They rode on windy "dummies" out to the beach, and
went scattering peanut shells along the wet sands. They visited the
Park, the Mint, and the big baths, or crossed to Oakland or Sausalito,
where Martie learned to swim. Martie found Wallace tireless in his
appetite for excursions, and committed herself cheerfully to his
guidance. Catching a train, they rejoiced; missing it, they were none
the less happy.

Twice a week a matinee performance brought Wallace to the Granada
Theatre at one o'clock. On other days, rehearsals began at eleven and
ended at three or occasionally as late as four. The theatre life
charmed Martie like a fairy tale. She never grew tired of its thrill.

It was gratifying in the first place to enter the door marked "Stage"
with a supplementary legend, NO ADMITTANCE, and pass the old doorkeeper
who knew and liked her. The dark passages beyond, smelling of escaping
gas and damp straw, of unaired rooms and plumbing and fresh paint, were
perfumed with romance to her, as were the little dressing rooms with
old photographs stuck in the loosened wallpaper and dim initials
scratched on the bare walls, and odd wigs and scarfs and paint jars
littering the shelves. Wallace making up his face was an exalted being
in the eyes of his wife.

When the play began, she took her station in the wings--silent,
unobtrusive, eager to keep out of everybody's way, eager not to miss a
word of the play. The man over her head, busy with his lights; the one
or two shirt-sleeved, elderly men who invariably stood dispassionately
watching the performance; the stage-hands; the various members of the
cast: for all these she had a smile, and their answering smiles were
Martie's delight.

"Take off ten pounds, Martie, and Bellew will give you a show some
time!" said Maybelle La Rue, who was Mabel Cluett in private life.
Martie gasped at the mere thought. She determined to diet.

A few months before, she had supposed that social intercourse was a
large factor in the actor's life, that midnight suppers were shared by
the cast, and that intimacy of an unconventional if harmless nature
reigned among them. Now, with some surprise, she learned that this was
not the case. The actors, leaving the play at different moments,
quietly got into their street clothes and disappeared; so that Mabel
and Wallace, usually holding the stage for the last few moments by
reason of their respective parts of maid and lover, often left a
theatre empty of p