dOSANCElfj: 
 
 9 z. 
 
 cr •< 
 
 % 
 
 < 
 
 ::5 
 
 ^_ ^^ 
 
 VlOSANCFirr 
 
 g /^^. 
 
 -n I— 
 
 ^^tllBRARYC^yr ^^AtllBRARYO/ 
 
 mi 
 
 ,^0FCAIIF0/? 
 
 (rrl 
 
 
 li^"^ 
 
 
 V" \-» L'-l I V" 
 
 1 
 
 % 
 
 
 
 U\J J 1 I V J J 
 
 
 
 ^OFCA[IFO% 
 
 3i- 
 
 >; 
 
 S" 
 
 ty^ 
 
 3: 
 
 '^XL 
 
 C-) 
 
 
 :~i 
 
 f-n 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 5 
 
 
 
 :)^ 
 
 
 
 o 
 
 ^t 
 
 i^ 
 
 -n 
 
 C: 
 
 
 rS 
 
 u- 
 
 —^ 
 
 >; 
 
 '~~, 
 
 
 
 "CI, 
 
 
 -T1 
 
 <_ 
 
 
 f 
 
 -Y, 
 
 'M 
 
 -»uf:.iivii\'CPr/v 
 
 r-1 
 
 'J UJIU OU I 
 
 ^WE UNIVERSy/, 
 
 >- 
 < 
 
 (TO 
 
 'J- 
 
 I 
 
 ■^'jJirjNvsoi--^^' 
 
 ^;^lllBRARYac 
 
 '^<!/OJnV>JO'<^ 
 
 0( 
 
 .i ^ (S 
 
 
 .QJ^V' 
 
 ^:^lLIBRARY6k 
 
 11 r^ 
 
 ''dOdlWDJO^^
 
 
 j-r —iT 
 
 '.CJ 
 
 •r^^^ONVSOl^ \_, ,3\>;^ 
 
 -n O 
 
 l-?:!C 
 
 -< 
 
 
 BRARYQr ^;>>vlLIBRARY6?/;^ ^Wt•UMIVER% ^^ 
 
 iLl!Ti 
 
 ■< / :? S^ ■- 5C 
 
 =^ 2 V *^' / U =^ "^ T< 
 
 
 
 W.O 
 
 ii#' "'■^^Advaani^'^' ^^^. .^'^'' '^A 
 
 'NIVER% osAOSANCElfj^ ARY^^^ Wy 
 
 >\ ^ c- fi?, <*j • «i? 
 
 Ulj 
 
 » "T 
 
 C3
 
 Wit and Humor 
 Of the Stage 
 
 ^ 
 
 A COLLECTION FROM VARIOUS SOURCES 
 
 CLASSIFIED UNDER 
 
 APPROPRIATE SUBJECT HEADINGS 
 
 PHILADELPHIA 
 
 GEORGE W. JACOBS & CO. 
 
 PUBLISHERS
 
 Copyright, 1909, by 
 
 George \V. Jacobs & Company 
 
 Published, July, igog 
 
 All rights reserved 
 Printed in U. S. A.
 
 
 Contents 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 Prologue . 
 I. Stories of the Stars . 
 II. Some Stage Mishaps . 
 
 III. The Eternal Feminine 
 
 IV. (^uiPS AND Quirks 
 V. In Hard Luck 
 
 VI, Jefferson and His Friends 
 VII. First Person Singular 
 VIII. From the Audience 
 
 PACE 
 
 5 
 
 9 
 
 55 
 92 
 
 1 24 
 
 •55 
 
 »74 
 185 
 
 Z09 
 
 919125
 
 Prologue 
 
 Since all the world's a stage, and men and 
 women merely puppets thereon, playing their 
 mimic parts, — vide a certain great dramatist 
 named William Shakespeare, — it follows that 
 there should be an audience and readers for a 
 collection of humoresques culled from the say- 
 ings and doings of plays and players, for in no 
 other age has the theatre filled so large a canvas 
 in the eye of the public as now. 
 
 The actor, of either gender, apparently, can- 
 not escape from the lime-light, whether on or off 
 the stage. His — or her — sayings and doings, 
 professional or private, are minutely chronicled 
 and avidly read by the dear public, and every 
 performer of any prominence really plays to a 
 far wider audience than he reaches across the 
 footlights. 
 
 By no means all the funny sayings, doings, 
 and happenings in stage-land occur in the course 
 of regular dramatic presentations, yet some of 
 the most ludicrous and unforeseen contretemps 
 pass unnoticed by the onlookers ; many a side- 
 splitting quip and jest, and a good deal of what
 
 6 I>rologue 
 
 is technically known as "guying," never " gets 
 across." 
 
 From the days of the strolling player to the 
 present, the noble guild of mummers has per- 
 force been possessed of an inexhaustibly happy 
 unconcern and a very pretty wit ; there is no 
 wonder, then, that as a class actors and actresses, 
 whether at work or at play, should furnish a 
 goodly literature of retort, bon mot, or witty 
 impromptu. 
 
 The profession, too, is full of kaleidoscopic 
 changes, of rapid transitions from grave to gay, 
 of startling and surprising mutations of fortune ; 
 hence it is no wonder that the actor comes to 
 regard the greater drama which we call life as 
 more or less of a jest and to take his cue ac- 
 cordingly. 
 
 In the following pages some attempt has been 
 made to cull the best examples of stage wit and 
 humor, — not, of course, by way of quotation 
 from comedy or burlesque, but by collating the 
 actual humorous sayings and doings of theatre 
 folk, by narrating examples of ludicrous happen- 
 ings here and there, practical jokes, witty stories, 
 and personal anecdotes. 
 
 Effort has been made to avoid the trite, the 
 hackneyed, and those veteran war-horses of 
 stage humor that have done duty since the days
 
 prologue 7 
 
 of Joe Miller, although here and there some of 
 the citations possess a fairly respectable lineage. 
 
 In reality the present writer was confronted 
 with an embarrassment of riches in the shape of 
 available material ; space limitations compelling 
 the rejection of much otherwise valuable ma- 
 terial. 
 
 However, it is believed that this little volume, 
 whatever its other shortcomings, cannot be ac- 
 cused of being antiquated, and makes its bow to 
 the general public in the words of Rip Van 
 Winkle : " Here's to your very good healths and 
 your families."
 
 Wit and Humor of the Stage 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 Stories of the Stars 
 
 The number of more or less witty anecdotes 
 recounted of the shining lights of stage-land seems 
 to increase with the popularity and the vogue of 
 the actor or the actress. To be a successful 
 Thespian necessarily implies the possession of 
 more than a spoonful of brains, and while every 
 performer may not be a wit, it is equally certain 
 that not every wit could be an actor. These 
 stories of the stars which follow, however, prove 
 that the profession at large possesses a "very 
 pretty humor, sir." 
 
 A Growing Resemblance 
 
 Sir Charles Wyndham tells a joke against 
 himself about the time when he first put on 
 David Gar rick. 
 
 One afternoon, during the run of the piece, 
 Wyndham was sitting in the corridor of the 
 Garrick Club, under Garrick's portrait, in the 
 Garrick chair, which is one of the club's treas- 
 ures, when Henry Hamilton, the dramatist, en-
 
 10 mtt an& Ibumor ot tbc Stage 
 
 tered. He gazed upon Wyndham; then upon 
 the portrait of Garrick, and then upon Wynd- 
 ham again. 
 
 " Charles," he said finally, " do you know that 
 you are growing more like Garrick every day ? " 
 
 " Do you think so? " returned the actor, with 
 gratification. " Very glad, I'm sure." 
 
 " Yes, indeed," proceeded Hamilton thought- 
 fully, "and less like him every night." 
 
 Wyndham's German 
 
 Wyndham, on his first trip to Germany, was 
 approached on board ship by a young lady who 
 was much perturbed in regard to her baggage. 
 As she did not speak German, she expected all 
 sorts of troubles with the custom officials. 
 Young Wyndham volunteered his services, and 
 when the custom officer began to examine her 
 baggage, he started to give the necessary infor- 
 mation in his best German. The man listened 
 patiently for a moment, and then interru[)ted 
 with : 
 
 " Young man, won't you please speak English ? 
 Your German hurts me ! " 
 
 The Exiles 
 It was Will McConnell who gave a certain New 
 York chop-house the name by which it is now
 
 limit an& Ibumor ot tbe Stage ii 
 
 known among actors, particularly those that be- 
 long to a certain club. 
 
 "Let's go to the Cafe des Exiles,'' he said 
 one night, " and try supper there." 
 
 The rest of the party supposed he referred to 
 some new French resort and were surprised to 
 wind up at Browne's. 
 
 "Why, this is the same old joint," one of 
 them said. " What did you call it? " 
 
 ^^ Cafe des Exiles,'' he said, "because no 
 actor here dare go over to the Lambs', as he's 
 posted for dues or house charges. They're all 
 exiled to this place until they pay up." 
 
 Since that night the members of the Lambs' 
 have known the chop-house by no other name. 
 
 Ready Wit Saved Him 
 
 Augustus Thomas, the playwright, was prais- 
 ing John Drew's wit. 
 
 "Drew is the wittiest man I ever met," he 
 said. "He is never at a loss. In any crisis, 
 any emergency, his wit saves him. 
 
 "Once, in his youth, he forgot his lines in a 
 Sheridan comedy. 
 
 " Dressed as a young fop, he stood convers- 
 ing with a soldier, and suddenly his memory
 
 12 imtt anJ) Ibumor of tbe Stage 
 
 went back on him. E^very word of his part left 
 his head. 
 
 " He looked impatiently at the prompter. 
 The prompter's lips moved, but Drew could not 
 make out what the man said. So he muttered, 
 ' Louder, prompter, louder ! ' And a murmur 
 came to him, but it was a murmur which he 
 could not understand. 
 
 " In this crisis many a man would have given 
 himself up for lost. Not so Mr. Drew. 
 
 " * I will return anon,' he said to the soldier 
 with a wave of his hand, and stalked off to read 
 up his part." 
 
 Booth's Most Memorable Engagement 
 Edwin Booth once told a little company of 
 his intimates that the most romantic, most mem- 
 orable, and most delightful engagement that he 
 ever played in his life was one in which he was 
 obliged to paste his own bills. 
 
 It was in the early years of his career, long 
 before his famous hundred night run of Hamlet 
 at the Winter Garden in New York, and at a 
 time when romance and enthusiasm were still 
 young in his heart. He had played with 
 varying success in many parts of the country 
 that were large enough to supply him with au-
 
 Mtt anJ) Ibumor of tbe Stage 13 
 
 diences. Here he had done so well that he felt 
 encouraged to try his fortune in still remoter 
 climes, and accordingly embarked from the 
 Golden Gate for the Hawaiian Islands, where, 
 in the Honolulu Theatre and under the direct 
 patronage of the dark brown royalty that then 
 held sway, he played an engagement to which 
 he looked back in after years with much pleas- 
 ure and satisfaction. 
 
 " But after the play was over," said Booth, 
 " I found it necessary to climb down from the 
 high plane of art to common ground and take 
 steps to announce my repertoire to the public. 
 This was done almost entirely by way of posters, 
 and I could not trust the job to the native boys, 
 because they always ate the paste and threw 
 away the bills. My actors would not do it, be- 
 cause they were such eminent artists and thor- 
 oughbred gentlemen ; so I had to do it myself. 
 Many a time have I taken off the costume of 
 lago, or Hamlet, or Othello, and gone out with 
 a bucket of paste and a roll of paper to ' bill the 
 town,' as we say here in America, for my next 
 appearance." 
 
 Sothern and Wallack 
 At a "gambol" of the celebrated Lambs'
 
 14 nait an£) Ibumor ot tbe Stage 
 
 Club in New York, the late E. A. Sothern 
 and the equally late Lester Wailack were 
 present. 
 
 Although fast friends, not even the English- 
 man's regard for the American could restrain 
 " Dundreary's " unquenchable propensity for 
 "ragging." At a pause in the conversation 
 Mr. Sothern said : 
 
 " Had a most curious dream the other night." 
 
 The auditors, scenting some mischief, de- 
 manded the rest of the story. 
 
 " Well," drawled Sothern, " I dreamed I was 
 dead, and on my way to the upper world. Ar- 
 riving outside the gate of the Celestial City I 
 rapped for admittance. St. Peter appeared ;it 
 the open door and demanded my name, pedi- 
 gree, and profession. 
 
 " ' I am an actor,' I finally told him. 
 
 "'Sorry,' said the saint, 'but no actors are 
 admitted.' 
 
 " Sorrowfully I turned away, and sat down 
 by the roadside to rest and decide what I should 
 do next. Presently along came Lester Wailack, 
 — also dead. I grinned to myself, anticipating 
 the answer he'd get. But to my amazement 
 when he rapped, the gate swung wide open and 
 St. Peter drew him inside with a welcoming 
 smile and a glad hand. That made me mad,
 
 Xillit anD Ibumor of tbc Stage is 
 
 because I regardetl it as a case of rankly unfair 
 discrimination. 
 
 " So I marched up to the gate once more and 
 knocked loudly. Again St. Peter appeared. 
 
 " ' Didn't I tell you that actors were not wanted 
 here?' he inquired quite crossly. 
 
 "'You did,' I answered. 'But 1 noticed 
 that you just let in my old friend Lester Wallack. 
 He is an actor. Why keep me out ? ' 
 
 "St. Peter drew back and made to shut the 
 door, saying in frigid tones : 
 
 " ' You are mistaken ; Lester Wallack is no 
 actor!'" 
 
 What Belasco Had Written 
 
 Hearing that David Belasco was engaged on 
 a new play, a reporter stopped him on the street 
 to inquire concerning it. 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Belasco, "I am writing a 
 play. What do you want to know about it ? " 
 
 "Anything you can tell me," was the reply. 
 
 " Well, it is to have five acts and three inter- 
 missions," said the playwright, "and I've just 
 finished the intermissions." 
 
 He Brought His Family 
 On another occasion Belasco was discussing 
 with a theatrical manager the troublesome
 
 16 IKait anO Ibumor of tbc Stage 
 
 ** Free-seats " problem, and related an experience 
 a friend of his had had in the West. This 
 friend was taking a company on tour. One 
 night he met an influential citizen in a hotel, 
 and before they parted the manager had invited 
 the citizen to come to his show the next night 
 and "bring his family." About eight o'clock 
 the next night the man put his head into the box- 
 office window and was immediately recognized 
 by the manager. 
 
 "How many have you with you?" the latter 
 asked pleasantly, as he prepared to write out the 
 pass. 
 
 "Well, some of my family are sick," replied 
 the man, "so I have been able to bring only 
 forty-two! " 
 
 "You see," commented Mr. Belasco, "my 
 friend had quite forgotten he was in Salt Lake 
 City. The influential citizen was a Mormon." 
 
 Charles Mathews and the Silver Spoon 
 Soon after Mathews went from York to the 
 Haymarket Theatre, he was invited with other 
 performers to dine with Mr. Atteborough, after- 
 ward an eminent silversmith, but who at that 
 period followed the business of pawnbroker. It 
 so happened that Atteborough was called out of
 
 "wait anO Ibumor of tbc Stage n 
 
 the dining-room, at the back of the shop, during 
 dinner. Mathews, with wonderful celerity, al- 
 tering his hair, countenance, hat, etc., took a 
 large gravy-spoon off the dinner-table, ran in- 
 stantly into the street, entered one of the little 
 dark doors leading to the pawnbroker's counter, 
 and actually pledged to the unconscious Atte- 
 borough his own gravy-spoon. Mathews con- 
 trived with equal rapidity to return and seat 
 himself (having left the street door open) before 
 Atteborough reappeared at the dinner-table. As 
 a matter of course, this was made the subject of 
 a wager. An explanation took place before the 
 party broke up, to the infinite astonishment of 
 Atteborough. 
 
 Dramatic Remnants 
 
 Augustus Thomas was said to have prepared a 
 sketch which Will McConnell used, and it was 
 once suggested that it might possibly have been 
 due to the weakness of the vehicle that his at- 
 tempt in vaudeville failed. 
 
 "I don't believe that," he said, "for Gus 
 Thomas put into it all the Lambs' Club jokes he 
 could remember. He's been able to write sev- 
 eral successful plays in just that way and he
 
 18 wait anD Ibumoc ot tbe Stage 
 
 ought lo have enough left over for a twenty- 
 minute sketch." 
 
 Garrick and Sterne 
 
 One instance when a witty ecclesiastic met 
 his match is recorded of David Garrick. 
 
 The Rev. Laurence Sterne, who was not a 
 brilliant example of a loving husband, met him 
 one day and said in a sentimental way, "The 
 husband who behaves unkindly to his wife de- 
 serves to have his house burnt over his head." 
 
 "If you think so," said Garrick, doubtless 
 glad to get even with Sterne for once, " I hope 
 your house is insured." 
 
 Irving vs. Dixey 
 An amusing thing occurred one night at the 
 Lambs' Club in New York. It was the night 
 of one of their gambols, and Irving was present. 
 It was the custom of the club to travesty the 
 popular actors of the day. Harry Dixey, who 
 is an inimitable mimic, was brought in dressed 
 to represent Henry Irving. He had Irving's 
 walk, Irving's voice, and Irving's mannerisms 
 down to perfection. He came in with a tin 
 bucket, walked, as Irving walked, to an imitation 
 pump, and pumped for some time without get-
 
 Mit an5 Ibumor of tbe Stage 19 
 
 ting any water. Then, looking iipwiih the very 
 expression and intonation of Irving, he said : 
 " Ha ! Ha ! We never miss the water till the 
 well runs dry." 
 
 The thing was so ridiculous and so like Irving 
 that the guests immediately went into convul- 
 sions. Irving sat there with his elbow on the 
 table and his hand under his chin, watching 
 Dixey with a curious grin on his face. 
 
 General Horace Porter sat next to Irving, and 
 nudged him, saying : 
 
 "Irving, what do you think of it? Do you 
 like it ? " 
 
 Without changing his pose or his expression, 
 Irving replied : " Ha ! Ha ! I say I do, but I 
 don't." 
 
 Brady's Foibles 
 
 William A. Brady made his mark chiefly as a 
 producer of popular melodrama, but he has am- 
 bitions to do everything he does well, and an 
 Irish honesty and frankness which endear him 
 to those who are associated with him. 
 
 He has, however, rigid ideas as to how Shake- 
 speare should be produced. In the final re- 
 hearsal of Robert Mantell's Macbeth one of the 
 lines in the second act offended his ear :
 
 20 Timit anD Ibumor of tbe Stage 
 
 " Ten thousand dollars to the general use." 
 
 He rose up in the empty auditorium and 
 shouted : 
 
 " Cut out that line ! This is an English play, 
 and a classic. I won't have any modern Ameri- 
 can nonsense written into it ! " 
 
 Mr. Mantell explained that "dollar" is a 
 good old word, and that "half a dollar" is still 
 popularly used in England to mean a half- 
 crown. 
 
 When Mr. Brady is in the wrong he makes no 
 bones of owning up. While rehearsing Clyde 
 Fitch's Lovers^ Lane, he had grave doubts as to 
 many of the lines and much of the comic 
 " business " which seemed to him too subtle and 
 minute to " get over the footlights," as theatrical 
 people express it. He pleaded to have them cut 
 out, so as to get more snap and ginger into the 
 action. Mr. Fitch is a past master of minor 
 theatric effect, and knew very well that nothing 
 delights an audience more than to catch the 
 meaning of humorous subtleties. It gives them 
 a pleasurable mental exercise and perhaps flat- 
 ters their vanity as critics. He stipulated that 
 his efforts should at least be given a trial with 
 the public. The first performance was in Tren- 
 ton, and after it Mr. Brady telegraphed his 
 author : " You are all to the good. Every one
 
 "Wait auD Ibumot of tbe Stafle 21 
 
 of the Fitchisms went like ." But the 
 
 telegraph operator refused to repeat to the wires 
 just what it was that they went like. 
 
