BOLBOCERAS AMERICANUS MULS HABITAT HERE! CHAPTER III--JACOB ZANIN |THE Crossroads Theater was nothing more than an old store, with a shallow stage built in at the rear and a rough foyer boarded off at the front. The seats were rows of undertaker's chairs, But the lighting was managed with some skill; and the scenery, built and painted in the neighborhood, bordered on a Barker-Craig-Reinhardt effectiveness. Peter and Hy stood for a little time in the foyer, watching the audience come in. It was a distinctly youthful audience--the girls and women were attractive, most of them Americans; the men running more foreign, with a good many Russian Jews among them. They all appeared to be great friends. And they handled one another a good deal. Peter, self-conscious, hunting copy as always, saw one tired-looking young Jewish painter catch the hand of a pretty girl--an extraordinarily pretty girl, blonde, of a slimly rounded figure--and press and caress her fingers as he chatted casually with a group. After a moment the girl drew her hand away gently, half-apologetically, while a faint wave of color flowed to her transparent cheek. All Peter's blind race prejudice flamed into a little fire of rage. Here it was--his subject--the restless American girl experimenting with life, the selfish bachelor girl, deep in the tangles of Bohemia, surrounded by just the experimental men that would be drawn to the district by such as she.... So Peter read it. And he was tom by confused clashing emotions. Then he heard a fresh voice cry: “Why, hello, Betty!” Then he remembered--this girl was the Picabia dancer--Betty Deane--her friend! There was color in his own face now, and his pulse was leaping. “Come,” he said shortly to Hy, “let's find our seats.” The first playlet on the bill was Zanin's _Any Street._ The theme was the grim influence of street life on the mind of a child. It was an uncomfortable little play. All curtains were drawn back. Subjects were mentioned that should never, Peter felt, be even hinted at in the presence of young women. Rough direct words were hurled at that audience. Peter, blushing, peered about him. There sat the young women and girls by the dozen, serene of face, frankly interested. Poor Hy, overcome by his tangled self-consciousness, actually lowered his head and pressed his handkerchief to his fiery face, murmuring: “This is no place for a minister's assistant!” And he added, in Peter's ear: “Lord, if the Walrus could just see this--once!” Then a newsboy came running on the stage--slim, light of foot--dodged cowering in a saloon doorway, and swore at an off-stage policeman from whose clutches he had escaped. There was a swift pattering of applause; and a whisper ran through the audience. Peter heard one voice say: “There she is--that's Sue!” He sat erect, on the edge of his chair. Again the hot color surged into his face. He felt it there and was confused.