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But you know the rest. And so did Bob Hart; but he saw
somebody else. he thought he saw that Cherry was the only
professional on the short order stage that he had seen who seemed
exactly to fit the part of "Helen Grimes" in the sketch he had
written and kept tucked away in the tray of his trunk. Of course
Bob Hart, as well as every other normal actor, grocer, newspaper
man, professor, curb broker, and farmer, has a play tucked away
somewhere. They tuck 'em in trays of trunks, trunks of trees,
desks, haymows, pigeonholes, inside pockets, safe-deposit vaults,
handboxes, and coal cellars, waiting for Mr. Frohman to call.
They belong among the fifty-seven different kinds.
But Bob Hart's sketch was not destined to end in a pickle jar. He
called it "Mice Will Play." He had kept it quiet and hidden away
ever since he wrote it, waiting to find a partner who fitted his
conception of "Helen Grimes." And here was "Helen" herself,
with all the innocent abandon, the youth, the sprightliness, and the
flawless stage art that his critical taste demanded.
After the act was over Hart found the manager in the box office,
and got Cherry's address. At five the next afternoon he called at
the musty old house in the West Forties and sent up his
professional card.
By daylight, in a secular shirtwaist and plain voile skirt, with
her hair curbed and her Sister of Charity eyes, Winona Cherry
might have been playing the part of Prudence Wise, the deacon's
daughter, in the great (unwritten) New England drama not yet
entitled anything.
"I know your act, Mr. Hart," she said after she had looked over his
card carefully. "What did you wish to see me about?"
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