 One of Mr. Brady's sayings has become a 
 theatrical byword. An experienced actor knows 
 very well that, when he has nothing to do or 
 the stage, the best thing for him is to do noth 
 ing ; but crude actors think it necessary tc 
 invent "business" to fill in, A young woman 
 in a company which Mr. Brady was rehearsing 
 carried her inventions to the point of distracting 
 attention from the principals in the scene. After 
 mildly discouraging her to no purpose, Mr. 
 Brady lost patience, rose up and shouted : 
 
 "Didn't I tell you to keep still? You're 
 no diamond that has to sparkle all the 
 time ! " 
 
 Many a fidgeting actor has since profiled by 
 the remark. 
 
 " Mephisto " in the Flesh 
 
 " A great many years ago I was playing Me- 
 phisto in the South," says Lewis Morrison, 
 " and while in New Orleans had quite a re- 
 markable experience. 
 
 " I came home from the theatre one night 
 tired and hot, and rang the bell for the boy.
 
 22 imit anO Ibumor of tbe Stage 
 
 He came shuffling along the hall and stopped 
 at my door — which was partly ajar — and peeked 
 through the aperture. I called him, gave him 
 an order, and in a few minutes he returned 
 with a glass of water held on a tray far in front of 
 him. He placed it on the table very gingerly, 
 and made his exit in such a manner that it at- 
 tracted my attention. He was way down the 
 hall before I thought to call him back. 
 
 " ' Sambo, come here,' I yelled. He came 
 trembling foolishly and rolling his big eyes. 
 
 " He moistened his lips with his tongue and 
 began : ' Sure, boss, I ain't done nuthin' ; 
 please don't hurt me ! ' 
 
 " Then I knew he had seen me as Mephisto 
 that night, and was still impressed with the 
 play." 
 
 Lackaye's Little Joke 
 
 Wilton Lackaye, the hero of The Pit, is a 
 very well-dressed man, notwithstanding he plays 
 the role of a rich Chicago broker. 
 
 His sartorial correctness attracted the envying 
 notice of a youth in Philadelphia, and the beau 
 from the Quaker City wrote the following letter 
 to the well-groomed star :
 
 Wiit aiiD Ibiimor ot tbe Stage 23 
 
 " Dear Mr. Lackaye : 
 
 " Will you please lay me under a deeper 
 load of gratitude than is imposed even by your 
 splendid acting last night and inform me of a 
 way I can keep my trousers from bagging? 1 
 notice that every lime you came on the stage 
 last night your pants were perfect. 
 
 " Yours with thanks, 
 
 "James Blank." 
 
 To this effusion the writer in due course re- 
 ceived the laconic reply : 
 
 " Dear Sir : 
 
 " To keep pants perfect never take them 
 from the tailor's. 
 
 "Yours, 
 
 " Wilton Lackaye." 
 
 ^ The Cradle of Liberty 
 
 Augustus Thomas, the playwright, is a noted 
 political and after-dinner speaker. He is a 
 member of the Lambs' Club, in New York, 
 where he is the recognized orator. 
 
 A short time ago there was a movement on in 
 the Lambs' Club that was disapproved by Mr. 
 Thomas. He organized a crusade against it. 
 It was his plan to have a dinner and discuss
 
 24 imu auD Ibumoc of tbe Stafle 
 
 the matter. He had arranged that all the 
 speakers for the movement should be " horsed," 
 as they were talking, by a set of bril- 
 liant fellows-which he, himself, organized, 
 and that he should wind up with his 
 speech amid great applause, the whole affair 
 being more for amusement than anything 
 else. 
 
 The dinner was held, and the men who had 
 been stationed around the table to interrupt and 
 otherwise badger the preliminary speakers were 
 soon in fine working order. They kept the 
 table in roars. 
 
 Finally, it came Thomas's turn to declaim. 
 He started, but to his intense disgust found that 
 the hazers were so elated by their success that 
 they kept on with him. 
 
 Thomas made a reference to Faneuil Hall. 
 " What's Faneuil Hall? " asked a man at the 
 end of the table. 
 
 •' Faneuil Hall," said Mr. Thomas slowly, 
 " is a hall in Boston which was the meeting- 
 place of the patriots before and during the 
 Revolution. It is commonly called the ' Cradle 
 of Liberty ' — that liberty which we all enjoy and 
 which you now abuse." 
 
 Whereupon Mr. Thomas made his speech as 
 previously arranged.
 
 "wait anO Ibumor of tbe Stafle 26 
 
 The Curse of the Links 
 
 The following story is related by Richard 
 Golden, otherwise known as The Bad Samar- 
 itan : 
 
 It is your little sins that find you out and 
 play havoc with your domestic happiness, and I 
 owe much peace of mind to my inordinate pas- 
 sion for learning to play golf down at Port 
 Washington, Long Island. 
 
 My wife did not share my idea of the sport, 
 or, rather, she did not approve of my profane 
 utterances while getting next to anythnig new ; 
 but finally she accepted the inevitable, and 
 agreed that I must learn to play golf, but in- 
 sisted upon choosing my teacher. She chose a 
 minister, who was supposed to have a knowledge 
 long on golf and short on toleration of verbiage. 
 
 I tried him for a couple of weeks, and my 
 wife advised me to get a new teacher, as she 
 saw no improvement in my manners. I tried 
 teacher after teacher, until she hit upon a 
 plan. 
 
 " As it is," she said, " I never can tell unless 
 I am with you whether you are improving or 
 backsliding. Now, I am going to give you some 
 pebbles to carry, and whenever you swear you 
 are to drop a pebble in your pocket, then when 
 you come home I shall rate your progress."
 
 26 Timtt an£> Ibumor of tbe Stage 
 
 As this did not seem to be a bad scheme I 
 consented to it, and my wife met me at the gate 
 upon my return with " Richard, let me see the 
 size of your pile." 
 
 I took a solitary pebble from each pocket, 
 and said : " This represents the D's." 
 
 She gave me a swift, admiring glance, and 
 said unbelievingly : "Is that all ? " 
 
 " All ? " I echoed. " All ? Look down the 
 road, and you will see two teams hauling my 
 gravel markers home." 
 
 She gave me up as a hopeless case after that. 
 
 Robert Edeson's Gardener 
 
 You can never tell when you are doing a man 
 a kindness. At ray home in Sag Harbor, Long 
 Island, three summers ago, I had a man employed 
 to do odd jobs about the place, named Patrick 
 Lannigan. Despite his bad habit, drink, he 
 was a find in the way of a servant ; but later I 
 was compelled to dispense with his services, 
 owing to his fondness for the black bottle. 
 
 Because of his pleasant wit and good work, I 
 had become much attached to him, and Pat 
 knew it ; for after his discharge he made many 
 calls on me for help.
 
 TKIlit anO Ibumor ot tbe Stage 27 
 
 At last one day, when I had become tired of 
 his begging, I said to him : " Look here, Pat. 
 How much would it cost to get you good and 
 drunk ? " 
 
 He thought for a while, and replied : 
 " Well, sir, it would cost about fifty cents on 
 beer." 
 
 "Well, then," I said, "here is the 
 fifty. Go and get drunk ; so very drunk 
 tliat you will get into trouble and the work- 
 house." 
 
 This was the beginning of the winter. Pat 
 considered my proposition at length and ac- 
 cepted. The next day I read in a New York 
 paper that Patrick Lannigan had broken a plate- 
 glass window and had been sent to Blackwell's 
 Island for five months. 
 
 This, I thought, would end Pat's insistent 
 friendship for myself; but I was mistaken. 
 Only a little more than a month had elapsed, 
 when Pat paid me a call at the theatre. 
 
 "What are you doing here?" I asked in 
 surprise. " I thought you had been sentenced 
 to the workhouse for five months." 
 
 " I wuz, yer honor," he replied with a sigh ; 
 " but that Dugan chap, the superintendent, is 
 no friend of moine. Will ye belave it, sir, he 
 discharged me for good conduct ? "
 
 28 Mlt anD "toumor ot tbe Stage 
 
 An Old Saw 
 
 Augustus Thomas, the playwright, told in a 
 recent speech of a hunting trip he had taken in 
 the South. They were after 'coons and 'pos- 
 sums, but the only trail the dogs struck was one 
 which made them put their tails between their 
 legs and turn for home. 
 
 "Just what does a polecat look like?" Mr. 
 Thomas asked one of his negro guides. 
 
 " A polecat, boss ? Why, a polecat's some- 
 fin' like a kitten, only prettier. Yes, a jiolecat's 
 a heap prettier'n a kitten, ain't it, Sam?" he 
 said, turning to another negro for corroboration. 
 
 " Well," he replied, scratching his wool, 
 " it's always been mah contention dat handsome 
 is as handsome does." 
 
 No Reduction For Him 
 They were swapping stories one night at the 
 Friars' Club when Jefferson De Angelis told of 
 two players, one of whom is growing bald, pass- 
 ing a barber shop, in the window of which was 
 displayed a sign reading : 
 
 FIRST CLASS HAIR CUT, 20 CENTS 
 
 "That's the place for me," said the actor, 
 whose locks were diminishing. "I have so
 
 wait anD Ibuinoc ot tbe Staflc 29 
 
 little hair left they couldn't conscientiously 
 charge me more than ten cents." 
 
 " You misinterpret the sign," rejoined the 
 second Thespian. " If you possessed but three 
 spears yours would still be considered first-class 
 hair, which, you will observe, is the kind for 
 which they demand twenty cents." 
 
 Too Many Sotherns 
 
 Sothern, the actor, who created the famoua 
 Lord Du7idreary, was in his private life much 
 Addicted to the practical joke, a form of social 
 hazing now happily extinct. Sothern's exploits 
 were often insufferable for the injustice and 
 cruelty to his victims ; but his persistent esca- 
 pades sometimes brought upon him a retal- 
 iatory persecution which he bore with good 
 grace. 
 
 On one occasion, at the height of his vogue, 
 certain of his competitors became aware that he 
 meant to call upon a literary woman, celebrated 
 in Washington for her strong mind and uncon- 
 trollable temper. It is related that Solhern duly 
 presented himself and was met at the door with 
 explosive epithets and abuse. 
 
 " Another ! " exclaimed the hostess in a fur/. 
 «' Another ! "
 
 30 "Wflit auD tbumor ot tbe Stage 
 
 <« Madam, I am Sothern, the actor, who 
 
 But she interrupted him angrily. 
 "Another!" she shouted frantically — ar 
 slammed the door in his face. 
 
 There was no doubting her sincerity — si 
 was in deadly earnest — and Sothern was bew 
 dered and crestfallen. But something wh, 
 pered that he was the victim of a plot, wheth 
 the inhospitable hostess were a party to it 
 not. He promptly sought the persons whc 
 he suspected — three of his brother- actors. I 
 found them very grave, mysteriously so. 
 
 Said the first sympathetically, after heari 
 Sothern's complaint : 
 
 "I cannot understand it at all. When 
 called this morning, and represented myself 
 Sothern, she was most cordial, and listened 
 my praises of her writing with delight." 
 A second added in surprise : 
 " It seems very strange to me, also. I cal' 
 on the lady with Sothern's card and she ra< 
 tioned the preceding Sothern, but I praised . 
 writing so much more aptly that she beca 
 convinced that you were an impostor. Her la 
 temper is hard to understand." 
 
 And the third innocently remarked : 
 " And she was amiable to me when I cal 
 and said that I was Sothern. She suggest
 
 HUit an& Ibumor of tbe Stage 3i 
 
 rhat the other two were probably impudent ras- 
 cals trying to impose upon her. Did she really 
 slam the door?" 
 
 Sothern shook his head gloomily. 
 
 "I was the fourth Sothern," he muttered. 
 "She probably suspected that somebody had 
 packed the jury." 
 
 Too Much for " The Professor " 
 On one occasion E. S. Willard was appearing 
 in a matinee performance of The Professor's 
 Love Story at the Broad Street Theatre, Phila- 
 delphia, when fire broke out somewhere about 
 the building. Having ascertained the exact and 
 harmless nature of the trouble, Mr. Willard ad- 
 vanced toward the footlights. 
 
 "Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "pray be 
 perfectly confident. There is no danger what- 
 ever. Something merely went wrong with the 
 electric arrangements and it has all been adjusted 
 by now." 
 
 But there was still some nervousness among 
 the spectators, and one of them — a man — called 
 out: 
 
 " I think, Mr. Willard, if you would explain 
 the exact nature of the trouble, the ladies would 
 be better satisfied. You, as a professor, would
 
 32 "watt a no Ibumor ot tbc Stage 
 
 of course be able to make everything clear 
 to us," 
 
 " Quite so," responded Mr. Willard, color- 
 ing through his makeup, "but — er — you see 
 my knowledge does not " Then, as laugh- 
 ter broke out all over the house, he hastily 
 added : " 1 think now we will be quite justified 
 in going on with our play." 
 
 Hammered His Way In 
 
 "Really, my very first chance to get on the 
 stage came to me because I happened to be use- 
 ful on a baseball nine," says Dustin Farnum. 
 
 "It was this way. You see my father did 
 not think the city a good place to bring up boys, 
 so, when we were little fellows, we moved from 
 Boston to Maine, and brother Will and 1 were 
 sent to school in Bucksport. One summer vaca- 
 tion there, while we were in our teens, Thomas 
 E. Shea, who has since become quite a figure in 
 theatricals, brought a sort of fly-by-night com- 
 pany to play the town. 
 
 " Shea had a peculiar scheme to advertise his 
 attraction. He would agree to play the local 
 ball nine with a nine formed of his company for 
 seats to the show. Well, Will and I were on 
 the Bucksport team that whipped the Shea nine.
 
 TKHit anD t3umor of tbc Stage 33 
 
 Shea became pretty well acquainted with us in 
 the course of the game and offered to take us in 
 the company to his next stand in order to 
 strengthen his players on the diamond end 
 
 of it. 
 
 " Of course Will and I were ripe for sport like 
 this and we went with the troupe to Wintei port, 
 where they were billed to give The Black Hand 
 after the usual baseball game. We played with 
 them on the field in the afternoon, helped them 
 whip the Winterporters, and in the evening 
 stepped forth for the first time on any stage in 
 the dive scene which we enlivened with a song 
 and dance. The next morning, we went back 
 to Bucksport and I had no dealings with the 
 plain side of the curtain again until after Will 
 got a position with the late Margaret Mather. 
 Then she took me on in one of her Shakespeare 
 productions — Coriolanus, I think it was — be- 
 cause I would look big in a small part — that of 
 a warrior. 
 
 '? And, by -the way, there's a funny sequel to 
 that size business. Later on, after Blanche 
 Walsh's play Marcelle failed at the start of a 
 season and left me without a job, I went to the 
 late Mr. La Shelle and asked him if he could 
 give me Lieutenant Denton in Arizona. 
 
 " ' You're too big for the part,' he told me,
 
 34 THIllt anD Ibumor ot tbe Stage 
 
 and assigned me to Captain Hodgman, the 
 villain. 
 
 "After I got through with that I went with 
 Chauncey Olcott for a while. Then somebody 
 told me that a writer in a Salt Lake paper had 
 suggested that if The Virginian were dramatized, 
 Dustin Farnum was just the man to play the 
 part. I had never read the book, but you can 
 easily believe I lost no time in getting it after 
 that." 
 
 Happy Ignorance 
 
 Francis Wilson, the comedian, apropos of cer- 
 tain curios whereon he believed he had been 
 swindled, said with a light laugh : 
 
 "The one drawback to knowledge is that it 
 reveals so many dupes and swindles to us. One 
 summer, for instance, I was ' doing ' Switzer- 
 land. In the neighborhood of Geneva, where 
 the Swiss talk French, I climbed a little peak 
 one fine morning, and on my arrival at the 
 chalet at the top I heard the pretty hand- 
 maiden call into the kitchen in excellent 
 French : 
 
 " 'Quick, mother, quick ! Here's a tourist. 
 Put some milk on the fire. You know they al- 
 ways like it warm from the cow. ' ' '
 
 limit anD Ibumor of tbe Sta^e 35 
 
 A Press Agent's Revenge 
 
 Alf Hayman is Charles Frohman's general 
 representative. In former days he used to be 
 press man for the mighty manager's many at- 
 tractions, and he was fond of having his joke 
 with the men who dabbled in printer's ink within 
 the glare of the footlights. 
 
 One of these jokes took the form of a picture 
 that used to hang in his office. It showed the 
 interior of a theatre, with the audience assem- 
 bled, and a row of aisle seats in the foreground. 
 These seats were occupied by men who were 
 easily recognized as tlie dramatic critics of the 
 day, and the point of the joke lay in the line in- 
 scribed underneath the picture as its title, which 
 also was the name of a play by Henry Arthur 
 Jones that had recently been a success with John 
 Drew at the Empire Theatre. The title was very 
 short, consisting of two words only, The Liars. 
 
 Maid Marion 
 
 John Kendrick Bangs tells this story on him- 
 self. His friend, Mr. Marion Verdery, who is 
 president of the Sothern Society of New York, 
 had asked him to speak at the annual dinner of 
 the society, and Mr. Bangs had accepted. But 
 on the evening of the dinner he was too ill to go
 
 36 THflit anJ) ibumor ot tbc Stage 
 
 out, so he telegraphed his apologies to Mr. Ver- 
 dery at Delmonico's. Late that night Mr. 
 Bangs' telephone rang. Mrs. Bangs went to the 
 receiver and was told that a telegram had just 
 been received for her husband. She asked to 
 have it read off, but the girl at the other end re- 
 fused, saying that the message was to be deliv- 
 ered to Mr. Bangs personally, and, though told 
 of Mr. Bangs' illness, stuck to her decision. So 
 the invalid put on a wrapper and struggled down 
 to the receiver. 
 
 " In answer to your telegram to Delmonico's," 
 said the astute hello-girl, " the clerk telegraphs 
 back that there is no lady of that name in the 
 house." 
 
 Belasco's Baited Baby 
 
 In his early years, when David Belasco was 
 stage-manager and playright of a theatre in San 
 Francisco, he was as eager for realism in his 
 effects as he is to-day. He was explaining one 
 night to some friends how he once managed the 
 "baby act." 
 
 A child in arms was needed for a play, and 
 this being obtained, Belasco supplied himself 
 with a stock of peppermint candy. Before it
 
 Ulltt anD tyumor of tbe Stage 37 
 
 was time for the infant to be carried on he held 
 up a stick of the sweetmeat before its eyes, let it 
 suck on it for an instant, so as to get the taste, 
 and then withdrew the dainty. 
 
 His next move was to pass the candy to the 
 man who had most to do with the child in the 
 piece. The moment of entrance arrived, the 
 baby was carried on, the man, according to in- 
 structions, held up the stick of candy, and the 
 infant, its lips smeared with the stuff, instantly 
 stretched out its arms for more. 
 
 "What a clever baby!" the women in the 
 audience would whisper to one another. " It 
 actually knows candy by sight." 
 
 And a round of applause was the stage-mana- 
 ger's reward for his trick. 
 
