The twitch in Young’s cheek that the regular stagehands said always jumped like a frog on closing days and opening days—when every stick of scenery and every stitch of costume had to be loaded onto the train the second the curtain came down—was barely pulsing.
They lit up. Warren said, “I overheard the boys saying you stand in for Barrett and Buchanan.”
“Who said that?”
“Couple of sceneshifters . . . Do you?”
“On occasion.”
“You must be one slick fencer to survive that Dream Duel.”
“So far, at least.”
“And a heck of an actor to make Mr. Hyde as evil as they do.”
Young smiled at the compliment. “Thank you, Quinn. It’s harder than dueling, I’ll tell you that.”
“Do folks in the audience ever complain?”
“No, bless them. They’ve been kind. I actually receive ovations. Often more sustained than Barrett’s or Buchanan’s.”
“Do the stars mind?”
“Green-eyed with jealousy?” asked Young, with another smile.
“For all your extra applause.”
“They’re too grateful for the chance to pull a disappearing act. And of course they’re not in the theater when I receive my applause. At least not the one I’m standing in for that night.”
“Where do they go on their disappearing acts?”
Henry Young shrugged. “Who knows. Mr. Barrett is probably off writing. He constantly tinkers with scripts.”
“Buchanan a writer, too?”
“Not that I’m aware of— What’s the time? I must go. Thanks for the smoke.”
“Anytime, Mr. Young. Say, what’s the news? Are we closing?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
Harry Warren reported to Isaac Bell in the privacy of a windblown platform between two cars. They were into Colorado now, and Bell could feel the engine begin to strain on the light but constant grade that presaged the Rocky Mountains.
“My gut said don’t push him any further. What do you think?”
“You nailed his leverage. Barrett and Buchanan are willing to overlook Young’s past because they can count on him to stand in for their ‘disappearing acts.’ How long do they disappear?”
“The news backstage is, Mr. Young fills in for one or two nights in a row.”
“How often?”
“Not often. Couple of times a month.”
“Mr. Buchanan probably disappears with his rich girlfriends. Where do you suppose Barrett goes to write?”
“I’ll ask around. Somebody’ll know.”
“What do you think about Mr. Young?” Bell asked.