Support the Monkey! Tell All your Friends and Teachers
AND THIS IS NOT ELF LAND: WHAT GOLD
WILL NOT BUY
When Carrie got back on the stage, she found that over night her
dressing-room had been changed.
"You are to use this room, Miss Madenda," said one of the stage
No longer any need of climbing several flights of steps to a small
coop shared with another. Instead, a comparatively large and
commodious chamber with conveniences not enjoyed by the small
fry overhead. She breathed deeply and with delight. Her
sensations were more physical than mental. In fact, she was
scarcely thinking at all. Heart and body were having their say.
Gradually the deference and congratulation gave her a mental
appreciation of her state. She was no longer ordered, but
requested, and that politely. The other members of the cast looked
at her enviously as she came out arrayed in her simple habit,
which she wore all through the play. All those who had
supposedly been her equals and superiors now smiled the smile of
sociability, as much as to say: "How friendly we have always
been." Only the star comedian whose part had been so deeply
injured stalked by himself. Figuratively, he could not kiss the
hand that smote him.
Doing her simple part, Carrie gradually realised the meaning of
the applause which was for her, and it was sweet. She felt mildly
guilty of something-perhaps unworthiness. When her associates
addressed her in the wings she only smiled weakly. The pride and
daring of place were not for her. It never once crossed her mind to
be reserved or haughty-to be other than she had been. After the
performances she rode to her room with Lola, in a carriage
Then came a week in which the first fruits of success were offered
to her lips-bowl after bowl. It did not matter that her splendid
salary had not begun. The world seemed satisfied with the
promise. She began to get letters and cards. A Mr. Withers-whom
she did not know from Adam-having learned by some hook or
crook where she resided, bowed himself politely in.
"You will excuse me for intruding," he said; "but have you been
thinking of changing your apartments?"
"I hadnít thought of it," returned Carrie.
"Well, I am connected with the Wellington-the new hotel on
Broadway. You have probably seen notices of it in the papers."
Carrie recognised the name as standing for one of the newest and
most imposing hostelries. She had heard it spoken of as having a
"Just so," went on Mr. Withers, accepting her acknowledgment of
familiarity. "We have some very elegant rooms at present which
we would like to have you look at, if you have not made up your
mind where you intend to reside for the
summer. Our apartments are perfect in every detail-hot and cold
water, private baths, special hall service for every floor, elevators
and all that. You know what our restaurant is."
Carrie looked at him quietly. She was wondering whether he took
her to be a millionaire.
"What are your rates?" she inquired.
"Well, now, that is what I came to talk with you privately about.
Our regular rates are anywhere from three to fifty dollars a day."
"Mercy!" interrupted Carrie. "I couldnít pay any such rate as
"I know how you feel about it," exclaimed Mr. Withers, halting.
"But just let me explain. I said those are our regular rates. Like
every other hotel we make special ones, however. Possibly you
have not thought about it, but your name is worth something to
"Oh!" ejaculated Carrie, seeing at a glance.
"Of course. Every hotel depends upon the repute of its patrons. A
well-known actress like yourself," and he bowed politely, while
Carrie flushed, "draws attention to the hotel, and-although you
may not believe it-patrons."
"Oh, yes," returned Carrie, vacantly, trying to arrange this curious
proposition in her mind.