 It was during this same California period that 
 one of the players in the company handed 
 Belasco, as he supposed, a "hot one," to use 
 the vernacular of the Rialto. During rehearsals 
 of a new piece this actor had to speak a line 
 containing Biblical phraseology. He had trou- 
 ble with it, and began to kick at the 
 author. 
 
 "Who wrote this thing, anyhow?" he de- 
 manded. 
 
 " Why, David, of course," he was told. 
 " Don't you know "
 
 38 TlXUlt an& Ibumor ot tbe Stage 
 
 "That explains, then," he burst out. 
 always said Dave Belasco was a punk author. 
 
 Cure for Nervous Depression 
 
 The late Dr. Cyrus Edson of New York one 
 day received a visitor who complained of nerv- 
 ous depression. 
 
 " You should relax from work," advised the 
 physician. " Go to the theatre and witness the 
 performance of some good comedian." 
 
 The patient was much interested and a little 
 surprised. "Who is a good comedian?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "Francis Wilson." 
 
 "I have seen him. He would make me 
 
 worse." 
 
 "Peter Dailey." 
 
 " Dailey would induce grave complications. I 
 am sure of it. I know a man who contracted 
 chronic dyspepsia watching Dailey on the 
 stage." 
 
 " You are hard to please," observed the doc- 
 tor, thinking intensely. "I have it ! See Nat 
 Goodwin." 
 
 The sufferer was disconsolate. "I am Nat 
 Goodwin," he said.
 
 nait anO Ibumor of tbe Stage 39 
 
 Cheap Fuel 
 " It is a tremendous undertaking to get anew 
 play accepted and produced," said Clyde Fitch 
 to a friend. "So many are written and so few 
 ever see the light of day. An English play- 
 wright with a gift of humorous exaggeration il- 
 lustrated this fact once. He told me he sub- 
 mitted a play to a celebrated actor, and how in 
 the course of the conversation the actor re- 
 marked : 
 
 " ' Don't you think this room is rather cold ? * 
 " ' It is rather cold,' the young playwright ad- 
 mitted. 
 
 " Then the actor rang and a servant appeared, 
 "'James,' he said, 'put three more manu- 
 scripts on the fire.' " 
 
 A Dramatic Rose 
 
 To any one who has seen Clyde Fitch con- 
 ducting rehearsals it is evident that he spares no 
 effort to attain the precise effect he has in mind. 
 He himself says that he finds rehearsals a greater 
 tax on his strength than the original writing of 
 the piece. What he has in mind he can put on 
 paper ; but it is not so easy to make the com- 
 mon run of stage people embody it. 
 
 Now and then, however, he finds an actor
 
 40 "mit aiiD Ibumor ot tbc Stage 
 
 who understands instinctively what he is aiming 
 at, and who brings him as much as he gives. 
 After the production of T/ie Girl Who Has 
 Everything, he was full of praise for Miss El- 
 eanor Robson. 
 
 "She is like a rose," he said. "You have 
 only to hold it in the warmth of your hands, and 
 it opens out to perfection ! " 
 
 When Gallinger Met Thompson 
 
 During one summer, Senator and Mrs. Gal- 
 linger visited Keene, N. H., and learning that 
 Denman Thompson was at his home in Swan- 
 zey, and being a great admirer of Mr. Thomp- 
 son and his play, the Senator expressed a wish 
 to meet him off the stage and to see his fine 
 home. An old friend of Mr. Thompson's offered 
 to drive them down. Therefore, one fine morn- 
 ing they drove down to Mr. Thompson's house. 
 He came out, without coat or hat, hands behind 
 his back as usual. The following conversation 
 ensued : 
 
 Denman: " How d' do, Bill?" 
 
 Bill : " How are you. Den ? Mr. Thomp- 
 son, I want to introduce Senator and Mrs. Gal- 
 linger." 
 
 Senator Gallinger : " Mr. Thompson, I have
 
 mtt anD Ibumor of tbc Staac 4i 
 
 witnessed your great production The Old Home- 
 stead many times, and always with the greatest 
 pleasure, but I want to say it is with still greater 
 pleasure that I am permitted to greet you in 
 your own beautiful home in old Swanzey." 
 Denman : " Yes, it's cheaper." 
 
 A Weary While 
 
 George Bernard Shaw, the famous playwright, 
 is also a great lover of music. In fact, before 
 his plays became successful he made his living 
 as a musical critic. He was invited by a friend 
 one night to hear a string quartet from Italy. 
 Expecting a treat, he accepted the invitation. 
 Throughout the program, however, he sat wiih 
 a stony look on his face. The friend, to draw 
 a little praise from him, said: "Mr. Shaw, 
 those men have been playing together for twelve 
 years." 
 
 "Twelve years?" exploded Shaw, in an in- 
 credulous voice. " Surely we've been here 
 longer than that ! " 
 
 Killing Caesar With a Revolver 
 Henry Irving was an artist in the true sense. 
 He had a painful sense of fitness in all his pro- 
 ductions. He was sometimes ridiculed for his
 
 42 "Wlllt anD Ibumor ot tbc Stage 
 
 exactions that the minutest details of his plays 
 should be made to conform to the general 
 design. But the fame he achieved was due to 
 his contending for these things. When incon- 
 gruities appeared in his plays they literally 
 tortured him. At the same time he enjoyed 
 immensely what he called " American anach- 
 ronisms. ' ' 
 
 A friend was once telling him of a benefit 
 which he attended in Washington given to 
 Edwin Adams shortly before his death. It was 
 in the hot summer time, when little care was 
 taken in selecting the support. The pall-bear- 
 ers who bore the king's dead body in the play 
 chewed tobacco on the stage and expectorated 
 on their own shoes, so as not to attract the at- 
 tention of the audience. That amused Irving 
 greatly, as did also the story of the Texan play, 
 where the conspirators who killed Julius Caesar 
 used a five-barrel revolver. 
 
 S. R. O. 
 No one ever understood the foibles of stage 
 people better than did the late Kirke La Shelle, 
 and of the ruling passion of actors he used to 
 tell this story. No need to mention the actor's 
 name, but he is a star of considerable reputa-
 
 •wait anJ) Ibumor ot tbe Stage 43 
 
 tion. Mr. La Shelle met him on the Rialto one 
 day and noticed that he was wearing a mourn- 
 ing badge on his arm. 
 
 <' It's for my father," the actor explained. 
 " I've just come back from his funeral. It was 
 a sad affair." 
 
 Mr. La Shelle expressed his sincerest sym- 
 pathy. The actor's grief was obviously real and 
 great. 
 
 " A thing like this a man doesn't get over 
 soon," he went on. " I attended to all the 
 funeral arrangements. I did the best I could. 
 We had everything just as father would have 
 liked it." 
 
 " Many there ? " asked Mr. La Shelle. 
 
 "Many there!" cried the actor, changing 
 from grief to animation. " Why, my boy, we 
 turned 'em away." 
 
 Scalping the Critics 
 Mr. William A. Brady's nightly curtain 
 speeches breathing vengeance upon the critics 
 who had made fun of his poetic-romantic 
 drama, The Redskin, were for the most part 
 received as what Johnson called a contribution 
 to the gayety of nations ; but there was one 
 occasion when the critics had a moment of 
 trepidation. " If I had the nerve," he is re-
 
 44 "mix an£) Ibumor of tbe Stase 
 
 ported as saying, " I'd send that band of Indians 
 down into Newspaper Row to do a little real 
 damage among the funny newspaper men." 
 
 Well, there had been a first night in a neigh- 
 boring theatre and after the performance a party 
 of them gathered on the subway platform in 
 Times Square, awaiting the train to take them 
 down to Newspaper Row. Suddenly, with a 
 rustle of wampum, a swish of feathers, and oc- 
 casional grunts and guttural exclamations, Mr. 
 Brady's band of real Sioux trooped into the 
 station. It was a spectacle of truly barbaric 
 awe. The Indians swung up to where the pale- 
 faced critics were standing — among them the 
 very man who had aroused the particular ire of 
 Mr. Brady and his company by referring to 
 them as cigar store Indians. 
 
 For one brief moment there was a rising of 
 hair on scalp-locks. Then the train rumbled 
 in, and critics and redskins parted to board 
 separate cars. The Sioux were on their way 
 home after the evening's performance. 
 
 Mansfield's Predicament 
 Richard Mansfield, who was not always af- 
 fluent and prosperous, used to tell this story on 
 himself :
 
 Timit anO Ibumor of tbe Stage 45 
 
 Years ago, when he was a young actor in 
 London, a continued run of bad luck left him 
 with exactly one shilling in his pocket and no 
 immediate prospect of another. As he walked 
 the streets, jingling this solitary shilling and 
 pondering as to how he could make it last 
 longest, a jovial boon companion hove in sight, 
 and, slap[)ing him on the back, invited him to 
 drop into the nearest public house and have a 
 glass of ale before taking lunch with him, adding 
 that it would give him a magnificent appetite. 
 
 Mansfield replied that he needed no ale to 
 give him an appetite, but that he would be 
 happy to join him both in ale and lunch, not- 
 withstanding, and walked on with his friend in 
 the direction of the public house, thanking his 
 lucky stars that he need not break into that 
 precious shilling for a while at least. 
 
 The ale was excellent, and sharpened Mans- 
 field's already keen appetite to an appalling 
 degree. Judge, then, of his feelings when his 
 friend, after rummaging in his pockets for a 
 minute or two, after the drinks were partaken 
 of, turned to him and remarked carelessly : 
 
 " By Jove, old man ! I must have left my 
 pocketbook somewhere. Let me have a shilling 
 to pay for this, will you ? and we'll have the 
 lunch next. time we meet."
 
 46 HOlit and Dumot of tbe Stage 
 
 Mansfield produced the shilling, and, he 
 adds, he walked out of there '• with a magnifi- 
 cent appetite." 
 
 There is Only One Critic 
 
 Peter F. Dailey, the comedian, and some of 
 his associates often meet for social intercourse 
 after performances. On one occasion Hall 
 Caine, the novelist, was their guest. Mr. Caine 
 had been previously informed that he would 
 encounter a party eminently Bohemian in spirit, 
 and was not prepared for the learned discussions 
 wherein he found himself a deeply interested, if 
 somewhat puzzled, listener ; now and then he 
 detected certain irrelevancies, he thought, but 
 the perpetrator seemed so solemn that it passed 
 for ordinary comment. 
 
 In deference to Mr. Caine, the talk drifted to 
 the broad subject of authors in connection with 
 critics, actors, and kindred subjects ; which led 
 Mr. Dailey to deliver the following remarkable 
 disquisition : 
 
 *' It seems to me, by the way, that only one 
 man has any right to criticise a theatrical per- 
 formance. Make it two, by a long stretch. 
 The professional critic is not one of them ; 
 neither is the man who pays at the door, be- 
 cause he rarely knows what he is talking about
 
 •wait anD Uumoc of tbc Stage 47 
 
 The actor and the auttior alone are qualified, — 
 but even the author should be omitted. Con- 
 sider what the author has written, — for instance, 
 the threadbare conversation about the chicken 
 crossing the road. * A chicken,' wrote the au- 
 thor, 'crosses the road in order to get on the 
 other side.' What sort of dialogue is that ? 
 How can a chicken reach the other side of the 
 road when the other side of the road is the side 
 it has just left? Obviously the author was stupid. 
 A chicken crosses the road in order to remain 
 on the same side. No, the author is out of it, — 
 only an actor has any right to criticise a show." 
 
 Mr. Caine, in the midst of profound silence, 
 suddenly laughed explosively. They stared and 
 he laughed the more ; they gazed at him inquir- 
 ingly, expressionless as marble. One by one, 
 as if dumfounded, they left the table. 
 
 Mr. Dailey was the last to go. Pausing, he 
 looked back at Mr. Caine, who remained help- 
 less at the table, laughing so intensely as to 
 scarcely utter a sound. 
 
 "And that," exclaimed the comedian, loudly, 
 and with scorn, "is an author ! " 
 
 Sizing Up Bernard Shaw 
 Bernard Shaw is thus immortalized by Charles 
 Hawtrey, the English comedian :
 
 48 Timit anD Ibumor ot tbe Stage 
 
 '• Once upon a time," says Hawtrey, " I had 
 a mad desire to produce Shaw's play of You 
 Never Can Tell. I wrote to Shaw and asked 
 his permission. He answered that he would 
 come and read it to me. He did, and began 
 by saying that sometimes he thought it was the 
 best play that ever was written, and at others he 
 considered it the greatest trash. Anyhow, he 
 was of opinion that it was a pretty poor play, 
 and that if I produced it — well, I must take the 
 consequences. Sometime afterward I asked 
 Shaw if I could compress the last act. He de- 
 clined to allow one line to be altered or cut out. 
 In view of certain contingencies, I had at last to 
 tell him that I couldn't produce the play. His 
 answer was, ' Thank you so much ! You have 
 taken a great load off my mind.' Now what 
 are you to do with a man like that ? " 
 
 Circumstances Alter Faces 
 In order to play Rosemary some years ago, 
 John Drew shaved off his mustache, thereby 
 greatly changing his appearance. Shortly after- 
 ward he met Max. Beerbohm in the lobby of a 
 London theatre, but could not just then recall 
 who the latter was. j\Ir. Beerbohm's memory 
 was better.
 
 •wait and Ibumor ot tbc Stage 49 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Drew," he said, "I'm afraid you 
 don't know me without your mustache." 
 
 Jogging His Memory 
 
 Lew Dockstader tells of a friend of his who 
 visited an insane asylum and came across an 
 inmate who was walking in the corridor. His 
 friend engaged the inmate in conversation and 
 discovered him to be a most intelligent person, 
 posted on all the topics of the day, with rational 
 ideas about everything and no signs of insanity. 
 
 " You do not seem insane," said the visitor. 
 
 "Certainly not," replied the inmate. "I 
 am perfectly normal. 1 am here because of a 
 plot against me by some one. If I could get 
 word to my sisters and brothers I would be 
 liberated at once. Also, I would like a word 
 with my lawyer." 
 
 To make sure, the visitor talked for half an 
 hour with the inmate and, in the end, was con- 
 vinced a gross injustice was being done. He 
 said : " I will gladly take a message to your 
 lawyer or your brother. I am sure you are 
 sane. ' ' 
 
 "If you will," replied the inmate, "I shall 
 be under lifelong obligation to you. I am^ 
 incarcerated here for no reason, I am sure. 
 Please say to my lawyer that you saw me here
 
 50 TKfltt anD Ibumot ot tbe Stage 
 
 and that I want him to come at once and see 
 me so I can take steps to regain my liberty." 
 
 There was some more conversation and the 
 message was arranged for and addresses given. 
 After other protestations of his sanity and assur- 
 ances by the visitor that the outrage would soon 
 be corrected, the visitor turned to go. As he 
 was about to descend the steps he was hoisted 
 off his feet by a tremendous kick and fell into a 
 flower-bed. He turned to see the inmate grin- 
 ning at him from the steps. 
 
 " Why did you do that?" shouted the vis- 
 itor. 
 
 " Lest you forget," said the inmate, shaking 
 a finger at him — " Lest you forget." 
 
 Herman and the Cabby 
 Dispute over a fare gave Henry Herman, the 
 dramatist, opportunity for playing a grim joke 
 at cabby's expense. Herman was the unfor- 
 tunate possessor of a glass eye, which, on John's 
 waxing demonstrative with his whip, whereof 
 the lash passed perilously near, he suddenly 
 pulled out, and thrusting it in cabby's face, 
 "You rascal," he vociferated, "look what 
 you've done ! You've cut my eye out ! " 
 Without waiting for the money in dispute, the 
 driver lashed his horse and fled aghast.
 
 TWllt anJ) fjumor ot tbe Stage 5i 
 
 Objected to Guineas 
 Colonel Maplcson, the famous impresario who 
 objected to the lavish use of the name " Maple- 
 son " in one of London's latest plays, tells of an 
 amusing story of the first contract he ever made 
 on behalf of his father, the famous opera-mana 
 ger, who practically introduced all the greatest 
 artists of the last fifty years to the public. Ma- 
 pleson senior wanted to engage Mongini, a 
 famous Italian tenor, and sent his son over to 
 capture him if possible. Young Mapleson was 
 empowered to offer sixty to seventy guineas a 
 week, but as soon as the word "guineas" was 
 mentioned, Mongini looked dissatisfied. He 
 did not like guineas, he wanted to be paid in 
 coin of the realm. "Well, my dear signor," 
 said Colonel Mapleson, keeping a grave face, 
 "I do not wish any trifle of money to come be- 
 tween us. Instead of seventy guineas shall we 
 say seventy pounds sterling?" Mongini was 
 overjoyed, kissed Colonel Mapleson on both 
 cheeks, said he was the finest impresario he had 
 ever met, and at once signed the contract. 
 
 They Thought Well of Themselves 
 The reminiscences of Mr. Herman Vezin, the 
 famous actor, who celebrated his eightieth birth- 
 day on March 2d, and his diamond jubilee as
 
 62 luitt anD Ibumoc ot tbe Stage 
 
 an actor, includes a couple of stories which show 
 that actors in the old days knew how to ap- 
 preciate themselves. The great American trage- 
 dian of Mr. Vezin's youth was Edwin Forrest. 
 " He was certainly the finest Richelieu I ever 
 saw," says Mr. Vezin, "and a magnificent 
 King Lear. One day a fellow actor compli- 
 mented him on the way he played Lear. ' Play 
 Lear ! ' exclaimed Forrest. ' I play Hamlet, 
 Othello, Macbeth ; but by heavens, sir, I am 
 Lear ! ' Boucicault had an enormous belief in 
 himself, too. Once he was detected in the act 
 of praising Shakespeare. 'Surely,' remarked 
 Boucicault, by way of excuse, ' great men may 
 admire each other.' " 
 
 The Kingdom Saved 
 
 When Barry Sullivan, the Irish tragedian, was 
 playing Richard III one night, and the actor 
 came to the lines, *'A horse! a horse! My 
 kingdom for a horse I " some merry wag in the 
 pit called out : 
 
 "And wouldn't a jackass do as well for 
 you?" 
 
 "Sure!" answered Sullivan, turning like a 
 flash at the sound of the voice, "come around 
 to the stage door at once ! "
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 Some Stage Mishaps 
 
 From the days of Shakespeare and his Globe 
 Theatre until the present, the annals of the stage 
 abound in stories of queer contretemps, either on 
 the stage in full view of the audience or behind 
 the scenes ; such mishaps as are calculated to 
 disturb that atmosphere of illusion without which 
 there can be no successful performance. Here 
 is a galaxy of stories, all of them authentic. 
 
 It Was the Cat 
 Richard Mansfield often narrated an event 
 of his early days that illustrates how the most 
 effective scene may be spoiled by a very small 
 thing. It happened that during the performance 
 of a Shakespearian play a corpse upon a bier 
 had to be brought upon the stage. The body, 
 covered with a pall, was represented by a dummy, 
 the feet of which could be seen protruding from 
 the covering. The bearers had set down the 
 bier, and the business of the scene was proceed- 
 ing as usual, when an uncanny portent was be- 
 held. The corpse was moving ! People in the
 
 54 "Ufllt anD Ibumor ot tbe Stage 
 
 audience began to tiiter ; but the actors, know- 
 ing well that underneath the pall was nothing 
 but a dummy, were awestruck or, at any rate, 
 profoundly puzzled — according to their respective 
 temperaments. Mr. Mansfield, then speaking 
 incontinently, "dried up," but his amazement 
 was changed to furious anger as, amid a perfect 
 yell of laughter from the audience, the theatre 
 cat crept from under the pall and made a digni 
 fied exit. 
 
