But now--he was reading it for the first time to this little audience of chosen people, “trying it out on them,” as the phrase ran in his own mind. He had no possible doubt of its reception. His own judgment, trained to pass upon his own performance with as critical a sureness as upon that of any other man, told him that he had done a remarkable piece of work. To him it was ancient history that when he could write as he had written now, with neither let nor hindrance to the full use of his powers, it followed as the night the day that his editors would put down the sheets with that grim smile with which they were wont to accept the best a man could do, nod at him, possibly say: “Great stuff, Ray,”--and brag about it afterward where he could not hear.
To-night, when he laid down the last sheet and got up to stroll over to a shadowy corner and get rid of his own overwrought emotion as best he might, he understood that the silence which succeeded the reading was his listeners’ first and deepest tribute to his art. His climax had been tremendous, led up to by every least word and indicated action that had gone before, the finished product of a nearly perfect craftsmanship. Small wonder that for a long minute nobody found voice to express the moved and shaken condition in which each found himself.
But when it did come, there was nothing wanting. If they were glad beyond measure, these people, that they could honestly approve the work of this brother of Jane’s, this was but a small part of the feeling which now had its strong hold upon them. Wonder, delight, eagerness to see the little drama glow like a jewel upon the stage--these were what brought words to the tongue at length. And then--plans!
“We can’t get it on too quick,” was Red’s instant decision. “It must be done here first, and then turned loose on the circuit. We can handle it. Nan Lockhart can help you get it up, Cary--and take the part of the Englishwoman, too. Of course Miss Fitch must do the French actress--she’s cut out for that. I’m inclined to think my wife would make the best Belgian mother. Tom can be the wounded young poilu, and you, Ray--will be the French officer to the life. As for the rest--we have plenty of decidedly clever young actors who will be equal to the minor parts.”