Then he called to a young woman who was already of the company: 

“Miss Clark, you pair with Miss Madenda.”

This young lady stepped forward, so that Carrie saw where to go, and the rehearsal began.

Carrie soon found that while this drilling had some slight resemblance to the rehearsals as conducted at Avery Hall, the attitude of the manager was much more pronounced.  She had marveled at the insistence and superior airs of Mr. Millice, but the individual conducting here had the same insistence, coupled with almost brutal roughness.  As the drilling proceeded, he seemed to wax exceedingly wroth over trifles, and to increase his lung power in proportion.  It was very evident that he had a great contempt for any assumption of dignity or innocence on the part of these young women.

“Clark,” he would call—­meaning, of course, Miss Clark—­“why don’t you catch step there?”

“By fours, right!  Right, I said, right!  For heaven’s sake, get on to yourself!  Right!” and in saying this he would lift the last sounds into a vehement roar.

“Maitland!  Maitland!” he called once.

A nervous, comely-dressed little girl stepped out.  Carrie trembled for her out of the fullness of her own sympathies and fear.

“Yes, sir,” said Miss Maitland.

“Is there anything the matter with your ears?”

“No, sir.”

“Do you know what ‘column left’ means?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, what are you stumbling around the right for?  Want to break up the line?”

“I was just”

“Never mind what you were just.  Keep your ears open.”

Carrie pitied, and trembled for her turn.

Yet another suffered the pain of personal rebuke.

“Hold on a minute,” cried the manager, throwing up his hands, as if in despair.  His demeanor was fierce.

“Elvers,” he shouted, “what have you got in your mouth?”

“Nothing,” said Miss Elvers, while some smiled and stood nervously by.

“Well, are you talking?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, keep your mouth still then.  Now, all together again.”

At last Carrie’s turn came.  It was because of her extreme anxiety to do all that was required that brought on the trouble.

She heard some one called.

“Mason,” said the voice.  “Miss Mason.”

She looked around to see who it could be.  A girl behind shoved her a little, but she did not understand.

“You, you!” said the manager.  “Can’t you hear?”

“Oh,” said Carrie, collapsing, and blushing fiercely.

“Isn’t your name Mason?” asked the manager.

“No, sir,” said Carrie, “it’s Madenda.”

“Well, what’s the matter with your feet?  Can’t you dance?”

“Yes, sir,” said Carrie, who had long since learned this art.

“Why don’t you do it then?  Don’t go shuffling along as if you were dead.  I’ve got to have people with life in them.”