 Says Marie Cahill 
 
 " I was in stock once playing a melodramatic 
 thing, and the hero was declaring his popular- 
 priced love to me ; for 1 was the leading lady. 
 
 " He was sitting on the edge of his chair, 
 leaning forward, breathing the violence of his 
 feelings. I preyed upon his every word, seek- 
 ing for the chance to grasp some gleam of intel- 
 ligence from it. I, too, sat forward in the large 
 oak chair. I watched him with the eyes of an 
 eagle. My hands held the arms of the chair, 
 and in the strength of my feelings my finger- 
 nails almost pierced the tough old oak. 
 
 "At that moment I heard a bark, and Pete, 
 my Scotch terrier, bounced across the stage in 
 pursuit of a cat. I slipped off the edge of the 
 chair, saving myself from falling only by the
 
 Timtt anO t)umor of tbe btagc 55 
 
 main strength of my arms. In my agony I lis- 
 tened for the laughter which greeted Pete to con- 
 tinue at my expense ; but as I stealthily drew 
 myself back into the chair and felt that my pres- 
 ence of mind had saved the scene, and gloried 
 in the fact that no one had seen the slip, tiie 
 voice of the inevitable gallery god came down 
 to me. 
 
 " ' Good old girl I ' said the piping little vil- 
 lain, and the scene stopped right there." 
 
 Why Warner is Superstitious 
 Charles Warner, the English actor, who made 
 such a success as Coupeau in Drink, and w'ho 
 has thrilled so many audiences on the stage, has 
 himself had one thrilling experience there, of 
 which the audience was unconscious. On one 
 occasion, at a rehearsal of H. J. Byron's Guinea 
 Gold, Mr. Warner came into the theatre with a 
 dripping umbrella and proceeded to shake the 
 rain off. " For pity's sake, Warner," cried 
 Byron, " don't open an umbrella on the stage; 
 it's the most unlucky thing in the world ; we 
 shall have some accident, or the play will be a 
 failure." Mr. Warner proceeds : 
 
 " On the night of production, a most serious 
 accident very nearly occurred. In the third act, 
 Miss Foote, the heroine of the play, is decoyed
 
 66 WLit anJ) Ibumoc ot tbc Stage 
 
 into a den near the Thames by William Rig- 
 nold, the villain of the play. I, the hero, 
 naturally am at hand to rescue her, but the 
 villain locks us both in and we can find no 
 means of egress. Suddenly the high tides of 
 the Thames overflow the den, and, by a me- 
 chanical contrivance, I, with Miss Foote in my 
 arms, rise as the waters flow over our heads. 
 Just at this point the machinery of the rising 
 float got fixed, and the immense body of water 
 was absolutely drowning us as I held her. I 
 shouted : ' For God's sake, lower the curtain ; 
 we are drowning ! ' 
 
 " However, the noise of the water and the ap- 
 plause of the audience drowned the actor's 
 voice. Miss Foote fainted. In a very short 
 time I must have lost consciousness, and we 
 should both have been drowned had not the 
 stage-hands fortunately discovered the derange- 
 ment of the machinery in time." 
 
 Docked His Salary 
 Not every aspiring actor is able to take ad- 
 vantage of his chance when it comes, and the 
 greater his power of imagination, it sometimes 
 seems, the more likely he is to fail. The story 
 of CoUey Gibber's i/3i// is highly characteristic. 
 After months of hope deferred Gibber was given a
 
 TMit anO Ibumor of tbe Stage 57 
 
 line to speak to the great Betterton. When he 
 came on he was so impressed with the trage- 
 dian's terrific aspect that he stood petrified by 
 fear, quite ruining the effect of the scene. Bet- 
 terton angrily ordered the manager to dock the 
 boy's salary twenty shillings. 
 
 " But he gets no salary," explained the man- 
 ager. 
 
 "Then give him two pounds a week," 
 stormed Betterton, "and dock him one ! " 
 
 There may have been method in his madness, 
 for Gibber became one of the most artistic and 
 versatile actors of the eighteenth century. 
 
 The Debut of E. J. Morgan 
 
 Mr. E. J. Morgan's deduf ended in a similar 
 catastrophe. His first engagement was as a 
 singing super in Shenandoah, and he pestered 
 the manager almost daily to give him an acting 
 part. Finally, owing to the absence of one of 
 the cast, he was allowed to hold the lantern in 
 the scene in which signal lights are displayed on 
 a distant mountain, and the Union soldiers read 
 them by the aid of a code book. As he came 
 on, trembling with hope and fear, he stumbled 
 and, in catching his balance, jerked out the 
 light. The manager loudly called him off, but 
 he was so frightened that he went through with
 
 58 ■mn anD Ibumor of tbe Stage 
 
 his part, holding the doused lantern up to the 
 code book, and, of course, quite ruining the 
 effect. The manager, lacking Betterton's dis- 
 cernment, forbade him ever to ask for a part 
 again. 
 
 Shortly afterward the actor who had been 
 playing the part of the doctor fell sick. Mr. 
 Charles Frohman ordered a substitute from New 
 York, and himself came on to rehearse him. 
 The new actor did not appear. Mr. Morgan, 
 who had understudied all possible parts in the 
 play, and who was not forbidden to speak to 
 Mr. Frohman, volunteered, and was perforce 
 accepted. This time he showed his true colors, 
 getting a round of applause which the part had 
 never before evoked. 
 
 Costly False Steps 
 
 A new member of a summer stock company 
 was rushed hastily into a new part. He was 
 very young, and wanted to impress his asso- 
 ciates with the fact that he was perfectly at 
 home on the stage. One of his duties was to 
 escort the leading woman from the scene. 
 
 As they walked off the boards together the 
 lady dropped her handkerchief. 
 
 "Here is my ciiance to be perfectly cool in
 
 "Wnit an^ Ibumor of tbe Stage 59 
 
 any emergency," said the young actor to him- 
 self, and he started to pick up the bit of lace 
 without check to his talk. 
 
 '• Let it be," came in a sharp whisper from 
 his partner. " It's part of the business, you 
 idiot ! " 
 
 And in the very nick of time he was saved 
 from an act that would have knocked the whole 
 plot to flinders, as the story, of which he was 
 wholly ignorant, turned on what happened on 
 the finding of the dropped handkerchief, which 
 had been arranged for beforehand as a signal. 
 
 This budding player, however, was more for- 
 tunate than a leading man of more or less prom- 
 inence, who, appearing with a star in New York 
 this past autumn, practically ruined a whole 
 performance of the play by an inadvertent act, 
 and may very possibly be responsible for the 
 speedy withdrawal of the piece. 
 
 He played the husband of the leading woman, 
 who goes to a man's rooms where the husband is 
 not supposed to see her. The woman is let out 
 by a servant, but on the first night, as the door 
 at the rear of the scene was opened to admit of 
 her passage, there stood the husband in the hall- 
 way, causing the two to meet face to face. 
 
 It was the merest accident that the actor 
 chanced to be standing there at that psycholog-
 
 60 Mit and Ibumor of tbe Stage 
 
 ical moment, but it was enough to ruin the effect 
 of all that came afterward. 
 
 A Stage Joke 
 " I once witnessed a scene between the late 
 actors, John McCuUough and WiJl McConnell, 
 which was not inspired by the immortal Shake- 
 speare in his tragedy of Othello,'' says Frank 
 Perley. 
 
 "McConnell was always full of pranks, and 
 nothing pleased him more than to break up a 
 stirring scene occasionally. 
 
 " At this juncture John was about to begin an 
 impassioned speech, when Will stepped up to 
 him and cautiously dropped a raw egg into 
 Othello's hand. 
 
 "The effort to get through with that speech 
 without breaking the yolk of the egg was almost 
 too much for McCullough, and McConnell soon 
 made his exit. The company took the train 
 that night, and when John entered the car he 
 saw in the rear a slinking and drooping figure 
 which he thought looked suspiciously like the 
 joker. He started for him, but Will suddenly 
 decided that the temperature of the next coach 
 was more suitable to his needs, and McCullough 
 kept him there for the remainder of the long trip 
 to California."
 
 mit auD Ibumor of tbe Stase 61 
 
 Opening Blind Eyes 
 An actress well known on Broadway relates 
 the following : 
 
 " Some years ago, in Montgomery, Alabama, 
 I was with the Hazel Kirke production at the 
 same time that C. W. Couldock, the original 
 Dunstan Kuke, was on the bill, and, inci- 
 dentally, the stage hoodoo made his appear- 
 ance. 
 
 " We were in the third act, and the scene was 
 the kitchen of Blackburn Mill, when my blind 
 father, Dunstan Kirke, welcomes me home — as 
 1 sob in his arms. 
 
 " 'God's will be done ! ' he exclaimed ; and 
 then the electrician got into trouble, and the 
 lights went out, leaving us in the dark. 
 
 "Mr. Couldock knew how to swear — oh, he 
 did ! — and his voice soon lost its religious fervor 
 and resembled more a lion's roar. He ranted 
 and raved, until the audience could hear him as 
 he moved his arms threateningly in the direction 
 of the electrician. 
 
 "It was still pitch dark. Suddenly the lights 
 went up, and my poor blind father had his eyes 
 wide open, rolling them with all the frenzy of a 
 madman. The audience howled, and refused 
 to let us go on until Mr. Couldock was restored 
 to good humor by their applause."
 
 62 mtt and Ibumoc ot tbe Stage 
 
 Too Much Realism 
 
 " I shall never forget my first speaking pari 
 upon the stage," said Edmund Breese. "1 
 was playing the villain in a play called The End 
 of the World. 
 
 " In one scene I was to rush upon the stage, 
 hunted by a frenzied mob for the murder I had 
 committed, and in coming to this refuge I was 
 supposed to run in, breathing hard and panting 
 as if from a long chase. 
 
 " I thought the situation over thoroughly, and 
 concluded that my pants would be more natural 
 if augmented by physical exercise. 
 
 " The stage door opened on a long alley, and 
 I decided to run up and down this thoroughfare 
 until I had secured the natural out-of- breath 
 pants. Unfortunately, we were playing in an 
 Indiana town, where the town marshal reigns 
 supreme. I had made four sprinting trips up 
 and down the alley as fast as I could go, when 1 
 was nabbed by the sovereign arm of the law. 
 
 "'Now, I've got ye!' he chuckled. * So 
 you're the critter as has been cuttin' up your 
 didos in these parts the past week, air ye? 
 Well, soimy, come with me. I guess the cala- 
 boose will hold ye.' 
 
 " I fought and tried to explain, but in vain. 
 He dragged me off to the station, where the man
 
 Taait anD Ibumor of tbe Stage 63 
 
 on guard said, * Mebbe he's tellin' the truth. 
 Take him to the theatre and find out.' 
 
 "I knew it was my time to go on, and was 
 desperate; but the constables took their time 
 and marched me between them. 
 
 "The curtain had been held for ten minutes, 
 while they looked for me everywhere, and the 
 marshal was satisfied that I had told the truth. 
 However, I was completely cured of trying real- 
 istic methods in my work ever after. 
 
 Not Letter-Perfect 
 
 When Frank Daniels, the comedian, began as 
 an actor, he had a small part in a romantic 
 drama. He was young and ambitious, but he 
 was impressed with his surroundings and very 
 nervous on his first night. 
 
 He had nothing to do but stand around in the 
 first two acts, but in the third act he had a line. 
 It was his business to rush in at a critical mo- 
 ment and shout: "The king is dead! Long 
 live the king I " 
 
 Daniels stood in the wings waiting for his 
 cue. It came, and he staggered out on the 
 stage, a wreck from stage-fright. He tried to 
 speak, couldn't ; tried again, gulped ; and, then, 
 with one tremendous effort yelled : 
 
 " Long live the king ! He's dead I **
 
 64 Mlt anO "toumor ot tbe Stage 
 
 " Fair Harvard " 
 
 One of the most unexpected and amusing, not 
 to say disconcerting, scenes occurred when 
 Henry Woodruff was playing the Imp with Nat 
 Goodwin in When We Were Twenty- One. 
 " This was at the Colonial Theatre, Boston, sev- 
 eral years ago, and it broke me up comj)letely 
 and almost brought the presentation to a close be- 
 fore it was fairly begun," says the actor in 
 question. 
 
 "John the Orangeman was the cause of the 
 demonstration. All Harvard students have an 
 affection for Old John, and during my four years 
 at Harvard we became great friends. 
 
 " It was not long after my college days that I 
 returned to Boston with Goodwin's company, 
 and John had bought a seat in the first row for 
 the opening night. He did not notify me that 
 he would be among those present. He admitted 
 afterward that he wanted to take me by surprise, 
 and he did. 
 
 " On the instant of my entrance, I had the 
 vision of a grizzle-bearded, wiry little figure 
 rising out of an aisle seat in the front row, 
 waving its arms, emitting a whoop and then 
 letting out the college yell, ' Rah, rah, rah ! 
 Rah, rah, rah I Rah, rah, rah ! Har-vard ! ' 
 
 " Then John tried to climb over the brass rail-
 
 mu anO Dumor of tbe Stage 65 
 
 ing to the orchestra pit with the intention of 
 getting on the stage. Goodwin was annoyed ; 
 but I was speechless for a moment, and was 
 guilty of a paroxysm of laughter not found on 
 the prompt book. 
 
 "The ushers pulled John off the orchestra 
 leader's back and escorted him to the lobby. 
 Then several Harvard boys in the audience 
 came to John's rescue and begged the mana- 
 ger to let him remain for the evening, but 
 John refused to do so. He was indignant that 
 he was not permitted to greet an old friend in a 
 hearty manner." 
 
 No Mistake 
 
 Louis James combines with the talent for 
 practical joking a temper of the kind that not 
 infrequently is observed to go with it. Some 
 time ago the proprietor of a Texas hotel, he had 
 just left requested him by telegraph to return 
 certain sheets and towels which, as the message 
 read, had been taken " by mistake." Mr. 
 James brought suit for libel, as newspaper read- 
 ers will remember. 
 
 Shortly after that he was taking a one-night 
 stand in a Western town in which the proprietor 
 of the hotel was a friend of his. He was de- 
 layed in his arrival, and, as he had to leave for
 
 66 imit anO Dumor ot tbe Stage 
 
 the next stand at the end of the performance, he 
 went to the general wash-room instead of to his 
 own apartments. The proprietor poHtely but 
 persistently begged him to go up-stairs to wash, 
 urging that no charge would be made for the 
 rooms. 
 
 When Mr. James opened the door he discov- 
 ered the reason. The towels were lashed to the 
 rack with pieces of clothes-line, the soap was 
 nailed to the wash-stand, and a huge anchor 
 suspended from the head of the bed held the 
 pillow-shams firmly in place, Mr, James tells 
 the story on himself, and professes gratitude for 
 the fact that he yielded to the proprietor's en- 
 treaties. 
 
 A Children's Play 
 
 The following true story belongs rather to the 
 realms of private theatricals, yet may be in- 
 cluded here for its delicious fiaivete. 
 
 When the present King of England, Edward 
 the Seventh, was a little boy, he and his younger 
 brothers and sisters — among them the Princess 
 Royal, Princess Louise, Prince Arthur, and 
 Princess Beatrice — had a famous play-room in 
 Balmoral Castle where high jinks were Jield. 
 
 Among the favorite amusements of the royal 
 children was the acting of charades and make-
 
 THait and fjumor of tbe Stage 67 
 
 believe plays, the latter often made up by them- 
 selves. Prince Albert and Queen Victoria were 
 quite proud of their exceedingly bright bevy of 
 children, and often laughed heartily at their 
 quaint conceits. 
 
 Upon a certain occasion, Balmoral Castle was 
 full of grown-up guests, and one evening the 
 children were allowed to come into the drawing- 
 room and encouraged to give one of their plays. 
 
 A " make-believe " scene was hastily arranged 
 by means of chairs and settees, representing 
 supposedly the courtyard of an English Nor- 
 man castle. The Prince of Wales, as a gallant 
 knight, came prancing in on horseback, just 
 returning from the Crusades. 
 
 In the courtyard he found his lady wife — 
 the Princess Alice — and her ladies drawn up to 
 receive him, while on near-by seats were arranged 
 as spectators a fine array of dolls, male and 
 female, supposedly children of the knight and 
 his lady. 
 
 The brave knight recounted his adventures 
 with much pomp of language ; at the end of the 
 recital his wife advanced with her ladies to 
 deliver the keys of the castle as its chatelaine. 
 After some equally high-flown language the lady 
 stepped back a pace or two, and swept the array 
 of dolls with an all-inclusive gesture, saying :
 
 68 •wait an£> Ibumot of tbe Stage 
 
 "And we, too, my lord, have not been idle 
 during your absence ! " 
 
 Playing by Proxy 
 
 " In my early stage career in California," 
 says Blanche Bates, " I was cast for a part in a 
 melodrama that required technical skill as a 
 pianist to interpret, and so it was arranged to 
 give the man in the orchestra the work of fur- 
 nishing the music, and I was provided with a 
 dummy piano to play upon the stage. 
 
 " All went well until the second act, when 
 the musician's soul started wandering and he 
 lost himself in reverie, which well-nigh proved 
 fatal to me. Every one had left the stage and 
 the time for my exit had passed, but the music 
 continued. 
 
 "'Come off!' came in stentorian whispers 
 from the wings. 
 
 "'Not yet,' I replied significantly. The 
 music was coming in floods. I was delaying 
 the action of the play, and I knew it ; but what 
 could I do ? 
 
 " The voice from the wings grew insistent. 
 ' Everybody is off ! What's the matter ? ' 
 
 " I was almost frantic in hysteria when they 
 sent a maid in to my assistance, and between
 
 TKnit and Ibumoc of tbc Stage 6& 
 
 paroxysms I exclaimed : ' Stop that music down 
 in front ! '" 
 
 Forrest and the Super 
 
 A rehearsal of Brutus by Edwin Forrest was 
 in progress at Niblo's Garden, New York, and 
 in one scene a messenger (a super) rushes on the 
 stage with news of treachery to the great trage- 
 dian, who is sitting in a chair on the centre of 
 the stage. 
 
 " Liar ! " thunders the actor in a rage, as he 
 seizes the messenger and hurls him to the foot- 
 lights. The super fell in a heap and rose so 
 clumsily that Forrest fairly bellowed, "Get up, 
 you idiot, and sit in that chair ! I will show 
 you how to fall! I'll deliver your message; 
 and you be sure to grasp me as I did you." 
 
 The super, who was a Bowery athlete, sat 
 down and braced himself for the fray, and when 
 Forrest came within reach he found himself in 
 an iron grip, and was thrown to the edge of the 
 stage with great force. The bruised tragedian 
 fell gracefully, and slowly picked himself up, 
 gasping, " You awkward brute, that is the way 
 to fall!" 
 
 To this the super replied, "See here, Ned, if 
 I got half as much pay as you do, I'll be blanked 
 if I wouldn't do it twice as well ! "
 
 70 Timit anD Ibumor ot tbe Staflc 
 
 May Buckley 
 
 "I thought I had entirely outgrown my fond- 
 ness for dolls until I joined the company pro- 
 ducing The Manxman,'' said the lady recently. 
 
 *' We were traveling all over the country, and 
 in the cast was a baby which was impersonated 
 in this instance by a big doll, almost human in 
 size and appearance. We carried it while on 
 the road in a white casket to keep it safe, and 
 that doll was my particular pride. All of my 
 spare time I was making it clothes, crocheting 
 lace, or embroidering robes. In fact, it received 
 as much attention from me as most children do 
 from their mothers. 
 
