with unwonted alacrity. But more than once during lessorts that morning her mind seemed preoccupied. » ' * * * * • The stage-doorkeeper stared at the little red-coated figure that was in the act of slipping past him up the stone “Hi! little missie,” h©called, “you’ve, come to the wrong entrance. Box office is round the corner.” The “little missie” descended two steps and stood in front of the man, blinking furiously. . “I don't want to see the featre,” she observed firmly. “I’v come .to see Mr Arden, an’—an’ please let mo pass, ’cos I’ve come out with gweat difficulty, and I must get hack before a hue and cwy'is waised. See?” The doorkeeper laughed. ? “Mr Arden never sees no ope durin sx performance. "Does ’e expect you, UIISSIG P 75 The small visitor got very red m the , * 3C V “I hope so, though of course I

can’t be suah,” , she stammered. “I hadn’t time to wite. P’wraps you had better give him my name. Please tell* him that. Miss Theodosia Bathurst is waitin’ to see him most importantly.” After a momentary hesitation the doorkeeper smiled and departed. The actor-manager was having a quiet cigarette between the acts. He turned impatiently as the door opened. “I can’t see anyone, Dobson,” ho said. “What is it?” The doorkeeper tried to look serious. “Miss Theodosia Bathurst —” “Blinkeyes!’” interposed a small voice; and the red-coated figure pushed past him. “You must excuse me, Mr Man, hut I'had to follow you ’cos you wouldn’t let me up.” She approached the actor-manager. “Are you Mr Arden?” The actor-manager dismissed the doorkeeper with an amused nod. “Yes,” he answered, holding out his hand, and drawing Blinkeyes towards him. “That’s my name. Well, little girl, who are you?” Blinkeyes met his eyes with Vne of he r sweetest smiles.

“Blinkeyes, to all ray fwiends,” she answered. “ ‘Cos my eyes aren’t under complete contwol, you know; ’Odosia’s my weal name. I like you,” she observed, confidingly. “Have you got any little girls like. m©P” Mr Arden gently stroked her curls. “No, Blinkeyes.” “No wife? Poor man!” Then with a change of .tone; “Oh, but you must have. I’ve seen her in the picture papers.” “That’s about all I see of her,” said Mr Arden, a trifle bitterly. “So you’re Blinkeyes, and you’ve come to see me. 'Suppose- you tell me what about?” “I’ve been twyin’ for days an’ days,” was the frank reply. “You See, it isn’t easy when you’ve got a movher, an’ a governess, an’ James —he’s the footman —always wound the door.” “No, I suppose, not. So how did you manage it?” “Movher’s out for the day, Miss Thornton’s got a headache an’ gone to sleep, an’—an’ I told Jane, that’s the housemaid, to go into the butler s pantwy. Then I told James she was there —an’ here I am.” Mr Arden needed all liis professional training to keep his features under control. “You strategist!” he exclaimed. “'Now,” went on Blinkeyes, “wo come to what Daddie calls the business end of it. Will you do me a favor?” “But that’s not business,” debated Mr Arden. “It’s the way ladies and little, girls do business,” rejoined Blinkeyes sagely. “I believe it is,” he agreed sententiously, “but—you surely dont want?” The black look in Blinkeyes’ face was disillusionising. “Oh, no,” she answered. “I’m much too busy. And, besides, I shall have to get mawwied some day. Why do you laugh such a lot?”. She paused. “Be very sewious, please, an’ I’ll explain evewyfing.” The call-boy put his head in at the door and intoned . ■

“ Orchestra gone in, sir,” “Tell them to go on with the music, said Mr Arden. “Now, Blinkeyes, tell me what you want, and if I can I’ll give you to the half of my kingdom.” “ So Blinkeyes,*talking fast, told. him. And a great deal of what he said in reply to Blinkeyes is in the nature of a secret, and because she prides herself on keeping secrets she has never divulged it. One thing is certain. She put her arms round his neck and kissed him, and he —the man who played with emotions but never let them play with him —cleared his throat when she had gone, and wished what many childless people wished when they saw Blinkeyes. S . * * * ■ * *

“ How’s your headache?” asked Blinkeyes, sympathetically. “It’s fou r o’clock an I.fink tea and somefing else will make it better. Miss Thornton sat up with a start. “Oh, Blinkeyes!” she exclaimed contritely, what a long time I must have been asleep !” “Jnst long enough!” said Blinkeyes sagaciously. She waited for Miss Thornton to smooth her hair, and then in silence despatched a- slice, of bread and butter and a cup of tea. “I’ve been out,” she said. Miss Thornton nearly dropped her cup.

“An— an’ I’ve got a letter, for yon. He wrote it while I was there. An’ he’ll do anyfing in weason.” “A letter? For me?” cried the girl. “I don’t understand!” Then astonishment gave place to anxiety. “Oh, Blinkeyes, you shouldn’t have gone out alone. It —it wasn’t fair. And where was James?” “Askin’ Jane to mawwy him in the butler’s 1 pantwy, I cxpec’. Here’s your letter.” She handed over a- crumpled envelope. Full of wonder, Miss Thornton tore it open and read the printed/headix\ cr : “Pall Mall, Theatre, S.AV. “Dear Madam, —I hear from a little friend whose acquaintance I have made this afternoon, that you are desirous of making the stage your career, but that, so far, .opportunity has been against you. If you will do me the favor to call here at three o’clock to-morrow afternoon, I daresay that can be remedied. In any event, I shall be glad to give you the.best assistance in niy wer. There is a small part in my next production which might ; suit you. At any rate we can talk it over. Perhaps you will bring Miss ‘Blinkeyes’ with

you.—-Yours truly, Hugh Arden.” “.Blinkeyes,” cried iMiss Thornton, a great choking of joy in her voice. “Oh, you darling! Thank you, thank you!”

Blinkeyes’ mother and father sat, in tho semi-darkness of their private box. Blinkeyes, now a whole.year older, sat between them, bright-eyed and -trembling with excitement, clasping a gigantic bouquet in her lap. It was the last act of “Vivienne,” Mr Arden’s latest production. And on the programme, in large letters that made Blinkeyes’ breath come fast with transport and -personal satisfaction whenever she read them, was the name of his leading lady —Miss Enid Thornton.

Tho last words of the play were spoken. The curtain come down with a rustle to the applause of a.packed house, acclaiming a famous actor and newlydiscovered star of the theatrical firmament applause that did not cease until the-curtain rose again and Mr Arden and Miss Thornton came forward to bow their acknowledgements.,

Blinkeyes, tip-toeing, leant out of the box in an ecstacy of excitement. The actor and the actress were looking straight up at tho box, smiling, bov-ing—-to Blinkeyes. 'Miss Thornton, standing there, forgot herself; saw nothing except the figure of tho child leaning out of the box, and, in a flush of gratitude, remembered all she owed to her. Impulsively she kisned her hand to Blinkeyes. The whole house saw it and applauded the more. “Now!” whispered Blinkeyes’ mo-

ther. j Then Blinkeyes threw her bouquet