After the first rush of fright, however, the players got over the danger of collapse.  They rambled weakly forward, losing nearly all the expression which was intended, and making the thing dull in the extreme, when Carrie came in.

One glance at her, and both Hurstwood and Drouet saw plainly that she also was weak-kneed.  She came faintly across the stage, saying: 

“And you, sir; we have been looking for you since eight o’clock,” but with so little color and in such a feeble voice that it was positively painful.

“She’s frightened,” whispered Drouet to Hurstwood.

The manager made no answer.

She had a line presently which was supposed to be funny.

“Well, that’s as much as to say that I’m a sort of life pill.”

It came out so flat, however, that it was a deathly thing.  Drouet fidgeted.  Hurstwood moved his toe the least bit.

There was another place in which Laura was to rise and, with a sense of impending disaster, say, sadly: 

“I wish you hadn’t said that, Pearl.  You know the old proverb, ’Call a maid by a married name.’”

The lack of feeling in the thing was ridiculous.  Carrie did not get it at all.  She seemed to be talking in her sleep.  It looked as if she were certain to be a wretched failure.  She was more hopeless than Mrs. Morgan, who had recovered somewhat, and was now saying her lines clearly at least.  Drouet looked away from the stage at the audience.  The latter held out silently, hoping for a general change, of course.  Hurstwood fixed his eye on Carrie, as if to hypnotize her into doing better.  He was pouring determination of his own in her direction.  He felt sorry for her.

In a few more minutes it fell to her to read the letter sent in by the strange villain.  The audience had been slightly diverted by a conversation between the professional actor and a character called Snorky, impersonated by a short little American, who really developed some humor as a half-crazed, one-armed soldier, turned messenger for a living.  He bawled his lines out with such defiance that, while they really did not partake of the humor intended, they were funny.  Now he was off, however, and it was back to pathos, with Carrie as the chief figure.  She did not recover.  She wandered through the whole scene between herself and the intruding villain, straining the patience of the audience, and finally exiting, much to their relief.

“She’s too nervous,” said Drouet, feeling in the mildness of the remark that he was lying for once.

“Better go back and say a word to her.”

Drouet was glad to do anything for relief.  He fairly hustled around to the side entrance, and was let in by the friendly doorkeeper.  Carrie was standing in the wings, weakly waiting her next cue, all the snap and nerve gone out of her.

“Say, Cad,” he said, looking at her, “you mustn’t be nervous.  Wake up.  Those guys out there don’t amount to anything.  What are you afraid of?”