 " I played the role of Kate, who abandons 
 Pete, her husband, and her child, for the 
 Deemster. 
 
 " At last I return to steal the child, and Pete 
 discovers me, but misinterprets my return. 
 
 " ' Oh, you have come back to me, Kate.' 
 
 " * No, no ! ' I interrupt. 'I've come for the 
 child.' 
 
 " 'Oh, Kate, go away if you will and take my 
 heart with you ; but leave me my child ! ' 
 
 "'She is not yours!' I cry defiantly, and 
 then I felt a movement in my arm and stood 
 speechless. The doll's head dropped off and 
 rolled to its father's feet.
 
 Mlt anO Ibumor of tbc Stage 7i 
 
 " The curtain came down with deafening ap- 
 plause." 
 
 Headlight vs. Footlight 
 
 "Away up in Pocatello, Idaho, a few years 
 ago," said T. Daniel Frawley, "I was present- 
 ing the old favorite, Bluejeans. The electric 
 lights of the city were controlled by two polit- 
 ical factions, the city and the railway company. 
 
 "Some accident had knocked the city's sup- 
 ply off, and the railroad company's men had 
 gone on a strike, and in consequence at eight 
 o'clock the whole city was in darkness. I sent 
 out to buy candles ; but they made a ghostly 
 flicker as footlights. I was in despair, when the 
 colored doorkeeper burst in upon me. 
 
 "'Say, boss, there's a big headlight on the 
 engine in the company's yard.' 
 
 " ' Bring it here and I'll give you ten dollars ! ' 
 I shouted. 
 
 ' ' ' You bet I will ! But if they ketch me ' 
 
 " 'Bring it along ! ' 
 
 "The boy returned in a few minutes, his eyes 
 rolling in glee at the thought of his promised ten. 
 
 "I placed the headlight at the back of the 
 auditorium, down the centre aisle, and threw all 
 the light upon the stage, and then we proceeded 
 with the play."
 
 72 mit anJ) Ibumor ot tbe Stage 
 
 He Talked Through the Chimney 
 
 " In the year 1876," says a prominent trage- 
 dian, "I was with Edwin Booth, playing lago 
 to his Othello in the South, and for the first 
 time I was made aware of Booth's horror of the 
 breaking up of a scene. He could see abso- 
 lutely nothing funny in anything that destroyed 
 an illusion or spoiled an artistic effect. 
 
 " In those early days traveling companies did 
 not carry their scenery with them, and some of 
 the makeshift stock scenes supplied by the vari- 
 ous theatres were excruciatingly bad. 
 
 " In the first scene of Othello the stage is set 
 for Brabantio's home. This theatre furnished 
 us a 'set house' with foliage about the top of 
 the painted cottage, which contained a chimney 
 in the centre, one window beneath it, and a 
 door. 
 
 " As the play goes on, the citizens go to 
 Brabantio's home to tell him that his daughter 
 has eloped with the Moor. They call to him 
 and knock at the door, and Brabantio is sup- 
 posed to look out of the window first before 
 opening the door to the citizens. 
 
 "As it happened in this town, the man who 
 played Brabantio in our company took sick, and 
 we had to take an understudy for his part, who 
 was a man six feet four inches tall.
 
 "Wmt anD Ibumor ot tbe Stase 73 
 
 "The manuscript of the original Brabantio 
 was handed to him, and was simply marked for 
 this business : ' Top of step-ladder, to window 
 back of set house.' 
 
 "The scene progressed, and our new Bra- 
 bantio made his appearance, but it nearly sent 
 us in convulsions; for, instead of appearing at 
 the window, his head and shoulders towered 
 above the chimney. He was innocent of his 
 blunder, and read his lines from the chimney- 
 top with a dignity that was nothing short of 
 torture to the actors below. When he tried to 
 make an entrance through the five-foot door, he 
 had to fold himself together in order to get 
 through, and then the audience discovered why 
 he had talked from the chimney. The applause 
 was deafening, and the only man who did not 
 appreciate it was Edwin Booth." 
 
 Scalped 
 
 Grace Elliston was once cast for the part of 
 the mother of John the Baptist in a Biblical 
 play, and just at the climax of one act, in the 
 denunciation scene, the stage hoodoo robbed her 
 of applause for merit and brought laughter in- 
 stead of tears. 
 
 Her scene was with Herod, and her curse was 
 ringing out, " His voice will come to you in
 
 74 imit anO Ibumor of tbe Stase 
 
 •the night." Then she stopped as the couriers 
 brought in the head of John the Baptist on a 
 tray, covered by a napkin, and placed it before 
 Herod. 
 
 She snatched off the napkin in her frenzy and 
 caught the wig with it, and there lay the dummy 
 head as bare as a baby. 
 
 The audience is quick to notice these things, 
 and Miss EUiston got a hand that night for her 
 awkwardness. 
 
 Where Money Refused to Talk 
 The stories told of actors, whose wit has saved 
 the day on many trying occasions, are legion and 
 make good reading. The public is too apt to 
 regard n)ost of these reminiscences as the cre- 
 ation of the actor's imagination. Probably the 
 funniest things are said and done by the strollers 
 who have their turn in one-night stands — when 
 there was no audience to applaud, and where 
 the discomforts of makeshift hotels give an edge 
 to life, either pathetic or comic. 
 
 "For many years," says John Mason, **I 
 was a member of the old Boston Museum, when 
 dear old George Middleton was with the com- 
 pany. After closing the Boston season, we were 
 usually sent on the road ; and in this instance 
 the play was Ingomar.
 
 THUft anO Dumor of tbe Stage 75 
 
 " The town, as I recollect it, was Amesbury, 
 Massachusetts, and we arrived while the inhab- 
 itants were in the throes of a big circus. The 
 hotel was filled to overflowing, and there was 
 nowhere to lay our heads. 
 
 " We had but two women in the company, 
 yet our manager and his money talked to that 
 landlord with no avail — there simply was no 
 room for the ladies. 
 
 " Finally, about nine o'clock that evening, 
 the landlord relented, and said that the women 
 might sleep with his wife, and he would sit up. 
 
 " It was also arranged by the rest of the com- 
 pany to sleep on the stage, with such comforts 
 as the hairy wardrobe of Ingomar could provide. 
 
 "Each member of the cast was wrapped in 
 his furs and restlessly rolled all night, hunting 
 for the soft spots on the boards. 
 
 " About 3 A. M. we saw a shivering figure 
 glide among us. ' Gee whiz ! but it's cold,' a 
 chattering voice said. 
 
 " It was George Middleton. He looked 
 around him at the huddled group and said : 
 ' You are a fuzzy bunch ! ' And then his eye 
 fell upon the background. ' No wonder it is 
 cold — we are sleeping in an open forest.' Quick 
 as lightning his hands flew to the pulley ropes 
 — the old-fashioned way of dropping a scene —
 
 76 "Mit anO Ibumor of tbe Stage 
 
 and he continued : ' I'll change the temper- 
 ature. I'll just drop an interior.' 
 
 " Instantly the scene was changed, and Mid- 
 dleton chuckled with satisfaction. * Now, that 
 is more like it ; — here we are with all the com- 
 forts of home — by the woods shut out and by 
 the house shut in. Go to sleep, boys.' " 
 
 Ready Wit Came a Cropper 
 Since there has been so much written about 
 the presence of mind of stage folk, it has come 
 to be generally believed that they are very sel- 
 dom fazed by contretemps during the perform- 
 ance. But during the last engagement of 
 Trilby in New York, the delay of one actor in 
 responding to his cue threw three others on the 
 boards into a veritable panic, much to tbe 
 amusement of the audience. The wait covered 
 several minutes, which might have been filled in 
 with improvised talk and "business" had not 
 all three lost their heads. 
 
 The incident recalls an experience related of 
 R. K. Barnet, author of I4g2 and other musical 
 comedies. 
 
 Barnet once tried his hand at acting, but 
 came to grief in a curious way while " winging 
 his part." He had never seen the play, and
 
 TIClit an& Ibumor of tbe Stage 77 
 
 was snapped up to fill a role in an emergency, 
 almost as the curtain went up. 
 
 He got through two acts without serious 
 trouble, and congratulated himself that his part 
 in the others was very short. When Barnet 
 heard his cue in the fourth act he thrust the 
 manuscript of the part into his pocket, and 
 went on. His first line was, " My Lord, letters 
 from the Pretender," and as he spoke the first 
 two words it flashed upon him that he hadn't 
 any letters. But he was equal to the emer- 
 gency ; he drew out his manuscript as he spoke, 
 and calmly handed it over in place of the letters. 
 
 If Barnet had known the business of the act, 
 he certainly wouldn't have done so ; for " My 
 Lord," after glaring a second or two at the 
 manuscript, tore it into little bits, as he ex- 
 claimed, "Thus do I treat all communications 
 from such a source ! " 
 
 There was no other copy of his part in the 
 theatre, and so it had to be cut out of the rest 
 of the play. 
 
 An Actor's Subterfuges 
 
 "Every actor prides himself most upon his 
 ability to 'fake' when it is necessary," said
 
 78 "wait anD Ibumor of tbe Stage 
 
 James Fulton. " I remember once, when I was 
 young in the business, we were playing Fly by 
 Night and the heroine was supposed to kill the 
 heavy. The audience was primed up to the 
 climax, as only theone-show-every-three-months- 
 town audience can be. ' Now die ! ' she cried, 
 and pulled the trigger. Snap went the hammer 
 against a dead cartridge and the villain lived. 
 Snap went the gun again ; the heavy still stood 
 waiting the report. Snap ! for the third time, 
 but no flash of powder followed. The heavy 
 threw up his hands, and, doing the stage fall, 
 cried : ' My God ! I've been shot with an air- 
 gun.' 
 
 " Another time we were putting on one of 
 those English melodramas dealing with the coal 
 mines of England. The scene was laid at the 
 bottom of the pit, 700 feet below the surface. 
 The heavy was destined to die in this act, by 
 the bullet of one of his treacherous cohorts, the 
 shot being fired from behind the scenes, sup- 
 posed to come from one of the subterranean pas- 
 sages. He gave his cue for the shot, but the 
 report failed. Props was evidently busy. 
 Again he gave the cue, but failed to get the re- 
 ply. Suddenly he wheeled and, falling to the 
 stage, cried, 'My God! I've been struck by 
 lightning ! ' "
 
 "Cmit and ■fcumor of tbe Stage 79 
 
 A Queer Skull 
 This Story shows the careless, happy-go-lucki- 
 ness of the Irish character. King, the tragedian, 
 was playing Hamlet, and after the graveyard 
 scene he discovered that his hands were filthy 
 and black, as if he had been touching soot. He 
 inquired the cause of the property man, who 
 said, "Shure, it's the glue-pot, sorr ! " And 
 so it was. The skull used in the play also did 
 duty as the glue-pot. To what base uses may 
 we not descend ! 
 
 Lost Armful of Beauty 
 
 Otis Skinner tells an anecdote of his salad 
 days when he was playing in The FooT s Revenge 
 with Edwin Booth. On one memorable occa- 
 sion it fell to young Skinner to assist in carrying 
 the abducted daughter down the ladder, but the 
 leading lady was by no means a sylph, and 
 Skinner was only a stripling. 
 
 " We must have a dummy," decided the 
 stage-manager, at rehearsal. 
 
 So one of those figures used in dry-goods 
 stores on which to display gowns was procured, 
 and the night of the performance arrived. 
 
 At the crucial moment Skinner ascended the 
 ladder, with Booth waiting at the foot, eager for 
 the culmination of his revenge on the duke.
 
 80 *wait anD Ibumoc of tbc Stage 
 
 A stage-hand passed the dummy over the bal- 
 cony, Skinner received it, but in his eagerness 
 took too large a half in his arms. He felt him- 
 self being overbalanced, and in order to save 
 his neck, let go his hold on the figure to grab a 
 round of the ladder. 
 
 Out into the air shot the light-weight daughter 
 of the fool, down on the stage upon her head 
 she landed, and those who had come to shudder 
 remained to laugh until their sides ached. 
 
 Over what was said to the stripling actor 
 afterward Mr. Skinner drew the veil of silence. 
 
 Says Yvette Guilbert 
 
 ** I was playing at the Folies Bergeres a few 
 years ago, when Fate played me a trick that 
 nearly robbed me of my reason. 
 
 "Only the week previous, my physician in- 
 formed me that I must submit to an operation 
 immediately if I wished to save my hfe, and I 
 was finishing the last night of my engagement at 
 the theatre, preparatory to my uncertain result 
 of hospital treatment, when the hoodoo con- 
 fronted me. 
 
 "It was summer-time and I sat by the open 
 door of my dressing-room watching the players 
 trip by to the stage. One girl came along and
 
 Ulltt anD lb u mot of tbe Stage 81 
 
 stopped for me to admire her gown. It was 
 pretty, and I told her so. 
 
 " ' But what do you represent, my dear? ' I 
 askcil. 
 
 " 'Sorrow,' she murmured. 
 
 ' ♦ After she left me, I closed the door and be- 
 gan to brood over rny physical trouble, and a 
 fearful foreboding took possession of me. ' Sor- 
 row," in picturesque attire, had stalked by my 
 door, and perhaps — perhaps her call was an 
 omen of what to expect from Fate. The blood 
 was pounding in my ears, and I wanted to cry 
 out ; but I could not. 
 
 " Then a bold, loud knock came at my door. 
 
 '"Who is there?' I called. 
 
 "'Death,' was the reply, as a pretty young 
 girl curtsied in a dress of clinging black ; 'death, 
 the unwelcome visitor.' 
 
 " I shrieked and lost my senses. Months 
 afterward, during my convalescence, the inci- 
 dent became a laughable memory ; but it was 
 void of humor at the time." 
 
 Lauder's Entrance 
 
 There is a story of Harry Lauder, the Scotch 
 
 comedian, which is known among his intimate 
 
 countrymen, although not whispered in Lauder's 
 
 presence, for he does not quite relish it. It
 
 82 TMit anD Ibumoi; of tbe Stage 
 
 seems that when he came to London for the first 
 time, the stage reputation he had gained in the 
 provinces had not made much of an impression 
 on the metropolis, indifferent, as usual, to new- 
 comers. 
 
 With a shrewd sense of the value of striking 
 effects, Lauder decided he would arouse the 
 Londoners to his peculiar merits in a novel man- 
 ner. From some bone-yard or other he pro- 
 cured the most skeleton-like specimen of horse- 
 flesh that he could find. On this he planned to 
 make his entrance upon the stage of the theatre 
 at which he was to have his premiere. 
 
 The bunch of bones was tractable enough 
 in the wings, with Harry astride, awaiting his 
 "turn." But when the little comedian urged 
 the beast forward for the grand entrance, there 
 was a balk, a buck, and Lauder was ingloriously 
 shot to the footlights over the horse's head, the 
 animal peering after him with what might be 
 called an equine grin. Lauder slowly and pain- 
 fully rose to his feet, while the gallery applauded 
 and stamped and cried, with shouts of : 
 
 " Do it again, Harry ! Once more, Harry ! " 
 
 Lauder felt of his bones, looked back at the 
 horse, and, turning to the audience, said : 
 
 " Like hell I will ! " His popularity in Lon- 
 don was assured.
 
 TKlit anD f3umot of tbc Stage 83 
 
 Acting Better Than He Knew 
 Robert Loraine's stage fortunes began with an 
 unrehearsed mishap, says he, recalling the inci- 
 dent. " When I was a lad of fourteen, 1 had 
 my start in the profession, for which I received 
 the munificent sum of three dollars and seventy- 
 five cents a week. But I was rich in determina- 
 tion, if not in salary, and walked four miles to 
 my home from Liverpool twice a day and lived 
 on toast and tea. To add to my troubles, I had 
 the enmity of the leading man, who tried to 
 crush me at every opportunity. 
 
 «*It was my first important role in The Ice 
 Kin^s Vow. I had secured the promise of a 
 stage-manager to be present at the opening per- 
 formance to see me act. Nothing else mattered 
 to me but to impress him. I tipped the supers 
 with a shilling and denied myself food, that the 
 occasion might be auspicious for that manager's 
 benefit. In the meantime, my enemy, who was 
 playing the part of the leader of a pirate band, 
 was also preparing to foil me. 
 
 "I had quite a heroic speech, which should 
 have continued without interruption to the last 
 of it. My plea for my daughters who were cap- 
 tured by the pirate chief began, ' Look at them ! 
 Regard them well, chieftain, these the said 
 pledges left me by their '
 
 84 imtt an£) Ibumor ot tbe Stase 
 
 "'I know what you would say/ he inter- 
 rupted. 
 
 "'Sainted mother,' I continued. 'It has 
 ever been my care to watch over them, to 
 make them worthy to become good men's wives 
 and ' 
 
 "'Away with the old dotard!' yelled the 
 chieftain. 
 
 *' ' No, I will not be taken away — and honest 
 men's mothers. Can you throw to the winds all 
 this, all their entreaties, and my ' 
 
 '"Be silent ! ' 
 
 " ' No, I will not be silenced — prayers, a 
 father's prayers? Oh, take my kingdom, coin 
 my heart for gold ; but pity, and spare my chil- 
 dren's honor I ' 
 
 "My vengeance was genuine and my acting 
 fierce. In trying to queer me, the chieftain had 
 brought out my spirit and realistic mood. His 
 men had been rehearsed by him to handle me 
 roughly when taking me prisoner, and I fought 
 like a madman, which I was. 
 
 " The end of it all was that the audience and 
 manager were so impressed that the next day he 
 made me an offer to star." 
 
 A Lady Giant-Killer 
 "During the pantomime Jack and the Bean-
 
 Timit anO Dumoc ot tbe StaflC 85 
 
 stalk at Kettering, in which I took the part of 
 Jack," says Edith Wallis, " I have a great fight 
 with the giant, a monster who towers over nine 
 feet in height. I fight him with a sword. My 
 sword did not arrive in time for the opening 
 performance, so I had to seek the aid of the 
 stage carpenter, who very quickly made me a 
 wooden one. And I must confess it was a 
 beautiful wooden sword, and it looked just like 
 a real one. But, alas ! after the first lunge it 
 broke, so I had to settle the giant with my fist. 
 1 soon accomplished the task, for with one blow 
 he expired — a mighty giant killed by a lady's 
 small hand ! " 
 
 Going Nature One Better 
 
 In the days of his youth Mr. Martin Harvey 
 was destined for the profession of naval archi- 
 tect, but he showed such strong inclination for 
 the stage that, on the advice of Sir W. S. Gil- 
 bert, he was placed under the tuition of the late 
 John Ryder, teacher of elocution and at one 
 time Macready's leading man. 
 
 And it was this John Ryder who figured in 
 one of the funniest rehearsal stories on record. 
 
 " He was on one occasion stage-managing a 
 play in which a tremendous thunder-storm oc- 
 curred," to quote the words of Mr. Harvey, who
 
 86 "Wnit an& t)umor of tbc Stage 
 
 tells the story in the Era Annual. "Ryder 
 had called half-a-dozen special rehearsals of this 
 storm, but he could not get the stage-hands to 
 obtain enough noise out of boxes and cannon- 
 balls. In the end he got exasperated, and, in a 
 temper, called out to the flyman, 'That won't 
 do at all ! You must get more rattle.' 
 
