The manager who was putting on the summer skit at the Casino had never heard of Carrie, but the several notices she had received, her published picture, and the programme bearing her name had some little weight with him. He gave her a silent part at thirty dollars a week.

Now, because Carrie was pretty, the gentleman who made up the advance illustrations of shows about to appear for the Sunday papers selected Carrie's photo along with others to illustrate the announcement. Because she was pretty, they gave it excellent space and drew scrolls about it. Carrie was delighted. Still, the management did not seem to have seen anything of it. At least, no more attention was paid to her than before. At the same time there seemed very little in her part. It consisted in standing around in all sorts of scenes, a silent little Quakeress. The author of the skit had fancied that a great deal could be made of such a part, given to the right actress, but now, since it had been doled out to Carrie, he would as leave have had it cut out.

Carrie had no warning of his intention. She practiced her part ruefully, feeling that she was effectually shelved. At the dress rehearsal she was disconsolate.
"That isn't so bad," said the author, the manager noting the effect which Carrie's blues had upon the part. "Tell her to frown a little more when Sparks dances."
Carrie did not know it, but there was the least show of wrinkle between her eyes.
"Frown a little more, Miss Madenda," said the stage manager. Carrie instantly brightened up, thinking that he had meant it as a rebuke.
"No, frown," he said. "Frown as you did before."
Carrie looked at him in astonishment.
"I mean it," he said. "Frown hard when Mr. Sparks dances. I want to see how it looks."
It was easy enough to do. Carrie scowled. The effect was something so quaint and droll it caught even the manager.
"That is good," he said. "If she'll do that all through, I think it will take."
On the opening night it looked to Carrie as if there were nothing to her part, after all. The audience did not seem to see her in the first act. She frowned and frowned, but to no effect.
In the second act, the crowd, wearied by a dull conversation sighted her. There she was, grey-suited, sweet-faced, demure but scowling. At first the general idea was that she was temporarily irritated, that the look was genuine and not fun at all. As she went on frowning, looking now at one principal and now at the other, the audience began to smile.
At last, the chief comedian, singing in the centre of the stage, noticed a giggle where it was not expected. Then an-other and another. When the place came for loud applause it was only moderate. What could be the trouble? He realized that something was up.

All at once, after an exit, he caught sight of Carrie. She was frowning alone on the stage and the audience was giggling and laughing.
"By George, I won't stand that!" thought the comedian. "I'm not going to have my work cut up by someone else. Either she quits that when I do my turn or I quit."
"Why, that's all right," said the manager. "That's what she's supposed to do. You needn't pay any attention to that."
"But she ruins my work."
"No, she don't," returned the former, soothingly. "It's only a little fun on the side."
"It is, eh?" exclaimed the big comedian. "She killed my hand all right. I'm not going to stand that."
"Well, wait until after the show. Wait until tomorrow. We'll see what we can do."
The next act, however, settled what was to be done. Carrie was the chief feature of the play. The audience, the more it studied her, the more it indicated its delight. Every other feature paled beside the quaint, teasing, delightful atmosphere which Carrie contributed while on the stage. Manager and company realized she had made a hit.
The critics of the daily papers completed her triumph. There were long notices in praise of the quality of the burlesque, touched with recurrent references to Carrie. The contagious mirth of the thing was repeatedly emphasized.

"Miss Madenda presents one of the most delightful bits of character acting ever seen on the Casino stage," observed the critic of the Sun. "It is a bit of quiet, unassuming drollery which warms like good wine. Evidently the part was not intended to take precedence, as Miss Madenda is not often on the stage, but the audience selected for itself. The little Quakeress was marked for a favourite the moment she appeared, and thereafter easily held attention and applause. The vagaries of fortune are indeed curious."
The critic of the Evening World wound up by advising: "If you wish to be merry, see Carrie frown."

(Abridged from Sister Carrie, by Th. Dreiser)

Quaker — member of a religious sect noted for their severe morals
to dole out — to give out; to distribute in small portions (often unwillingly); cf. the dole = the weekly payment given to an unemployed worker in Great Britain
he would as leave have had it cut out — he would just as willingly have omitted it to be shelved — to shelve — to put off employing; cf.
to shelve a question — to put off considering a question
blues pl. — low spirits; depressed, unhappy feeling; cf. I don't know why, but I had the blues all day.
scowl — look in a frowning, bad-tempered way
quaint — attractive and pleasing because of its unfamiliar, odd or old-fashioned appearance; eccentric, peculiar
droll — amusing in a quaint way
I think it will take — I think it will gain public favour cf. the play did not take = did not become popular
something was up — something was wrong
to cut up (col.) — to ruin
she don't (incorrect)— she doesn't
she killed my hand — she ruined my part
burlesque — mock seriousness
to take precedence — to go before in importance, e. g. Public interests take precedence over private.
thereafter adv. — (lit.) after that, afterwards
vagary — a whim, a capricious or extravagant idea or act