PN Published fl' ^" , % 'fec3 EVANS Si KELLY. ft*19Ro$eSt. Price— 10 Cents. "TOO THIN;" —OR- KELETON SARA HER "REALISTIC" LIFE — AND — ADVENTURES IN AMERICA. BY ISAAC G. REED, Jr., itholr of " Ye Russian Ball," " The Prince's Visit," " Erring Yet Noble," etc. {RIGHTS OP DRAMATIZATION RESERVED,) HEW YORK : EVANS & KELLY, Publishers, 17 and 19 Rose Street. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year »88o, by EVANS, KELLY &. REED, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. Q Rights of Dramatization Reserved. a3 Preface. ROOM— 329— HOTEL de SMITH 6* McNEILL, (European Plan), Opposite Washington Market, New York, October, 1880. Official-extra — "extra dry." TO THE AUTHOR AND PUBLISHERS OF * TOO THIN; or SKELETON SARA :" Messieurs : By ze aid of Webster f s Unabridged I have read ze proof-sheets of votre book. It is ze only life of me which, to use ze words of my loving friend, ze great Henry Ward Tilton, or Theodore Beecher, of ze Brooklyn Bridge, or ze Plymouth Rock (I am getting a " leetle mixed'* — not in my drinks, but in my dialect — but you comprenez what I mean,) shows ze " true inwardness " of my life, and does justice to ze great motif of my career — ze spilling of as much print- ers ink as possible over myself — I think " Too Thin" perfectly char- want, and I would like to (viskey) punch its author's head. Ze Melican man very funny. Please do not forget to send me one ropy of ze very first edition. I will send you ze ten cents as soon as T make another, what you call, "raid" on my New York manager* 4t ze present, what with my dear leetle poodles, my lazy maids, my c atherless children* and my good for nothing agents, I am as you vould say, " dead-broke." But I kiss votre hands — or will kiss zem vhen I see you — and will remain, yours truly, as long as there is kin on the bones of SARA. "TOO THIN," OR SKELETON SARA. SARA. AS A CHILD. Sara was born— and born in the usual way. These two st plebian facts have never been denied, we believe, up to ;e, even by Sara herself. True, a story has been started that, i Topsy, she " had never been born, but growed" — that her ther had been an electric light and her father the tail of a let. But this canard, proving like herself, "too thin," it was pr dently withdrawn from circulation and vehemently denied most of all by Sara, who merely hinted that some disguised mys- terious Due or Marquis was " the author of her being." Whereas n reality her father and her mother belonged to what she would herself designate as the " canaille" or common people. But though ordinary in her birth and parentage she was eer" in every other particular. She was an " odd" baby, er did what was done by other babies. Never kicked, rmed, squalled, or sucked her fingers — not from any desire to be better or more obliging than other babies, but simply from an innate desire and determination to be different. As a little rl she did just the opposite of other little girls — wore her cheap- iirtiest dresses on a Sunday or fete day, her very best frock in the very worst weather, and never said her prayers at all. As for her dolls, she made herself the talk of all the children in the neighborhood by breaking their heads and limbs, and as a prize H giit er would say, "knockhV the stufrin' out of 'em," not from 11-will toward the dolls, but simply and solely because she hat all *' the common children" loved their dolls and petted " TOO THIN j" or SKELETON SARA. For the same reason, too, as all other children liked molasses syrups she pretended to dislike them, and took a violent fancy to swallowing vinegar — a whim which she indulged to such an ex- tent as to lay the foundation of what is to-day one of her strong- est, thickest points, viz., her "thinness." When thirteen years old she " ran away " from her parents, in company with another girl. Her companion " ran away " in earnest, but Sara only " made believe," left word behind her as to her whereabouts, was caught, brought back, and was more talked about than ever. Her folks then sent her to a House of Refuge, where she received the rudiments of a thoroughly "prac- tical education. SARA AS A DRESSMAKER. Reaching maturity Sara tried her hand at dressmaking ; but to tell the truth she was a very poor modiste, and for a while she , had nobody to try her dresses on but herself, and the result was not encouraging. But one day she commenced to advertise — and from that time, although her dresses were no better, her cus- tomers were. This gave her her first " point" or " kink" on advertising. Then she began to feel that she would prefer being a dress- maker's model or puppet — on the stage — to being a mere dress- maker off of it ; that she would rather be an actress than a modiste ; and naturally enough the idea suggested itself that printer's ink might avail her even more on the stage than in the store. SARA AS AN ACTRESS. " I think I am talented," reasoned Sara, " I know I am odd ; my oddities- are of no earthly use to me as a dressmaker, but I I can make them invaluable to me as an actress. I am a woman, too ; not much of a one, it is true, merely the skin and bones of one, but still, not a man. I can turn my oddities and my sex into advertisements and newspaper paragraphs. These are certainties and I can take my chances on my talents ; I shall carry adver- tising to its highest or lowest point ; I shall make an advertising " TOO THIN T or SKELETON SARA. dodge of myself— an incarnate advertisement — or a skeleton of one" — and she kept her word. She became an actress — and her whole stage drilling lay in being talked about. She gave one day to Art and the rest of the week to Advertisement. SARA IN HER STUDIO. She hired a studio and announced that she was a sculptor. This gave her a double claim upon the notice of the press. Her notoriety as an actress would lead the public to see her in the studio — her notoriety as a sculptor would send the public to see her on the stage. It was a double-barreled advertisement. She bought for a mere song a few old works of art that had been lying around the junk shops of Paris ; then she hired a Bo- hemian artist, for a limited salary and unlimited beer to re-touch these works, and also engaged him to model a few casts himself. This arrangement worked admirably, and gave her no end of gush and notoriety, till one day Sara, who had a temper of her own, became enraged at the poor devil of an artist because he had par- taken of more beer than usual, and terminated an interview with him by throwing one of her (his) or his (her) choicest works of art at his head, and then trying to brain the poor Bohemian with his own mallet. SARA IN HER PAINT SHOP. Having thus abandoned sculpture, or rather her sculptor laving thus abandoned her, Sarah cultivated the kindred art of )ainting. She did not hire an artist, however — she really be- came a colorist herself. With time and care she might have pro- gressed so far as to earn days wages as a "house or sign painter," >ut considered in a critical light she was not a success. Her >icture of a horse drinking at a stream possessed the merit of a aysterious and "suggestive" obscurity; the horse might have »een an elephant or a lion, and the water might have been dry and — but regarded as a work of art it was more, much more, work" than "art," and Sara wisely determined to abandon tainting — save in one line — self-decoration. " At least I can " TOO THIN " or ^j^jL^^jL^^y SAjLz. paint myself," she said — and she has kept on painting herself till this day. SARA IN HER COFFIN. Finding in the course of time that clay and canvas were losing their hold upon the public, Sara prudently resolved to attempt something new and startling. Passing an undertakers' shop one afternoon the bold and original idea occurred to her that a coffin might be utilized as an advertisement. She forthwith stepped into the shop and bought a coffin. Then, by an arrangement with the undertaker, she was wrap- ped in her shroud (what there was of her to wrap), candles and lights were disposed around the casket, and "her friends and re- latives were respectfully invited to attend the funeral" — or at least to view Sara in her shroud — more shroud than Sara. This coffin advertisement proved, as it deserved to be, a " dead" failure. Sara had never been lovely as a creature — as a corpse she was hideous. The sight of her gave a leading jour- nalist a fit of dyspepsia, for which he never forgave her. In fact, the dead Sara was so horrible that her visitors rushed pell--mell from her — and the living Sara was obliged finally to get out of her casket by herself and carry away her own coffin. SARA AND THE CRITIC. These repeated rebuffs in her pursuit of notoriety " soured " Sara, and she looked around her for a victim on whom to vent her wrath. At last she found one. There was a little critic who attacked Sara in the journal to which he was attached. Among other things he said that "her hair and teeth were false. " One day the little critic was seated in his