 "As it happened a genuine and violent thun- 
 der-storm was in full blast in the heavens at the 
 time, and it was after the * artillery of the 
 clouds ' had been doing its best that Ryder was 
 the most dissatisfied. ' Louder ! Louder ! ' 
 shouted Ryder. The flyman shouted in return, 
 'Beg pardon, sir; that wasn't me. That was 
 God Almighty.' 
 
 "'Well,' roared Ryder, 'that may be loud 
 enough for the Almighty, but it won't do for 
 me.'" 
 
 " Genuflexions " 
 " In the Cathedral scene of yrt//<f Shore," says 
 Alfred Lester, " several of the supers have to go 
 up the stage to the altar and make genuflexions 
 before same. After being rehearsed several 
 times and going wrong, the irate stage-manager 
 shouted at them, ' No, no, no. Where are 
 your genuflexions ? ' The super-master looked 
 first at one and then at the other, evidently not
 
 "mit anD fjumor of tbe Staflc 87 
 
 knowing the meaning of the word, and then re- 
 plied, ' Well, sir, I suppose we never got them 
 from the property-master.' " 
 
 Hard on the Chorus Girls 
 Gerald Coventry, the stage- manager, narrates 
 an amusing incident which occurred during a 
 rehearsal of T/i^ Pirates of Penzance when he 
 was bringing out the piece. At the point 
 where Frederick the hero comes in, and the girls 
 sing : — 
 
 " Oh, is there not one maiden here, 
 
 Whose homely face and bad complexion, 
 Have caused all hope to disappear 
 Of ever winning man's affection ? " — 
 
 a charwoman, who had been watching the re- 
 hearsal intently, broke out with the audible com- 
 ment : 
 
 "Begorra ! and I think there's a lot of them ! " 
 
 Fortunately it Was at Rehearsal 
 This from Charles Warner, the great imper- 
 sonator of the drunkard in Drink. ' 
 
 " I shall never forget a fiasco that happened 
 to me when playing with Samuel Phelpil* 
 Phelps took quite a fancy to me, and gave me 
 the part of Fran<;ois in Richelieu. You remem-
 
 88 Timit an£) Ibumor ot tbe Stage 
 
 ber the business of wresting the package out of 
 Francois' hand ? Well, Phelps didn't signify 
 what business he was going to introduce during 
 rehearsals. On the first night he rushed at me 
 and knocked the package right out of my hands, 
 asking me at the same time what I had to say. 
 I was so taken back that I forgot what my lines 
 were, and merely blurted out, ' I — er — don't 
 know.' " 
 
 What Was the Matter 
 
 E. A. Sothern has an amusing story about a 
 dilemma he once got into. 
 
 " 1 was acting in a comedy when I had to 
 speak the words, ' What's the matter ? ' Well, 
 one night I was rather slow about taking my 
 cue, and was prompted. I forgot myself for the 
 moment, and when the words came, * What's 
 the matter?' I thought something or other had 
 occurred out of the common. 1 paused and 
 looked round. Everything seemed normal, 
 and the stage waited. Then came another 
 ' What's the matter ? ' from the O. P. side. 
 ^ They were all getting anxious behind the 
 scenes ; and so was I, for that matter. I looked 
 myself up and down, and then scanned my fel- 
 low actor ; but for the life of me couldn't see any- 
 thing wrong. At last an audible whisper came
 
 TlCltt anO fjumor of tbc Stage 89 
 
 « Go on with your lines, you idiot ! What's 
 the matter with you ? ' Then it suddenly 
 dawned on me where I was, but the house had 
 tumbled to the situation, and came down in 
 convulsions." 
 
 A Laggard Dawn 
 Ah, the audience held their breath and simply 
 thr-r-rilled as Jack Braveboy, the hero, killed 
 the last of the Indians. He staggered about ; 
 he almost fainted with loss of blood. 
 
 Then he gazed about him, and suddenly his 
 voice rang out with hope. 
 
 "See!" he cried. "The dawn breaks 
 bright upon yon topmost heights ! " 
 The stage remained in darkness. 
 "See!" he yelled again. "The dawn 
 breaks bright upon yon topmost heights ! " 
 Still darkness reigned. 
 
 "The dawn ! the dawn ! " he screamed, rag- 
 ing about the stage. " It breaks ! The dawn ! " 
 A head popped over the mountain -top. 
 "Old 'ard, guv'nor ! " said the head. 
 " Don't be in sich a blewmin' hurry 1 Some 
 one's bin an' turned the gas orf 1 " 
 
 Retreat ? Never ! 
 In an Irish garrison town a theatrical com-
 
 90 TlCltt an& Ibumor ot tbc Stage 
 
 pany was giving performances, and some sol- 
 diers from the local barracks were engaged to 
 act as supers. Their duties included the wag- 
 ing of a fierce fight in which, after a stirring 
 struggle, one army was defeated on a given 
 signal fron) the prompter. For a few nights all 
 went well, but on the Friday evening a special 
 performance of the piece was to be given under 
 the patronage of the colonel and other officers 
 of the garrison. The two armies met as usual 
 at the end of the second act, when they fought 
 and fought and kept on fighting regardless of 
 the agonized glare in the eye of their (actor) 
 general, who hoarsely ordered the proper army 
 to " Retreat, confound you." But the fight 
 still went on, and soon the horrified manager 
 saw the wrong army being driven slowly off the 
 stage, still fighting desperately. Down came the 
 curtain amid roars of laughter, and the fuming 
 manager hastened to ask the delinquents why 
 they had failed to retreat on hearing the signal. 
 " Retraite," roared a burly fusilier, whose 
 visage had been badly battered, "and is it re- 
 traite ye'd have us, wid the colonel and all the 
 officers in the boxes ? " 
 
 They Meant Business 
 A Chicago stage-manager was telling of amus-
 
 TlCllt auD Ibumor of tbe Stage 91 
 
 ing incidents of blunders and errors caused by 
 stage fright. In a romantic play, recently re- " 
 vived, one of the minor characters, a dairymaid, 
 comes forward at the end of the recital of a love 
 romance and comments as follows : 
 
 " Hope filled their youth and whetted their 
 love; they plighted their troth ! " 
 
 But at one of the performances the girl who 
 played the dairymaid was absent without notice. 
 At the last moment the manager gave the lines 
 to a shepherdess, who had never had lines to 
 speak before, and who was excessively nervous 
 when her cue came. This is what the astonished 
 audience heard : 
 
 " Hope filled their trough and blighted their 
 love ; they whetted their tooth ! "
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 The Eternal Feminine 
 
 There was probably never a time when women 
 filled so large and valuable a part in stage affairs 
 as the present, and it is an open question whether, 
 upon the whole, feminine or masculine stars 
 shine brightest in the theatrical firmament. 
 Hence it is no wonder that we find our present- 
 day actresses furnishing a goodly crop of stage 
 wit and humor. 
 
 A Celestial Visitor 
 
 Mme. Rejane, the famous French actress, 
 once had a novel experience. She was sitting 
 at five o'clock tea on the lawn at her summer 
 villa, when an air-ship suddenly settled down 
 beside her. Standing up in it was Mme. Henri 
 Letellier, who observed quietly to the astonished 
 lady of the house as she extended her hand : 
 "We have called, dear raadame, to thank you 
 for your cooperation in our charity play." 
 "This is the first time," smiled Mme. Rejane, 
 " that any one has dropped from the clouds to 
 thank me."
 
 imit an5 Ibumor ot tbe Stase 93 
 
 A Fortune In a Laugh 
 One of the most valuable assets of Happy 
 Fanny Fields, who recently made such a big 
 "hit" in her Aladdin at the I'heatre Royal, 
 Newcastle, is her infectious laugh, as the little 
 lady's audiences soon discover. Questioned by 
 a press-man recently. Miss Fields said : " My 
 laugh ! Well, it had rather a humorous origin. 
 1 was playing a soubrette part in Our Boys in 
 California, and in one scene I had to throw 
 some ashes out of a window. One night, when 
 I had thrown the shovelful out (they were real 
 ashes) I noticed, too late, that the man who was 
 playing the detective was standing by the win- 
 dow directly in the line of fire. He got the 
 whole thing in his face, and I heard a splutter. 
 The humor of the thing took me on the spot, 
 and, forgetting I was on the stage, I just dropped 
 the shovel and shrieked witii laughter. After- 
 ward I tried to keep out of the stage-manager's 
 way, but it was no use ; he was looking for me, 
 and he found me. To my surprise, however, 
 instead of rating mC; he said, ' My dear girl, if 
 you can do that laugh every time, there's a for- 
 tune in it.' And that set me going." 
 
 The Rage of Bernhardt 
 The public which marveled at the youthfulness
 
 M lUit an^ t>«mor of tbe Stage 
 
 of Madame Bernhardt's voice and vigor, in spite 
 of her threescore years and more, had occasion, 
 during her last New York engagement, to marvel 
 also at the preservation of her historic temper. 
 Appearing in eight different plays in six days, 
 each of them, of course, containing a long and 
 trying part, she had naturally no strength to look 
 to the details of stage management. The won- 
 der was that she was able to perform that his- 
 trionic feat, the mere reporting of which proved 
 a heavy burden to her critics. 
 
 In the great scene in Daudct's Sapho, in which 
 Jean quits her in anger, she flies into a rage, 
 fetches his trunk with her own hands, and an- 
 grily helps him pack. As it happened, the 
 trunk supplied her in the wings was a scrubby 
 little affair, evidently belonging to one of the 
 supers, and with the tour label, " Sarah Bern- 
 hardt, Paris," in staring letters pasted across the 
 end. At sight of it Madame Bernhardt flung it 
 upon the stage with the reckless energy of a 
 baggage-smasher, and the audience burst into 
 uncontrollable laughter. This was bad enough, 
 but on going to a flimsy wardrobe Sapho dis- 
 covered in it, as the entire raiment of her lover, 
 a rack hung with dozens upon dozens of wash 
 ties, a shirt or two, and absolutely nothing else. 
 Then the rage of Sapho knew no bounds. She
 
 "Wait aiiD t)umor of tbe Staoe y6 
 
 grabbed those lies by the hamlfuls, and threw 
 them, not into the trunk, but upon the unoffend- 
 ing head of Jean Gaussin. The curtain rang 
 (iown amid roars. 
 
 The stage-manager evidently took this for ap- 
 plause, and immediately made the curtain soar 
 again. The audience was delighted with a view 
 of Bernhardt and her leading man still glaring 
 at each other in more than theatric passion. 
 
 A Novel Support 
 
 The late Will McConnell could never be made 
 to take his work seriously, although he was en- 
 ergetic enough. 
 
 He became manager for Amelia Bingham sev- 
 eral years ago, and that relation was the source 
 of many characteristic jokes. His friends learned 
 of his change in business by means of his business 
 card, which read : 
 
 Will A. McConnell 
 
 supported by 
 Amelia Bingham 
 
 Miss Bingham did continue to pay his salary 
 for some time, although the disagreements be- 
 tween them were fretjuent and amusing.
 
 96 Timit anO Ibumor of tbc Stage 
 
 Only Wanted a Joke 
 
 It happened along toward the final rehearsals 
 of a new play by a new writer. She sat in the 
 front row of the orchestra stalls in solitary state, 
 taking it all in. Suddenly the star called a halt 
 in the proceedings and advanced toward the 
 footlights. 
 
 " If you please," he said, addressing himself 
 to the playwright, "we want a joke right here, I 
 find. Will you kindly make one? " 
 
 "What! now, on the spot?" exclaimed the 
 playwright. "Why, I couldn't do it. Could 
 you make a joke to order on the spur of the mo- 
 ment like that? " 
 
 "No, certainly not," replied the actor. "It 
 is not my business. But you are the author. 
 It should be easy for you." 
 
 " I will bring you a joke or two in the morn- 
 ing," said the playwright. " It is quite out of 
 the question to produce one in cold blood." 
 
 She delivered the goods the next day, al- 
 though she was frank enough to admit that they 
 lacked the snap of spontaneity. 
 
 Mame, the Critic 
 
 Marie Cahill, the star of the comedy, Nancy 
 Brown, tells this story : 
 
 " I was playing on one occasion in Minne-
 
 Timit anO Ibumor of tbc Staflc 97 
 
 apolis with one of Daley's companies, when a 
 committee waited on me and asked if I would 
 not consent to appear at a benefit to be given the 
 next afternoon in aid of the families of several 
 firemen, who had been killed in the performance 
 of their duties. I was told that Joseph Jeffer- 
 son had consented to appear and deliver a talk 
 on the drama. Of course I consented, feeling 
 honored to participate in an affair of the kind, 
 especially as I was to play with Jefferson. 
 
 "The next afternoon I found myself one of a 
 great gathering of professionals of all kinds — 
 mostly vaudeville performers, I fancy. I stood 
 in the wings as Mr. Jefferson began his address 
 on the drama, and was deeply interested in 
 what that distinguished player was saying, when 
 suddenly I became aware that a young woman 
 was peering over my shoulder. Her hair was 
 blond, and she wore short pink skirts. The 
 song-and-dance artist was stamped indelibly on 
 her. At that moment, Mr. Jefferson, with rare 
 eloquence, was referring to the comedies of 
 Wycherley and Sheridan and Goldsmith, and 
 for a second I lost sight of my companion, when 
 I was startled to hear in a loud whisper from 
 somewhere back in the wings a shrill, girlish 
 voice saying : 
 
 " ' Hi, Mame, who's on now ? '
 
 98 imilt anD Ibiimor ot tbc Stage 
 
 " The song-and-dance fairy beside me turned 
 her head and whispered back : 
 
 " ' I dunno. Some old guy doin' a mono- 
 logue.' " 
 
 Stage-Struck 
 
 People whose position before the public makes 
 them a target for begging letters usually find that 
 an appeal is fraudulent in proportion as it is cal- 
 culated to work upon the sympathies ; but some- 
 times a request for aid has a pathos which is all 
 the deeper because it is unconscious. Among 
 the many letters Clyde Fitch has received, he 
 treasures one that reads somewhat as follows: 
 
 " Dear Mr. Clyde Fitch : 
 
 " For eight years, ever since I was a girl 
 of twenty-five, 1 have been a hopeless invalid, 
 confined to my couch by day and by night. 
 During this time my only consolation has been 
 making lace, and I have now completed a wed- 
 ding veil of very beautiful design, and large 
 enough to cover me from head to foot. I am 
 naturally desirous of making use of same, and 
 have thought how nice it would be if you would 
 write me a play, the chief scene of which is a 
 wedding, in which I might wear it. Before I 
 was sick I once played in private theatricals, and 
 friends said I was very beautiful, though they 
 may have been prejudiced. I know that I am 
 not an actress like Bernhardt or Mrs. I.,eslie 
 
 I
 
 •wait anD Ibumor of tbe Stage 99 
 
 Carter; but your plays do not generally call for 
 acting, and even if you did rise to greater heights, 
 the chief scene, you know, would find me be- 
 neath the wedding veil, which would conceal 
 everything. 
 
 " May say that I am a little better now, and 
 nothing would pull me together, the doctor says, 
 like having a real interest in life. It seems to 
 me that this is a great opportunity for you to 
 shine in your art and do a good deed, too. 
 
 " Admiringly yours, 
 
 "C C ." 
 
 Clara Lipman's Adventure 
 «* The last visit I made to Berlin is one I shall 
 not soon forget. I had been out shopping not 
 far from the Continental Hotel, where we were 
 stopping. 
 
 " While I was unacquainted with the streets, I 
 did not feel timid; but as I left the shop I 
 quickened my steps, and was soon aware that I 
 was being followed. 
 
 "Evening was closing in when I heard a 
 voice right behind me say : 
 
 " ' Excuse me ; are you a Spanish lady ? ' 
 " I looked back quickly and saw that my in- 
 terrogator was Spanish in appearance, and I 
 quickly crossed the street. 
 
 " But the stranger was keeping up the pace,
 
 100 "Wait anO Ibumor of tbe Stage 
 
 and again 1 heard : ' Excuse me ; you are a 
 Spanish lady.' 
 
 " At last I began to run, when the man's next 
 exclamation could be heard at my flying heels : 
 ' Excuse me ; you are impolite ! ' 
 
 " That was too much ; I stopped and laughed 
 in spite of my fears. But on looking around 1 
 found that my tormentor had disappeared. 
 Meanwhile I had lost my bearings, so I told my 
 troubles to a gendarme at the next corner. 
 
 " *I wish to go to the Continental Hotel,' I 
 said. ' Can you tell me where it is ? ' 
 
 " ' Is that where you live ? ' said iht gendarme. 
 
 " ' Yes,' I replied. 
 
 " ' Then you must know where you live. I 
 know where I live.' 
 
 "And with that he walked on as if our con- 
 versation was finished. 
 
 " I afterward discovered that the fellow knew 
 nothing of Berlin, but depended upon his guide- 
 book when his bluffs would not work." 
 
 Blanche Bates In the Balcony Scene 
 " My first appearance on the stage was the 
 worst-remembered in my mother's stage career. 
 At this particular time she was playing in Aus- 
 tralia, in Shakespearian plays. 
 
 " In the meantime I was teething, fretful and
 
 "wait anD Ibumoc of tbe Stage loi 
 
 unweaned, and was having a little scene of my 
 own in the dressing-room with the nurse, who 
 could not quiet me. 
 
 '<The stage was set for the balcony scene of 
 Romeo and Juliet. Mother was sealed upon a 
 box on the balcony — hidden from the 'front' 
 by a wall of trellised vines — when I was put into 
 her arms. The audience was listening breath- 
 lessly to Romeo's impassioned pleas, which came 
 to a climax in tlie most unlooked-for way. The 
 stage carpenter was careless, and the ' super ' 
 who stumbled against the rail was awkward; 
 the front of the balcony collapsed with a bang, 
 and Blanche Bates had the opportunity to re- 
 ceive the greatest ovation of her stage career. 
 
 "There sat the fair, shy Juliet with her baby 
 at her breast, and poor Romeo's scene was cut 
 short by the howls of the audience, which re- 
 fused to be quieted until the curtain came 
 down." 
 
 One Explanation 
 
 "Why don't women have the same sense of 
 humor that men possess?" asked Mr. Torkins. 
 
 "Perhaps," answered his wife gently, "it's 
 because we don't attend the same theatres."
 
 102 mit anO Ibumor of tbe Stage 
 
 Bore the Test Well 
 A famous dramatist was the hero of one of 
 the most amusing marriage-proposal experiences 
 on record. When, as a young man, he fell in 
 love with the pretty daughter of a pastor, he was 
 afraid to face the lady and so wrote her a letter. 
 He was told to call the next day and receive his 
 answer. On reaching the house he was shown 
 into a room and given a seat on the sofa. The 
 servant said that the lady would soon appear. 
 He sat and hung around in that room for fully two 
 hours, often tempted to leave the house or make 
 a break for further information, but not having 
 the courage to do either. At last he could 
 stand it no longer and rushed into the corridor, 
 making for the door out of the house. Then he 
 heard a shout of clear, silvery laughter in the 
 room he had left. He hastened back and saw 
 the face of his sweetheart peeping out from 
 under the sofa, convulsed with mirth. "Do 
 forgive me," she ejaculated ; "I simply wanted 
 to find out how long you would wait for me. 
 You have borne the test well. Now help me to 
 my feet." 
 
 Gibbs Was Surprised 
 Gibbs was an actor and had gone on a tour 
 of near-by towns. A few days afterward the
 
 •watt anO Ibumor of tbe Stage iu3 
 
 Gibbs household was increased by one — a boy. 
 As the mother was very ill, the doctor was re- 
 quested to write out a telegram informing Gibbs 
 of the addition to his family, and also his wife's 
 illness, and asking him to return home with as 
 little delay as possible. 
 
