The rehearsal ended for one day, and Carrie went home feeling that she had acquitted herself satisfactorily.  The words of the director were ringing in her ears, and she longed for an opportunity to tell Hurstwood.  She wanted him to know just how well she was doing.  Drouet, too, was an object for her confidences.  She could hardly wait until he should ask her, and yet she did not have the vanity to bring it up.  The drummer, however, had another line of thought to-night, and her little experience did not appeal to him as important.  He let the conversation drop, save for what she chose to recite without solicitation, and Carrie was not good at that.  He took it for granted that she was doing very well and he was relieved of further worry.  Consequently he threw Carrie into repression, which was irritating.  She felt his indifference keenly and longed to see Hurstwood.  It was as if he were now the only friend she had on earth.  The next morning Drouet was interested again, but the damage had been done.

She got a pretty letter from the manager, saying that by the time she got it he would be waiting for her in the park.  When she came, he shone upon her as the morning sun.

“Well, my dear,” he asked, “how did you come out?”

“Well enough,” she said, still somewhat reduced after Drouet.

“Now, tell me just what you did.  Was it pleasant?”

Carrie related the incidents of the rehearsal, warming up as she proceeded.

“Well, that’s delightful,” said Hurstwood.  “I’m so glad.  I must get over there to see you.  When is the next rehearsal?”

“Tuesday,” said Carrie, “but they don’t allow visitors.”

“I imagine I could get in,” said Hurstwood significantly.

She was completely restored and delighted by his consideration, but she made him promise not to come around.

“Now, you must do your best to please me,” he said encouragingly.  “Just remember that I want you to succeed.  We will make the performance worth while.  You do that now.”

“I’ll try,” said Carrie, brimming with affection and enthusiasm.

“That’s the girl,” said Hurstwood fondly.  “Now, remember,” shaking an affectionate finger at her, “your best.”

“I will,” she answered, looking back.

The whole earth was brimming sunshine that morning.  She tripped along, the clear sky pouring liquid blue into her soul.  Oh, blessed are the children of endeavor in this, that they try and are hopeful.  And blessed also are they who, knowing, smile and approve.

Chapter XVIII JUST OVER THE BORDER—­A HAIL AND FAREWELL

By the evening of the 16th the subtle hand of Hurstwood had made itself apparent.  He had given the word among his friends—­and they were many and influential—­that here was something which they ought to attend, and, as a consequence, the sale of tickets by Mr. Quincel, acting for the lodge, had been large.  Small four-line notes had appeared in all of the daily newspapers.  These he had arranged for by the aid of one of his newspaper friends on the “Times,” Mr. Harry McGarren, the managing editor.