sanctum, with his "copy " and his " absinthe," when in rushed Sara. Without a word, but with a scowl containing the concen- trated malice of ten thousand old maids, she commenced to ob- scure his vision by throwing at him, one after another, a choice assortment of blonde wigs with real human hair, crying out, as each wig hit him in the eye, "Do you call that false?" Then when she had nearty blinded him, she relieved the monotony by ELETON SARA. hurling at him with all her might (and Sara, though not muscular, is bony, and bones are vigorous) one after another, sets of teeth of genuine ivory and celluloid, shouting, as each set hit him in the jaw, or elsewhere, " Do you call that false ?" The little critic was vanquished and " threw up the sponge." Glad to escape more serious consequences he " took it all back " in his next article on Sara, and now whenever he shows the slightest inclination to criticise her " on her merits" (a species of criticism which Sara most cordially detests) she simply sends him, per special messenger, a package containing a wig and a set of teeth as a warning, and the little critic sees, shudders, and subsides. SARA AND THE PRINCE. " Sara's most ingenions advertisement was her last. It was really clever — being thoroughly womanly. A Prince — not, it is true, of the blood royal, only a German Prince of the sixteenth degree— fell in love with Sara — that is to say, not with her (that was impossible) but with her notoriety^ which was very natural. Sara accepted his advances, and made an appointment to meet him in a secluded portion of a public garden. Then she sent a mysterious note, without a signature, notifying Madame la Princesse, the Prince's wife, that her husband had arranged a rendezvous with the notorious Sara, stating time and place. Of course the Prince was punctual to the appointment. So was Sara — and so was Madame la Princesse. At the proper mo- ment, just as the Prince became tender, the Princesse became furious, and rushing upon the scene from behind the tree where she had been hiding, attacked her faithless spouse in a fit of jealous agony, with her parachute, while Sara rushed through the crowd which had gathered around this highly edifying and re- freshing spectacle, muttering delightedly. " She has broken her heart — and her parasol — but / am advertised. SARA AND THE MANAGERS. She was indeed, quite as well advertised as Lea & Perrin's • 4 TOO THINf Worcestershire Sauce, Warr or Mrs. Winslow's Soothing Syrup. And to increase her e< she now commenced to make herself intensely disagreeable to other actresses and actors, and to quarrel with her manag This brought her into additional notoriety— and law suits. 1 law suits were telegraphed across the Atlantic, and of course :h< American managers became wildly anxious to engage a won who could afford to advertise herself by defying her manag Theatrical managers, like certain fish, thrive best in hot weat — and the metaphorical waters around Skeleton Sara were alw; scalding hot. Finally, after months of negotiation, having changed her mi say some three hundred times — and raised her price say soi three hundred and fifty — having kept eight lawyers and eighte agents constantly busy — having whitened the hairs and con pletely shattered the nervous systems of all parties concerned the transaction — she signed a contract with a New York man ger, who from that moment was regarded by his fellow manage with equal envy and pity — envy at his efiances of success, ai pity for his certainties of trouble. And at last, having been " interviewed" with and " corre ponded about, having been cartooned and cabled, having be< v L published and photographed, having been " done up" in poer ; and paragraphs, having made any number of demands for ad vances and additional salary, she left Europe, attended by a sui ■ of poodle dogs and reporters — several children, who, although they were not yet wise enough to know their own father, at lea ? were aware that Sara was their mother — one thousand dresses, an; one skeleton (besides herself.) SARA " HALF SEAS OVER." During the voyage across the Atlantic Sara devoted herseH in about equal proportions to deep thought — in which respec she differed from the majority of her fellow prssengers) and deep basin (in which respect she exactly resembled her fello*> passengers — all of whom were compelled to have a basin, mor< or less deep, beside them constantly. Sara's basin was just • little deeper than the rest— just as her thoughts