 This was done, and the telegram was given to 
 the servant to send off. That intelligent girl, 
 being unable to read, put the message in her 
 pocket and forgot all about it. The next day 
 Gibbs paid a flying visit home, and was grati- 
 fied to find his wife and family going on nicely. 
 After staying home a few hours, he took his 
 departure without anything having been said 
 about the telegram, which his wife naturally 
 supposed he had received, 
 
 A day or two later the servant found the mes- 
 sage in her pocket, and she decided to send it 
 off at once without saying a word to any one 
 about the delay. That night Gibbs, upon re- 
 turning to his hotel, was horrified when the fol- 
 lowing telegram, bearing that day's date, was 
 placed in his hand : 
 
 Another addition, a son ; your wife is very ill ; 
 return at once. 
 
 "Another!" he gasped. "Great Jupiter! 
 impossible ! "
 
 104 "Oait anO Ibumor of tbe Stage 
 
 He rushed to the station and took the next 
 train home, and dashing into the house in a 
 state of frenzy demanded to know what had hap- 
 pened. The servant confessed all. The next 
 day there was a vacancy for an intelligent, honest 
 girl at Gibbs's establishment. 
 
 Frances Ring and the Jap 
 
 *' Once upon a time I happened to be in a 
 foreign port where there were few American 
 women and many foreign battle-ships. Nat- 
 urally, under these conditions I had many 
 callers ; also two admirers, both bearing the title 
 of baron, one French and the other Japanese. 
 
 "Neither one of the lieutenant-barons could 
 speak English intelligently, but both made fear- 
 ful plunges into conversation. 
 
 "My knowledge of French was limited to 
 what one sees on the bill of fare, and my under- 
 standing of Japanese was nil. Both officers 
 carried books containing English and foreign 
 versions of conversation, which always seemed 
 to me like the game of cross questions and 
 foolish answers, and I was having a painful time 
 of it as hostess until my guests began to question 
 me. 
 
 " ' Do you like to step ? ' began the French- 
 man.
 
 TSUit an& ■fciimor ot tbe Sta^e los 
 
 " Thinking he meant the two-step, I nodded 
 enthusiastically. He beamed with pleasure, and 
 then asked : 
 
 "'Tomorrow morning, mademoiselle, will 
 
 you go stepping with me? ' 
 
 "At this I laughed and turned to my Japa- 
 nese visitor, who had been waiting his opportu- 
 nity to shine. 
 
 •* He weighed every word carefully, and in a 
 most dignified way, as if it was a matter of grave 
 concern, he asked : ' How many ages did you 
 are?'" 
 
 He Found Out 
 A man who was new in the managerial busi- 
 ness advanced to a young actress one thousand 
 dollars, ostensibly for costumes for a society 
 play. When he asked her to furnish an item- 
 ized bill all the items that she could produce 
 were fifty dollars for a silk petticoat and one 
 hundred dollars for silk stockings. 
 
 " What am I paying the rest of that money 
 for?" asked the manager. 
 
 "Experience," replied the actress. 
 
 Sarah Vindicated 
 The Senior Dramatics at Smith College were 
 made notable one spring by the good work of a
 
 106 "Wait anO Ibumor of tbe Staoe 
 
 Miss Karns as Hamlet. The night watchman 
 about the buildings, who has been there for 
 years, was most enthusiastic in his endorsement. 
 It is a pity Sarah Bernhardt could not have 
 heard his opinion as to the propriety of a woman 
 appearing as the melancholy Dane. 
 
 " I seen Booth," said the old man. " I seen 
 him twice ; but Miss Karns, she was fine. I 
 always thought 'Amlet ought to be played by a 
 girl, he bein' delicate." 
 
 In the Blood 
 
 Miss MacDonald in private life is the wife of 
 Joseph Jefferson's son. Unlike many actors of 
 prominence, the dean of the American stage is 
 far from averse to his children and grandchil- 
 dren marrying in the theatrical profession. The 
 story is told that when the marriage of one of 
 Jefferson's sons to a ballet girl was announced, 
 some busybody said to the comedian : " Mr. 
 Jefferson, it must have been a great shock to you 
 when your son married a ballet girl." 
 
 " Why shouldn't he marry a ballet girl if he 
 desired ? " asked the comedian, " His mother 
 was one." 
 
 Black Critics 
 Hopkinson Smith tells a characteristic story
 
 THnit anD Ibumor of tbe Stage 107 
 
 of a Southern friend of his, an actor, who, by 
 the way, was in the dramatization of Colonel 
 Carter. On one occasion the actor was ap- 
 pearing in his native town, and remembered an 
 old negro and his wife, who had been body 
 servant in his father's household, with a couple 
 of seats in the theatre. As it happened, he was 
 playing the part of the villain, and was largely 
 concerned with treasons, stratagems and spoils. 
 From time to time he caught a glimpse of the 
 ancient couple in the gallery, and judged from 
 their fearsome countenance and popping eyes 
 that they were being duly impressed. 
 
 After the play he asked them to come and see 
 him behind the scenes. They sat together for a 
 while in solemn silence, and then the mammy 
 resolutely nudged her husband. The old man 
 gathered himself together with an effort, and 
 said: " Marse Cha'les, mebbe it ain' for us 
 po' niggers to teach ouh young masser 'port- 
 ment. But we jes' got tell yo' dat, in all de 
 time we b'long to de fambly, none o' ouh folks 
 ain' neveh befo' mix up in sechlike dealin's, an' 
 we hope, Marse Cha'les, dat yo' see de erroh of 
 yo' ways befo' yo' done sho 'nuff disgrace us." 
 
 Woman First, Then Queen 
 In Belasco's Adrea, a masterpiece of dra-
 
 108 TKUlt anO Ibumor of tbe Stage 
 
 raatic horror and undiluted gloom, one single 
 moment of cheer obtrudes itself, visible only, 
 however, to some observant occupant of a front- 
 row seat on the extreme side. It occurs in the 
 coronation scene of the third act. Adrea (Mrs. 
 Leslie Carter) is about to receive the crown 
 from the chief Senator, whose portly person is 
 planted directly between his Queen and the au- 
 dience. At the moment that one senatorial hand 
 places the tiara on .A.drea'shead, the other draws 
 back a fold of the senatorial toga from the sena- 
 torial chest, revealing thereon a distinctly un- 
 Roman mirror, into which Queen Adrea casts a 
 hasty, yet comprehensive, glance — and her reign 
 begins with her crown on straight. 
 
 " Oh, You Coward! " 
 
 Miss Millie Hylton, the vaudeville actress, 
 tells a good story of an incident which occurred 
 when she was touring in Holland some time ago. 
 In the company in which she was playing there 
 was a well-known lion tamer who had a terma- 
 gant of a wife and at every rehearsal the ill-as- 
 sorted couple were quarreling bitterly. One 
 night matters came to a crisis. 
 
 The lion tamer had just finished his perform- 
 ance and was bowing himself off the stage amid 
 the plaudits of the audience, when his wife made
 
 •wait anJ) Ibumor of tbc Stage io» 
 
 a grab at Iiim and began to belabor him soundly. 
 The poor fellow stood it as long as he could 
 then suddenly he broke from her grasp and 
 flying toward the cage of his fiercest lion, he 
 opened the door and popped in. For some time 
 the virago stood and taunted him in a vain en- 
 deavor to induce him to come out, but the lion 
 tamer was not to be moved. At last, after she 
 had exhausted every possible epithet, she put 
 her face close to the bars and hissed out, " Oh, 
 you coward ! " 
 
 Sparring For Time 
 
 " Will you take me to the theatre to-night? " 
 
 " Yes, if you want to go." 
 
 " I wouldn't go unless you really wanted to 
 go." 
 
 " Do you want to go ? " 
 
 " Of course, if you want " 
 
 "But I wouldn't think of taking you unless 
 you wanted to see the play." 
 
 " And I will not go unless you want to go." 
 
 " But you are the one to say whether you 
 want to go." 
 
 " Of course, I see that you do not want to go, 
 and in that case we will stay at " 
 
 " I do want to go, though, if you want to go." 
 
 " Then, of course, yon won't say whether you
 
 no Tldlt anJ) Ibumor of tbe Stage 
 
 want to take me, so I suppose we shall stay at 
 home." 
 
 " On the contrary, if you want to go, we go. 
 If you don't want to go, we don't go. Now 
 what do you say ? " 
 
 " I say that if you want to go with me I want 
 to go." 
 
 About this time he looked at his watch and 
 found that they could not possibly reach the 
 theatre before the beginning of the third act. 
 
 Oh, Those Mothers ! 
 
 " I once had a well-known star on the road 
 in a play that simply would not catch on," says 
 Mr. Frohman. 
 
 " Business had been bad for weeks and I had 
 been losing money steadily. Finally we reached 
 Boston where the hoodoo still pursued us. At 
 a matinee there, the mother of the star, who 
 happened to be living in Boston, came out front 
 with tears in her eyes and said to me : 
 
 " 'Please go back and console John. He is 
 not getting any applause and is feeling pretty 
 blue.' 
 
 " As I thought of the fat salary that John had 
 been drawing with great regularity, and my 
 own losses, I replied, with some animation :
 
 Timit anO Dumor of tbc Stage ill 
 
 ' Good heavens, madam, isn't he getting his 
 salary ? Who is to console me ? ' " 
 
 A Gold Brick's Joke 
 Preliminary arrangements between playwrights 
 and managers sometimes supply surprising facts, 
 looked at from the after-production period. 
 
 About two years ago a certain New York 
 novelist wrote a play containing one striking 
 and very powerful scene. He put it into the 
 hands of an agent to dispose of, but getting tired 
 of waiting to hear from this individual, he de- 
 cided to see what he could do himself toward 
 marketing it. 
 
 Meeting Blanche Walsh, he got her interested 
 in the thing to the extent of planking down 
 $500 for an option. Highly elated, he went to 
 tlie telephone and called up his agent, 
 
 "Never mind about that play of mine," he 
 said. " Blanche Walsh wants it." 
 
 "Great Scott!" exclaimed the agent. "I 
 was just ringing you up to tell you that I have 
 sold the option to Mrs. Fiske." 
 
 " Gee, I've got a winner for fair," the play- 
 wright told himself. 
 
 Then he proceeded to straighten out the 
 tangle, and here circumstances played into his 
 hands with delightful smoothness.
 
 112 mit anO Ibumor ot tbe Staee 
 
 Miss Walsh found a big success in Resur- 
 rection, so let her $500 go with little regret. 
 Mrs. Fiske went so far as to announce the new 
 piece and then made her ten-strike with Leah 
 Kleschna. In the end she too paid over her 
 option money, and the play was finally brought 
 out by another manager and under a different 
 name, without a star, and failed promptly, going 
 to the storage-house after a fortnight's run. 
 
 But the author, nevertheless, made $1,500 out 
 of it, taken from the pockets of the two actresses 
 who are now, no doubt, congratulating them- 
 selves that they got off so cheaply. 
 
 A Costly Promise 
 An amusing little story is told of Lillah 
 McCarthy, the well-known actress and wife of 
 Granville Barker. When she was ten years old 
 her father, wishing to train her memory, bribed 
 her with a sovereign to learn the second book 
 of " Paradise Lost." So rapidly did she com- 
 mit the words to memory that he again offered 
 her ten shillings to learn "Romeo and Juliet," 
 which was no light undertaking. Success again 
 followed, and he repeated the offer with " Mac- 
 beth." So quickly did Miss Lillah rattle off 
 the lines that her father remarked: " It is be-
 
 imit anC> Ibumor ot tbe Stafle ii3 
 
 coming rather expensive. Next time you shall 
 have sixpence." 
 
 Lassoed the Compliment 
 
 There must be times when actors are put in 
 the embarrassing position of hearing their work 
 discussed in pubhc places by people who have 
 seen the performance and are not aware that any 
 of those who have taken part in it are within 
 ear-shot. And sometimes, when there is a wag 
 in the party, there are real dramatic moments in 
 such episodes. Here is a case in point that 
 happened in New York not so very long ago. 
 
 A party of men were descending in the ele- 
 vator on their way to lunch in one of New York's 
 tallest sky-scrapers. The car stopped at a floor 
 and a lady got on. The wag in the group of 
 men instantly recognized her as Louise Morewin, 
 who plays the mother-in-law in The Heir to the 
 Hoorah, which he had seen a few nights before. 
 
 The car was pretty well crowded and the wag 
 _was so placed that in the mirror he could see 
 Miss Morewin's face without being seen himself. 
 And the spirit of mischief entered his soul. 
 
 "Say, fellows," he began, "you have all 
 seen The Heir to the Hoorah ; what do you 
 think of the mother-in-law ? " 
 
 One and another expressed an opinion, more
 
 114 •watt anJ) Ibumoc ot tbe Stage 
 
 or less non-committal so far as the playing of 
 the part was concerned. But this did not satisfy 
 the wag. It must be remembered that the build- 
 ing is very tall and that it requires some minutes 
 for the elevator to reach the ground floor, bo 
 after the other comments had been gathered in, 
 there was still time for a snapper. 
 
 "Well," he remarked, "I saw the play the 
 other night, and I think the actress who plays 
 the mother-in-law is " 
 
 He inserted a pause for impressiveness and 
 Miss Morewin could stand no more. Stepping 
 around so that she faced him, she broke out 
 with : 
 
 " Well, what do you think of her ? " 
 
 "I think she is immense," finished the wag, 
 utterly unruffled, while his friends, who had 
 failed to recognize their fellow passenger, stood 
 with jaws dropped at the spectacle of the strange 
 woman butting into their conversation. 
 
 As for Miss Morewin, she smiled, flushed a 
 little and when the car reached the street level, 
 she hastily mingled with the throng and was lost 
 to sight. 
 
 A Transaction in Snow 
 
 One evening during the second month's run 
 of The Girl of the Golden West, the telephone
 
 Mit an& "ttjumoc ot tbe Stage ii6 
 
 bell rang in its niche beside the coat-room. 
 Campbell, the Belasco general factotum, an- 
 swered the call and then stepped up to Mr. 
 Belasco, who was chatting with some friends at 
 the easterly end of the lobby. 
 
 "Mrs. DeMille wishes to speak to you," he 
 said. 
 
 ** Can't see her ; too busy ; can't possibly ar- 
 range it to-night," replied Mr. Belasco, who is 
 probably the most pestered manager in town. 
 
 "But she isn't here," Campbell reassured 
 him. " She is only on the 'phone, and wants 
 to know if you can let her have a pail of 
 snow." 
 
 "A pail of snow ! " gasped Belasco, his gaze 
 wandering out through the glass doors to the 
 street which had not once been whitened since 
 the March before. 
 
 " Where under the sun can I get any snow 
 for her and what does she want it for ? " 
 
 " To use in those special matinees she is going 
 to give at the Hudson next week, and she wants 
 to borrow it from our blizzard scene in the sec- 
 ond act." 
 
 "Oh!" And Belasco's priest-like counte- 
 nance relaxed into a smile, as he gave permission 
 to hand over the requisite amount of paper — not 
 in passes.
 
 116 "^it anD Dumor ot tbe Stage 
 
 Advice 
 
 Father (angrily) : "If my son marries that 
 actress I shall cut him off absolutely, and you 
 can tell him so." 
 
 Legal Adviser: "I know a better plan than 
 that— tell the girl." 
 
 A Press Agent's Vigil 
 
 Adele Ritchie, who brings The Social Whirl 
 to a conclusion at every performance by leaping 
 on horseback over a hedge to the centre of the 
 stage, is not particularly overjoyetl at this addi- 
 tion to the usual duties of a leading lady. 
 
 She was speaking of the matter one day to 
 Channing Pollock. 
 
 "That jump, even on my own horse, is be- 
 ginning to wear on my nerves," she said. " It's 
 really very hard on me." 
 
 " Not any harder than it is on me," responded 
 Mr. Pollock. 
 
 " On you? " exclaimed Miss Ritchie. " Why, 
 how can it affect you ? " 
 
 " In this way : where formerly I could go 
 home at ten o'clock, I now have to stay down- 
 town till after eleven." 
 
 "Well, of course, if you enjoy coming to 
 watch me make the leap every night," smiled 
 the actress, " I am sure "
 
 •Wflit anD Ibumoc of tbc Stage in 
 
 "Not at all," broke in Pollock. "I come 
 from a pure sense of duty. In case you break 
 your neck, it will be up to me to write tlie report 
 for the papers. Don't you see now where the 
 shoe pinches ? " 
 
 A Way Out of It 
 
 A company of select colored artists were 
 rendering a version of Othello. The scene be- 
 tween the Moor and Desdemona had been 
 reached wherein Othello demands the handker- 
 chief which he has given his wife as a wedding 
 amulet. The actor who had been entrusted 
 with the title role confused vociferousness with 
 impressiveness. 
 
 " Desdemona I " he cried, "fetch me dat 
 han'kerchief ! " 
 
 But the doomed lady only babbled of Cassio, 
 and her liege shouted again : 
 
 " I ask you fo' de second time to git me dat 
 han'kerchief" 
 
 Still the fair one parried the issue with talk 
 of Cassio, and the lordly Othello, now thor- 
 oughly incensed, bellowed : 
 
 "Woman, fo' de third and las' time I tell you 
 to git me dat han'kerchief ! Away ! " 
 
 And as he was just about to open his mouth
 
 118 iMit anO Ibumor of tbe Stage 
 
 again a big, leather-lunged patron in the top 
 gallery shouted down at him : 
 
 " Fo' de Lawd's sake, nigger, why doan yo' 
 wipe yo' nose on yo' sleeve an' let de show 
 go on?" 
 
 A Domestic Freak 
 
 A husband and wife ran a freak show in a 
 certain provincial town, but unfortunately they 
 quarreled, and the exhibits were equally divided 
 between them. The wife decided to continue 
 business as an exhibitor at the old address, but 
 the husband went on a tour. 
 
 After some years' wandering the prodigal re- 
 turned, and a reconciliation took place, as the 
 result of which they became business partners 
 once more. A few mornings afterward the peo- 
 ple of the neighborhood were sent into fits of 
 laughter on reading the following notice in the 
 papers : 
 
 " By the return of my husband, my stock of 
 freaks has been permanently increased." 
 
 Couldn't Tire Them 
 
 Beatrice Herford, the monologist, relates how 
 
 once, when she was giving her entertainment at 
 
 a private house, and had done all she agreed to 
 
 do, in fact had added an extra sketch as an en-
 
 TKHit anD Ibumor of tbe Stage 119 
 
 core, one of the guests came up to her and in a 
 casual way said : 
 
 "Oh, why don't you do some more? Please 
 do ! You know we are not a bit tired." 
 
 Marie Tempest and the Landlady 
 Marie Tempest tells this tale of an early ex- 
 perience with a landlady : 
 
 "I was stopping at a lodging-house in Lon- 
 don, which exactly suited my means at that time 
 and was passably comfortable. The old land- 
 lady, however, would insist on giving me steak 
 and onions for breakfast every morning. I pro- 
 tested; but it was of no use, so when I went 
 away I took her family Bible and placed a piece 
 of paper in it with ' Read Hebrews 13:8' 
 written on it. I hope she did ; for the passage 
 runs, ' The same yesterday, and to-day, and for- 
 ever.' " 
 
 Couldn't Forget She Was a Lady 
 William Seymour, Charles Frohman's stage- 
 manager, tells this story of an aspirant to the 
 boards : 
 
 " This young lady had a certain amount of 
 influence, and so was cast for a little character 
 part. She rehearsed, and proved satisfactory. 
 The piece had its initiation at Williamsburg.
 
