The Weber Literary Journal First Night Ivan Jones DON'T know how the others felt. I was tensed, keyed to the highest pitch. The air seemed charged, and an intangible excitement prevailed. Would it "come off" all right, I prayed? Would we forget our lines, our business, our props? Already we were fifteen minutes late, and the stage was a confusion of furniture, rags, grease-paints, and flustered people. The manager came up. "There's a full house," he said. "How long before you can start?" "Five minutes." More bustle, more hurry, more noise. "Here, brush the powder off my coat; look at my eyes: Where's that red liner? Darn it, I've got grease paint on my pants: Come back with that powder! Be quiet; they can hear you: Are my lips on straight?" Above the pandemonium rose a commanding voice: "Clear the stage, quick. A rush, a flurry, a scuffle, and everybody was in the wings along with various props, greasepaints, and other trash. The stage was in order; a hush lay over all. Applause; a glare of footlights; a sound of weeping; then, "Mrs. Montgomery, mum," and the premier performance of "Safety First" was on. I wasn't really frightened, I just felt queer; there was a strange hollowness in my stomach; my arms and legs quivered; I couldn't be still. From one side of the "back stage" to the other I trotted; I peeped at the performers before the footlights. I sat; I stood. I went into the dressing room and gave my moustache a twist; it got into my mouth. Tenderly I patted it back into place, fixed my careful marcel, wiped my nose, and went out again. "Aren't they doing swell?" I murmured joyfully to Rulon. "They sure are; listen to Marg," he returned as Marguerite improvised lines in a tight place. I shivered, grinned gleefully, and hurried over to the other side of the stage. Screams from the audience. The Turk was chasing Elmer with a knife. Excitement; and then my cue to smash the bottles. The Turk was kicked from the stage, and I raised up a bottle and crashed it down on the others with all my might. There was a splintering of glass, and pieces of the broken stuff flew all over the stage. "What the 8 The Weber Literary Jaurnal devil," exclaimed Henry, "Can't you break bottles without scattering the glass all over?" I meekly pushed the box of broken glass back against the wall. Then came my cue to go out onto the stage: "Come on, it's all right." Slowly I stuck in my head and dragged the rest of me through the window into the glare of lights and the gaze of two hundred people. I trembled so much that I scould carcely keep the woeful expression on my face. My voice ran up and down the scale with fright; but luckily my part called for a weak and shivery voice just then. I stretched down my mouth, screwed up my face, mopped at my brow with a handkerchief and endeavored to make myself look as doleful as possible; yet all the while I shook. Henry and I were alone on the stage; I had an imaginary tear in my trousers, and he helpfully tried to pin it, but stuck the pin in me instead. I screamed and kicked him. When I kicked he should have been knocked over, but he wasn't, for I kicked too hard, and it was I who went over backward. Henry couldn't help laughing, but I blushed clear through my greasepaint. However, he helped me extricate myself from the chair and the telephone in which I had become so clumsily entangled when I fell, and we went on with the scene. The next break came a few moments later, when I looked out the set window and saw a detective coming. "It's a detective!" I shrieked I felt my garter come undone. I was in a cold sweat; but, skipping a line, I rushed to the table, pulled Henry from under it, and crawled under it myself. During the time I was under there, I kept tugging at the garter, but to no avail. Then the detective dragged me forth, and in the ensuing conversation, my garter stayed up pretty well. However, just as Henry left the stage, I felt something drop. It was my garter, lying innocently there at my feet. I never moved for a speech or two; and then, seizing an opportunity where the part called for me to get a raincoat from a hat rack, I grabbed the coat, dashed outside the set, knelt at the feet of the waiting feminine actors, and fastened my garter. Then I calmly ran back onto the stage and proceeded with the act. After the first act I was not so frightened, but was still uncomfortably tense. This tenseness gradually decreased as the moments passed until I was almost normal by the time I was called to the stage the second time. I felt more at home "out in front" this time, 9