That she was right in her opinion of the play Carol was certain when Miles Bjornstam went out after the first act, and did not come back.

VI

Between the second and third acts she called the company together, and supplicated, “I want to know something, before we have a chance to separate.  Whether we’re doing well or badly tonight, it is a beginning.  But will we take it as merely a beginning?  How many of you will pledge yourselves to start in with me, right away, tomorrow, and plan for another play, to be given in September?”

They stared at her; they nodded at Juanita’s protest:  “I think one’s enough for a while.  It’s going elegant tonight, but another play——­Seems to me it’ll be time enough to talk about that next fall.  Carol!  I hope you don’t mean to hint and suggest we’re not doing fine tonight?  I’m sure the applause shows the audience think it’s just dandy!”

Then Carol knew how completely she had failed.

As the audience seeped out she heard B. J. Gougerling the banker say to Howland the grocer, “Well, I think the folks did splendid; just as good as professionals.  But I don’t care much for these plays.  What I like is a good movie, with auto accidents and hold-ups, and some git to it, and not all this talky-talk.”

Then Carol knew how certain she was to fail again.

She wearily did not blame them, company nor audience.  Herself she blamed for trying to carve intaglios in good wholesome jack-pine.

“It’s the worst defeat of all.  I’m beaten.  By Main Street.  ’I must go on.’  But I can’t!”

She was not vastly encouraged by the Gopher Prairie Dauntless: 

. . . would be impossible to distinguish among the actors when all gave such fine account of themselves in difficult roles of this well-known New York stage play.  Guy Pollock as the old millionaire could not have been bettered for his fine impersonation of the gruff old millionaire; Mrs. Harry Haydock as the young lady from the West who so easily showed the New York four-flushers where they got off was a vision of loveliness and with fine stage presence.  Miss Vida Sherwin the ever popular teacher in our high school pleased as Mrs. Grimm, Dr. Gould was well suited in the role of young lover—­girls you better look out, remember the doc is a bachelor.  The local Four Hundred also report that he is a great hand at shaking the light fantastic tootsies in the dance.  As the stenographer Rita Simons was pretty as a picture, and Miss Ella Stowbody’s long and intensive study of the drama and kindred arts in Eastern schools was seen in the fine finish of her part.

. . . to no one is greater credit to be given than to Mrs. Will Kennicott on whose capable shoulders fell the burden of directing.

“So kindly,” Carol mused, “so well meant, so neighborly—­and so confoundedly untrue.  Is it really my failure, or theirs?”