she simply
_could_ not study the part in time--"No--no! she co--co--could not, so
now!"

There, then, was Blanche's chance. The part was sentimental, tearful, and
declamatory at the last, a good part--indeed, what is vulgarly known
to-day as a "fat" part, "fat" meaning lines sure to provoke applause.

Mrs. Bradshaw, who was herself ever ready to oblige her manager, could
not serve him in this instance, as the part was that of a very young
heroine, but she gladly offered her daughter's services in the emergency.
So sending for her to come to the theatre, the mother awaited her
arrival. She was very ambitious for Blanche, who had absolutely no
ambition for herself, outside of music, and here was the double
opportunity of playing a leading part, next to the star, and of obliging
the manager just at the time when contracts for the next season were in
order of consideration. No girl could help grasping at it eagerly, and
while Blanche studied the part, she, the mother, would baste up some
breadths of satin she had by her into a court dress. As she thus happily
planned it all Blanche sauntered in to inform her mother and her manager
that she would not do the part. _Would_ not, mind you; she did not
condescend to claim she _could_ not. Poor Mrs. Bradshaw drew her heavy
veil over her face with a shaking hand and moved silently away, only
waiting to reach the friendly privacy of her own room before yielding to
the tears caused by this cruel indifference to her wishes and to their
mutual welfare.

Mr. Ellsler then tried, in vain, to induce Blanche to undertake the part.
He tried to bribe her, promising certain gifts. He tried to arouse her
pride--he absolutely commanded her to take the part.

"Oh, very well, if you like," she answered, "but I'll spoil the play if I
do, you know!" And indeed he did "know" what she was capable of in the
line of mischief; and, knowing, gave her up in angry despair. There was
then but one chance left for the production of the play, to give the part
to one of the ballet-girls.

And Mr. Ellsler, who felt a strong friendship for the brave,
hard-working, much-enduring Miss St. Clair and her devoted if eccentric
husband, said, gently: "I'm sorry, Sallie, but it's no fault of mine; you
know I can't give memories to these two women, who say they can't study
the part. The girl I want to offer it to now will speak the words
perfectly to the last letter, and that's all we can expect of her, but
that's be