were. " TOO THIN /' or SKELETON SARA. The subject of her reflections during her trip were naturally mough on America, and how she could best advertise herself in that great country. The result of her reflections was about as follows : " As America is the youngest of the nations, of course, like ill youngsters it likes noise. Well, then, noise it shall have — blare md brag and bray — I will give it no peace, day or night, but mail blow my horn, or have it blown, as long as there is brass jr wind remaining. And as all youngsters are passionately fond of anything " out of the way,' uncommon, I will be un- ;ommon" from the start — as " out of the way" as I possibly can :>e without being " out of my head " altogether. To make them ;hink me divine I shall pretend to be crazy — I shall advertise nyself as a genius by behaving like a lunatie. " Nuff Ced." And she returned to her basin. sara's first impressions" in America. As the steamer came nearer and nearer the dock it was loticed that Sara became more and more thoughtful — she was evidently resolving upon some grand coup (C theatre — some sen- ;ational style of entering America. She was a believer in 'first impressions," and was making up her mind to produce m impression of the most decided character from the very >eginning. For a while she paced the deck to and fro (with- >ut the basin) and scratched her head, or wig, in dire per- )lexity. At last she smiled a smile of triumph. She had olved the problem. She had hit upon the very thing she panted — a style of entering the great Republic which would onvulse it to its centre — a style of entering the great Republie fhich assuredly no woman had ever as much as dreamed bout before." All r-ight," said Sara. It was about all the Eng. ish, or American, she knew. The steamer " slowed up" majestically to the dock. Here .ara's American manager had arranged that a claque of about me hundred " artists," supers and 'longshoremen were standing all ready to applaud her wildly as she first put foot on Ame- rica. But alas, the claque were not afforded an opportunity to " TOO THIN;" or SKELETON SARA. get their " fine work" in— for Sara never put foot on America at all. No, she had thought out a trick worth a hundred of that. Uttering an exclamation — in French, English, or native Dutch — waving her bony arms, like umbrella handles, wildly above her, she gave a leap from the steamers' side, and fell as she in- tended, on her head. Up went her skirts, round went her legs, the women cried " shame," though there was nothing to be ashamed of— the men looked, but saw nothing — (or Sara's ankles — the same thing). The claque stood stupified, not know- ing exactly what was expected of them under the circumstances, while two small boys rushed across the street, one of them yell* ing "perlice !" and the other bawling out " fire !" And this was Skeleton Sara's " first appearance in America." SARA MEETS HER AMERICAN MANAGER. Having created the sensation she desired, on her head, she resumed the normal position of woman by standing on her feet and looking around her. She saw a crowd of astonished women, amused men, and grinning boys. She also saw her American manager, gazing at her in wonder mingled with awe, as if she were a two-tailed baboon, or a three-headed giraffe. At his side stood a lady, leaning on his arm, and staring at Sara with all her eyes. Not heeding the lady, Sara (determined to pursue her plan of doing everything differently from other people) instead of extending her hand to her manager and grasp- ing kis outstretched palm, as is the usual style of salutation, rushed to him and kissed him, if not lovingly at least loudly, on each cheek, terminating her welcome by encircling him with her arms, that is, enveloping him within the circumference of a cer- tain number of flesh-covered bones. The manager, not being prepared for this sensational greeting, submitted in silence, but the lady accompanying hmi was neither submissive nor silent — being his wife. Violently separating Sara's umbrella-handles from the mana- ger's neck, the lady drew the gentleman away, saying to Sara, as she did so : " TOO THIN ;" or SKELETON SARA. " That man, that gentleman, is my spouse — my husband, madam. Do you understand, madam — my husband. We have such things as husbands in this country." A piece of information especially designed for Sara's benefit. The crowd, expecting to witness a " scene," between the two women, and delighting to behold it, pressed around closely. But