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AMARILLY OF CLOTHES-LINE ALLEY

BY BELLE K. MANIATES

AUTHOR OF DAVID DUNNE.

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY J. HENRY

1915



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


He was gazing into her intent eyes with a look of adoration

"You may all," she directed, "look at Amarilly's work"

To-night he found himself less able than usual to cope with her caprices

"Be nice to Mr. St. John!" whispered the little peacemaker



[Illustration: He was gazing into her intent eyes with a look of
adoration]



AMARILLY OF CLOTHES-LINE ALLEY



CHAPTER I


The tiny, trivial touch of Destiny that caused the turn in Amarilly's
fate-tide came one morning when, in her capacity as assistant to the
scrub ladies at the Barlow Stock Theatre, she viewed for the first time
the dress rehearsal of _A Terrible Trial_. Heretofore the patient little
plodder had found in her occupation only the sordid satisfaction of
drawing her wages, but now the resplendent costumes, the tragedy in the
gestures of the villain, the languid grace of Lord Algernon, and the
haughty treble of the leading lady struck the spark that fired ambition
in her sluggish breast.

"Oh!" she gasped in wistful-voiced soliloquy, as she leaned against her
mop-stick and gazed aspiringly at the stage, "I wonder if I couldn't
rise!"

"Sure thing, you kin!" derisively assured Pete Noyes, vender of gum at
matinees. "I'll speak to de maniger. Mebby he'll let youse scrub de
galleries."

Amarilly, case-hardened against raillery by reason of the possession of
a multitude of young brothers, paid no heed to the bantering scoffer,
but resumed her work in dogged dejection.

"Say, Mr. Vedder, Amarilly's stage-struck!" called Pete to the ticket-
seller, who chanced to be passing.

The gray eyes of the young man thus addressed softened as he looked at
the small, eager face of the youngest scrubber.

"Stop at the office on your way out, Amarilly," he said kindly, "and
I'll give you a pass to the matinee this afternoon."

Amarilly's young heart fluttered wildly and sent a wave of pink into her
pale cheeks as she voiced her gratitude.

She was the first to enter when the doors opened that afternoon, and she
kept close to the heels of the usher.

"He ain't agoin' to give me the slip," she thought, keeping wary watch
of his lithe form as he slid down the aisle.

In the blaze of light and blare of instruments she scarcely recognized
her workaday environment.

"House sold out!" she muttered with professional pride and enthusiasm as
the signal for the raising of the curtain was given. "Mebby I'd orter
give up my seat so as they could sell it."

There was a moment's conflict between the little scrubber's conscience
and her newly awakened desires.

"I ain't agoin' to, though," she decided. And having so determined, she
gave her conscience a shove to the remotest background, yielding herself
to the full enjoyment of the play.

The rehearsal had been inspiring and awakening, but this, "the real
thing," as Amarilly appraised it, bore her into a land of enchantment.
She was blind and deaf to everything except the scenes enacted on the
stage. Only once was her passionate attention distracted, and that was
when Pete in passing gave her an emphatic nudge and a friendly grin as
he munificently bestowed upon her a package of gum. This she instantly
pocketed "fer the chillern."

At the close of the performance Amarilly sailed home on waves of
excitement. She was the eldest of the House of Jenkins, whose scions,
numbering eight, were all wage-earners save Iry, the baby. After school
hours Flamingus was a district messenger, Gus milked the grocer's cow,
Milton worked in a shoe-shining establishment, Bobby and Bud had paper
routes, while Cory, commonly called "Co," wiped dishes at a boarding-
house. Notwithstanding all these contributions to the family revenue, it
became a sore struggle for the widow of Americanus Jenkins to feed and
clothe such a numerous brood, so she sought further means of
maintenance.

"I've took a boarder!" she announced solemnly to Amarilly on her return
from the theatre. "He's a switchman and I'm agoin' to fix up the attic
fer him. I don't jest see how we air agoin' to manage about feedin' him.
Thar's no room to the table now, and thar ain't dishes enough to go
around, but you're so contrivin' like, I