the manager, succeeded in pacifying the pair, and outward har- mony at least was restored. Sara was escorted to her carriage, the bright Broadway was reached, and Skeleton Sara was fairly in New York at last. WHAT SARA HAD FORGOTTEN. As the carriage passed the New York Hotel a characteristic incident occurred. Sara's pet maid, who carried her pet poodle, suddenly clasped her hands and exclaimed, " Mon Dieu ! Madam has forgotten something !" Sara was startled, looked round her, shook her head, and said simply " Non," her maid was mistaken. But the maid persisted she was not mistaken. Madame had for- gotten something. " Ma foi, what can it be zat I have forgotten," said Sara to her maid. I have all my dresses, have I not ?" " Oui, madame," answered the maid. "And all my dogs ?" "Oui, madame." " And all my reporters ?" " Oui, madame." " Then what on earth can I have forgotten ?" asked Sara in bewilderment. ) "Ah, madame's head is so full of ze great things," said the maid, "zat she cannot remember ze trifles." Ah, madame has forgotten her four little children." "Ah, true, true!" said Sara, recovering her equanamity, "I thought I had forgotten something of importance, which I could not replace. Oui, oui, I have forgotten my little darlings ; but they are safe on board the steamer somewhere ; we need not turn back for them now ; I will send for them by express when I have reached my hotel, ze very first thing." • " TOO THIN;" or SKELETON SARA. THE FIRST THING SARA DID. But she did not send for her darlings, as she promised, as as she arrived ; on the contrary, she never so much as thoug them again till after dinner. Her first thought was " grub,' first movement was in the direction of the dining room. 1 " thin" people always eat in inverse ratio to their thinness most attenuated having the most appetite — and thus it was Sara. But aware that her first bill of fare in this free country w be reported by telegraph from Maine to California — ha already caught a glimpse of several seedy-looking arrivals < note-books, whom her instinct told her were reporters, prep; to watch and record her every mouthful, she ordered not onl] extensive, but an eccentric menu, requiring the combined ta and digestions of a jackass and an anaconda. Having finished her repast, and completely cleared the ta leaving the reporters to discuss where on earth the good thi had all gone to, as they evidently hadn't gone to skin and be as Sara was as like a " skeleton " as ever, and the illustri s stranger retired to her suite of rooms (we beg pardon, ap; ments) which had been " engaged " for her — (we again beg p don, we mean " specially appropriated for her use.") SARA AT HER HOTEL. Sara's arrival caused a great commotion. The hotel v thronged with men, women and children, anxious to catch i glimpse of the great genius, or as one of the Irish porters calk I her, "the crazy actress." But their curiosity was not gratifie Sara was too smart and too stingy to exhibit herself for nothir :. She was not that kind of a hairpin. She kept herself exclusr : and remained in her rooms, which were made as dark as possil . during the day, and as brilliantly-lighted as possible during t night, simply to reverse the usual arrangement. The chambe maids and bell-boys were driven to distraction, so that bj venting their complaints in the halls they might in their humt^- way help still further to advertise Sara. She employed ,one person exclusively to translate for h " TOO THIN;" or SKELETON SARA. into French every word that was published about in the New- York papers, and she employed another poor devil to write articles and paragraphs about her for the New York papers — and this pair of unfortunates were worked like galley slaves, eighteen hours out of the twenty-four, till they gladly committed suicide together. She gave strict orders to admit into her presence at once every man who might be connected with a newspaper. She was interviewed by reporters in bed, or while dressing or undressing. She insulted a whole room full of dis- tinguished visitors, and dismissed them pell-mell in order to en- tertain one of the "greasiest" dramatic critics, whom she "oiled" before leaving. She entertained Bohemians long after midnight — in brief, to use a most expressive colloqum, " She made Rome howl," and her hotel-keeper wish that he or she had never been born. SARA AND HER SKELETON. One night, passing through the corridor and seeing a bright light peering through crevices of the apartment — 329 — occupied by the eccentric artiste, a chambermaid stopped at the door, and peeped in through the keyhole. She gazed a moment and then rushed wildly through the corridor, calling with the full strength of her vigorous lungs — " Murder !" — " Police !" — " Murder " — "Police !" Alarmed by such fearful sounds at midnight, the guests of the hotel stood in their night-robes at their respective doors, demanding alike protection and explanation. But the chambermaid rushed on, shouting louder than ever, " Murder !" Police !" A woman has murdered a man in her room, and is playing with his bones !" a statement well calculated to chill the blood of the boldest. An investigation ensued, and it was ascertained that, as was her wont, that Sara had been rehearsing " Frou-Frou" with her pet skeleton — the skeleton of a man who had killed himself for love, which ghastly relic of mortality Sara has been for years in the habit of carrying with her everywhere — and rehearsing with it in the solitude. • TOO THIN;" or SKELETON SARA. SARA AT REHEARSAL. Meanwhile rehearsals were held daily at the Theatre — rehear- sals which, as one of the stage-hands phrased it, were " both in- fernal and eternal." Sara was always late at rehearsal, and always cross— finding fault incessantly with others, but never permitting the slightest fault to be found with herself ; captious, too, a new whim every minute, and a new man or woman re- quired to wait on every whim. Her manager passed his whole day at the theatre, and was to be found in one of two states — either a state of wild exultation, when his star happened for five minutes to attend to her legiti- mate business on the stage ; or a state of utter exhaustion when his star, for five hours on a stretch, would with her freaks and temper, render the stage a pandemonium. Sara quarrelled with everybody, and everybody submitted to be snubbed by her — all but one stage carpenter, a burly fellow, who told Sara one morning to go to — a place even warmer than she was then making the stage. Sara had a wholesome respect for stage carpenters ever after. As for Sara's American agent, that most unhappy being never knew what it was to sit down ; life was to him one leap, to breathe was to fly. His whole existence was passed rushing from theatre to hotel, from hotel to theatre ; and his legs and coat tails were always parallel with the sidewalk. SARA AND HER LEADING MEN. At each rehearsal there was to be seen two " leading men," one ready to take the other's place at a moment's notice, if the first chanced to displease the whimsical Sara, or if she chanced to kill him, by inducing a fit of apoplexy or heart disease, from strain or worry. Each leading man was appropriately dressed in funereal black, and wore crape around his hat, being in mourning alike for himself and for the other leading men, who had all brought their coffins with them " direct from Paris. " Before going on the stage, at each rehearsal, each " leading man, bade a touching, tender, and eternal farewell to all the rest, " TOO THIN T or SKELETON SARA. partook of a double dose of absinthe, and then strode onward to Skeleton Sara, and to torment. A few hours generally finished him — and the rehearsal to- gether. But if not; if he was finished first then his "double'* was in readiness for the sacrifice. SARA WANTS HER TALMADGE. One morning at rehearsal the American manager was sent for in great haste. Sara had conceived a new idea, and rehearsal was suspended till she had communicated it. " Ah, monsieur le manager," cried Sara, " I want you to send for me to ze city near here — ze city zey call Brookline or Brook- lyn — ze city zey have been building a bridge, to for ze last hun- dred years." " Yes, that is Brooklyn," said the American manager (sotto voce.) " I want you to send for me to ze Brooklyn," continued Sara, " and to get for me a man zey make a great fuss about over zare, a man by ze name, I tink, of Talmadge." " Talmadge !" echoed the American manager, thinking his ears must have deceived him, " Surely you cannot mean the Rev. Dr. Talmage?" " Oui, oui!" replied Sara, emphatically. " Zat is ze man — ze Reverend Doctaire Talmage — I want him brought over here at once ; I want to rehearse with him ; I want to have him to in- spire me at rehearsals — to put new life into me — comprenez vous, monsieur ?" '* No, I do not comprehend," said the utterly be- wildered manager ; " why, the man is a minister." " Oh, yes," said Sara, " I know he is what zey call a clergy-