 120 "Watt anO Ibumor of tbe Stage 
 
 Going over on the ferry the morning of the day 
 the piece was to be produced, I was told a 
 young man wished to see me. He handed me 
 a note, which ran somewhat after this fashion : 
 
 "'Dear Mr. Seymour: — On consideration 
 I am sorry to say that I have decided to throw 
 up my part. I was born a lady, educated and 
 brought up as a lady, and I really cannot bring 
 myself to appear before the American public 
 except in the character of a lady.' 
 
 " Later on I believe by some means or other 
 she did get a lady's part with another company, 
 and was a total failure." 
 
 An Open Congratulation 
 
 W. S. Gilbert does not retain all of his humor 
 for use in his librettos. 
 
 In the early days of his success, when Gilbert 
 and Sullivan were considered by managers as 
 the " sure winners " in the comic-opera field, a 
 young woman who was a member of one of the 
 Pinafore companies wrote to Gilbert telling him 
 of her approaching marriage with a young man 
 of good position and family. 
 
 Gilbert congratulated the young woman, and 
 expressed the hope that her future might be 
 prosperous and happy. 
 
 Only a little more than a month passed, and
 
 "wait anO Ibumoc ot tbe Stage 121 
 
 another letter from the same girl reached him, 
 in which she stated that her engagement with 
 the young man had been broken, and that she 
 had accepted another suitor. 
 
 He replied that he had every confidence in 
 her judgment, and again expressed his hearty 
 wishes for her welfare. 
 
 It was almost two months after that Gilbert 
 received a third letter from the same girl, who 
 informed hini that young Lore had pro- 
 posed and that she had accepted him, after 
 breaking her engagement with No. 2. 
 
 Gilbert's humor could no longer withstand 
 the temptation, and he wrote, " I desire to 
 congratulate you on your approaching marriage 
 
 with " 
 
 ^ Here he placed an asterisk, and in a footnote 
 added : " Here insert the name of the happy 
 man." 
 
 One on George Edwardes 
 The famous theatrical manager tells a good 
 story illustrative of the difficulties with which 
 managers have to contend. " I was once nego- 
 tiating with a lady," he says, "to go to India 
 as prima donna, and I thought I would ap- 
 proach the question artfully. We were nearly 
 agreed, the difference between us was a paltry
 
 122 imit anD Ibumor of tbe Staac 
 
 ;^ioo a week — I offered her ^loo and she asked 
 me ;^2oo a week. I began to tell of the glories 
 of India, how the lady would win the hearts of all 
 the Princes, of Jams and Rams and Dams and 
 nabobs. I said, 'As is their custom, they'll 
 send you ropes of pearls to tie up your dresses, 
 elephants with trunks full of emeralds, and dia- 
 monds enough for a skirt ' — and skirts were 
 skirts in those days. ' What is a miserable 
 hundred a week by the side of that ? ' Well, I 
 thought I had impressed the lady. She prom- 
 ised to think it over. She did. Next day I got 
 a note : ' Dear Mr. Edwardes, give me my 
 terms, and you can keep the presents.' " 
 
 " Hanky- Panky Tricks " 
 
 Among the stories told by Ellen Terry in her 
 book are several about the late William Terriss. 
 One is to this effect : 
 
 Irving never could be angry with Terriss, not 
 even when he came to rehearsal full of absurd 
 excuses. One day, however, he was so late 
 that it was past a joke, and Irving spoke to him 
 sharply. 
 
 " I think you'll be sorry you've spoken to me 
 like this, guv'nor," said Terriss, casting down 
 his eyes. 
 
 "Now, no hanky-panky tricks, Terriss."
 
 Mit anC) Ibumor of tbe Stage 123 
 
 " Tricks, guv'nor ! I think you'll regret 
 having said that when you hear that my poor 
 mother passed away this morning." And Ter- 
 riss wept. 
 
 Irving promptly gave him the day off. 
 
 A few weeks later, when Terriss and I were 
 looking through the curtain at the audience, 
 just before the play began, he said to me, gaily, 
 " See tliat dear old woman sitting in the fourth 
 row of the stalls ? That's my dear old mother. " 
 The wretch had quite forgotten that he had 
 killed her !
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 Quips and Quirks 
 
 For ready wit in an emergency the actor tribe 
 cannot be beaten, — as is perhaps natural, and 
 the annals of the stage, past and present, abound 
 in mot and repartee, some apocryphal, others 
 authentic. Here are a few, both new and old. 
 
 Trying it on the Dog 
 
 DeWolf Hopper is famous for telling excellent 
 jokes upon himself. Whenever he comes to- 
 ward a group of friends at The Lambs' or The 
 Players' and wears a broad smile, they under- 
 stand that some new absurd thing has happened 
 to him, and that they are to be permitted to 
 laugh at his expense. 
 
 "Hopper," said a friend on one occasion, 
 '' you couldn't tell a good thing if you got the 
 best of it. I don't believe you'd see a joke 
 that wasn't played on you." 
 
 "Oh, yes, I would; yes, I would ! " pro- 
 tested Mr. Hopper. "Why, I know the fun- 
 niest thing right now that happened to me that
 
 imtt anD Ibumor ot tbe Stage 125 
 
 gave nie the laugh on everybody for miles 
 around." 
 
 "Then let's hear it," said his friend. "All 
 the things I ever heard about you that were 
 jokes were jokes either happened to you or to 
 somebody who belonged to you." 
 
 " No, no," asserted Mr. Hopper; " this didn't 
 happen to me. It was the best joke. It was 
 the funniest thing I've ever heard. You see the 
 joke was on my dog. He and I " 
 
 Mr. Hopper got no further. 
 
 Satisfied 
 
 The Candid Critic (after the first night of a 
 new West-end play) : "I'm sorry to have to say 
 it, old chap, but there isn't one good situation 
 in the whole play." 
 
 The Leading Comedian : " Oh, I don't know 
 so much. I've got a six months' contract at a 
 hundred and fifty a week." 
 
 And that situation was satisfactory enough 
 for him. 
 
 Joe Weber's Story 
 " Not long ago in Chicago I had the pleasure 
 to dine with several prominent lights at the Col- 
 lege Inn. We had not been seated long when a 
 dapper young fellow at a neighboring table, evi-
 
 126 ■mit anD Ibumor of tbe Stage 
 
 dently dazzled by the proximity of so much 
 fistic, political, and theatrical talent, kept turn- 
 ing in his seat and butting into the conversation. 
 
 " He was trying his best to impress the young 
 women with him with the idea that he was on 
 most familiar terms with the impressive bunch 
 at the next table. Addressing me, he said : ' In 
 my father's store — you know my father's store — 
 he's the biggest dealer in carpets, rugs, and oil- 
 cloths in town ' — etc., etc. 
 
 "Four or five times he catapulted himself 
 into the conversation in the same way, always 
 referring to his father's store and business. He 
 became so offensive at last that I said : 
 
 *' ' If your father is such a big dealer in 
 carpets and oilcloths, he should have lots of 
 linoleums. Suppose you get one and play us a 
 tune. That would be more entertaining and 
 pleasant than your butting-in-con versation.' 
 
 " That young fellow subsided so quickly that 
 his girl friends had to revive him and lead him 
 from the place." 
 
 McConnell's Ready Wit 
 
 Will McConnell was an actor who never failed 
 
 to say the witty thought that occurred to him 
 
 even when it might not please people with whom 
 
 it was good policy for him to be on good terms.
 
 imit an£) Ibumor of tbe Staee 127 
 
 He certainly had cause to be grateful to Charles 
 Frohman and doubtless was. But he did not 
 hesitate to make one of his characteristic jokes 
 about the stock company of the Empire Theatre, 
 when that organization was Mr. Frohman's fa- 
 vorite and not especially profitable enterprise. 
 
 New York had then little taste for stock com- 
 panies in the Broadway playhouses. But Mr. 
 Frohman wanted his home theatre to be occupied 
 by his own company. 
 
 He engaged the most expensive actors avail- 
 able and sought everywhere for plays. He 
 found it more profitable, nevertheless, to keep 
 his company playing in Chicago, Buffalo, and 
 other cities where a New York name was a 
 magnet. 
 
 " Why does Frohman call those actors the 
 Empire Stock Company?" asked an actor one 
 day in a group at Browne's. " They're rarely 
 at the Empire Theatre." 
 
 "Ah, that may be true," McConnell replied, 
 "but they play the greater part of every season 
 along the route of the Empire State Express." 
 
 " Perhaps " 
 4 dashing English comedian was endeavor- 
 ing to dazzle the worldly manager of a North 
 London music-hall by the alleged magnificence
 
 128 imtt auD Ibumor ot the Stage 
 
 of the prospects offered by his forthcoming 
 engagement in America. 
 
 " Yes," he said, with all the enthusiasm of a 
 man who wants his hearers to believe what he is 
 extremely doubtful about himself, "I'm to have 
 ten thousand dollars per — per " 
 
 "Per-haps," interrupted the worldly manager. 
 
 Paderewski's Retort 
 
 Paderewski was attending an evening recep- 
 tion, and had the usual crowd of adoring ladies 
 all round him. One insignificant woman after 
 alienating all her friends by snatching a three- 
 minute talk with him, prepared to move away. 
 
 " I beg that you will stay, madam," said 
 Paderewski, with unmistakable ennui in his 
 voice. " You are the only lady in the room 
 to-night who has not asked me how I feel when 
 I play." 
 
 One On the Players 
 
 The late William McConnell was walking 
 down Broadway one afternoon, looking rather 
 disconsolate. It was late in August, when the 
 actors were looking for the winter engagements 
 that had begun to look elusive. 
 
 "Come down to The Players' to dinner with
 
 •wait an& Ibumor of tbc Stage 129 
 
 me," said a friend wlio met him. " You look 
 as if you'd had a hard day's work." 
 
 "I have," the manager answered. " I have 
 been working all day with actors, and I want to 
 get away from them. Thai's a great suggestion 
 of yours— The Players' ! That's got to be the 
 one club in New York where you're sure to meet 
 no actors." 
 
 A Kindness to the Manager 
 
 For the most part, in spite of their reputation, 
 critics are both painstaking and honest, and the 
 more reputable papers protect them from intimi- 
 dation. The favorite means of attempting to 
 influence them is a threat to withdraw theatrical 
 advertising, which means a loss to the paper of 
 much more than their salary. 
 
 One of the most powerful of the managers 
 some years ago called on the editor of a great 
 morning paper, the critic of which had offended 
 him, and intimated that he could do him a great 
 favor. What he meant, of course, was to dis- 
 charge the critic. The editor smiled and said : 
 
 " I will do you a great favor." 
 
 " You mean you will discharge him ? " the 
 manager asked, delighted. 
 
 " I mean," was the answer, " that I will not 
 tell him of your call. We are all of us human.
 
 130 mtt anD Ibumot of tbe Stage 
 
 and he might become biased if he knew how 
 you have insulted him, and us." 
 
 It was only the other day that the critic ever 
 heard of this, and then by accident. 
 
 Hawtrey's Englishman 
 
 Charles Hawtrey, who made such a success 
 in A Message From Mars, is responsible for 
 this story. He was talking with a friend of his 
 the other day about peculiar names and initials, 
 when he quietly observed : 
 
 "By the way, I have a friend who is in a 
 most unfortunate position. He actually has no 
 initials." 
 
 " No initials ? " queried the friend, in amaze- 
 ment. "Why, how can that be? Hasn't he 
 any name ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes," replied Mr. Hawtrey, with a 
 twinkle in his eye; "but, you see, his initials 
 happen to be H. H., and, being an English- 
 man, he always drops his h's." 
 
 Forgot About Broadway 
 Wilton Lackaye tells of a man named Brady, 
 a press-agent, who in summer precedes a circus, 
 and in the winter goes ahead of an opera com- 
 pany. This work keeps Brady pretty busy, and 
 he is obliged to travel mostly in the West. Re-
 
 Tanit auD Ibumor ot tbc Staflc 131 
 
 cently, however, Brady was enabled to visit his 
 beloved New York, the place of his birth. He 
 declaretl that it was " like a glimpse into an- 
 other world," so long had he been absent. 
 
 A friend, meeting Brady on Broadway, said : 
 " Well, old man, I suppose you're glad to get 
 back to New York once more ? " 
 
 "I'm more than glad," responded Brady, 
 with an expansive smile. " In fact, I've been 
 away so long that I have to rehearse to cross 
 Broadway." 
 
 Bitten 
 
 '* I was traveling in Virginia some years 
 ago," said the comedian, "and while hurrying 
 across the state from Norfolk to Rocky Mount, 
 a town on the main line, to make connections 
 for Charleston, the brakeman poked his head 
 in at the car door, as the train slowed down, to 
 call out a station. 
 
 " ' .\-hoss-ky ! ' said he in a loud voice. 
 
 " ' A-hoss-ky ? ' I asked. 
 
 " His reply was instantaneous. 
 
 " * A-whiskey,' said he. 
 
 " And of course I had to make good." 
 
 " Strong-Arm " 
 One summer the late Will McConnell lived at
 
 132 Mit an& Ibumoc ot tbc Stage 
 
 Larchmont and invited a guest to stay all night 
 with him. 
 
 " Got a little box up there," he said, *' about 
 a stone's throw from the water." 
 
 When they arrived at the house the water 
 was nowhere visible. 
 
 " I thought this place was a stone's throw 
 from the water," remarked the friend. 
 
 " The landlord told me that when I saw him 
 in New York and I suppose it's true. When I 
 asked him to explain what he meant, he said the 
 stone was a pebble and that Sandow had thrown 
 it." 
 
 Playwrights and Manager 
 According to his friends, the author of The 
 Heir to the Hoorah has never yet shown the 
 play -going public the brightest side of his talent. 
 At a dinner of playwrights the talk turned upon 
 the character and intelligence of tlieatrical man- 
 agers. Sydney Rosenfeld told of a manager 
 who refused to put on The Optimist for a series 
 of ignorant reasons, ending with the assertion 
 that the name alone would damn it. " But I'll 
 bet you a dollar," Mr. Rosenfeld cried, "that 
 you don't know the difference between an opti- 
 mist and a pessimist ! " " It's an optimist for
 
 THIllt anJ> f3umor of tbe Stage 133 
 
 the eyes," said the manager, "and a pessimist 
 for the feet." 
 
 Mr, Armstrong then gave an account of a 
 playwright reading his piece to a busy manager. 
 After an act and a half of rudeness, inattention 
 and bad temper, the manager said, " Come 
 right down to the point ; what's the big scene, 
 the curtain of your third act ? " By a progress 
 of self-hypnotism the playwright had managed 
 to keep alive his enthusiasm. " The hero and 
 the villain are in a balloon fighting for life. 
 The villain grasps the gas cord and opens the 
 throttle. The balloon is plunging to certain 
 death in the waters of the Hudson. As it 
 touches the surface, along comes the steam 
 yacht Arrow — twenty-three miles an hour. The 
 bowsprit gores the villain. The smoke-stack 
 goes biff! in the gas bag, and tosses the hero 
 up on the Riverside Drive. Saved ! " 
 
 The manager looked wise. " Your play has 
 distinguished literary quality," he said, " but it 
 lacks action." 
 
 John Hare as a Horse 
 John Hare, the actor, on one occasion, sent 
 his coachman to one of the London theatres to 
 secure stalls. The man, who, naturally, knew
 
 134 TUflit anD •fcumor of tbe Stage 
 
 more about stables than things theatrical, re- 
 turned much excited. 
 
 " Well, did you get the stalls ? " inquired Mr. 
 Hare. 
 
 " No, sir," was the answer, " the stalls were 
 all taken up, but they told me they would be 
 pleased to — to" — he scratched his head, and 
 then blurted out — " to put you in a loose box, 
 sir ! " 
 
 Supers' Pay 
 
 Although while the company was playing in 
 New York and other big cities much was made 
 of the panic scene in The Pit, the episode is 
 left out in the smaller towns of the tour. It is 
 altogether too expensive to carry so many people 
 for ten minutes' use, and only in the large towns 
 can the right sort of supers be hired for the per- 
 formance. 
 
 The pay is fifty cents a night, but in some 
 places The Pit management gave them only 
 thirty-five. On each occasion the men protested 
 and threatened to strike, but they always gave in 
 at the last minute — such is the lure of the stage, 
 even among those who "only stand and wait" 
 to carry a spear, or make up a mob. 
 
 Speaking of supernumeraries, the tale is told 
 of a certain super captain, one who was once
 
 TKnit anO tjumor ot tbe Stage i35 
 
 informed in the course of a long run that here- 
 after his forces would enter from the right side 
 of the stage instead of the left. 
 
 "Great Scott!" he exclaimed. "That 
 means more study ! " 
 
 A Gargantuan Thirst 
 
 Charles Frohman once took Will McConnell 
 abroad with him because his humor was so spon- 
 taneous and unflagging, and there was always a 
 demand for his society, even among those who 
 knew him best and saw him most frequently. 
 
 For the last fifteen years of his life he was a 
 strict teetotaler. In his early days a too excess- 
 ive geniality interfered with his prosperity. In 
 this way he successively lost control of three 
 theatres he had partly owned. 
 
 "I should think you would find it hard not to 
 drink, thrown with the people you meet," one 
 of his friends said to him one day. 
 
 "It's no trouble at all to stop drinking," he 
 said, "after you've drunk up three theatres." 
 
 Bargain and Sale 
 The actor's amazing idea of the value of his 
 services has afforded many amusing incidents. 
 An actor once called up a manager who was 
 looking for a leading man.
 
 136 Mit an& D«mor of tbc Stage 
 
 " How much salary do you want ? " asked the 
 manager. 
 
 " Four hundred a week," replied the actor. 
 
 "I wanted to hire you, not buy you," an- 
 swered the manager, and rang off. 
 
 Speaking of price, an actor on one occasion 
 applied to a manager for a job by telegraph, 
 whereupon the manager wired : 
 
 " Wouldn't have you at any price." 
 
 The actor replied : 
 
 ♦'Terms accepted. Coming on next train." 
 
 Wilde's Masterpiece 
 
 A typical story of the egotism of Oscar Wilde 
 has to do with a rehearsal of his comedy, An 
 Ideal Husband, in the Haymarket Theatre, 
 London. Louis Waller, the actor- manager, who 
 had the principal part, found a certain exit not 
 to his liking, and insisted it should be changed. 
 Accordingly, he despatched messengers to find 
 the author, who was discovered in a little pub- 
 lic house in St. James Square, discoursing to two 
 half intoxicated cab-drivers. It was with dif- 
 ficulty that he was persuaded to return to the 
 theatre. 
 
 "What is it, Mr. Waller? " he asked. 
 
 *'The ending of the last act will not do at all," 
 declared the manager. " My exit is very poor
 
 "Watt anD Ibumor of tbc Staec 137 
 
 and it spoils my whole part. You really must 
 alter it." 
 
 "Alter it!" exclaimed Wilde, <' alter it! 
 Heavens, man ! who am I that I should tamper 
 with a masterpiece ? " 
 
 Identified 
 
 Now that James J. Corbett has taken rank as 
 an interpreter of Bernard Shaw, he deprecates 
 all allusions to his earlier vocation. It is, ac- 
 cordingly, with mingled feelings that he tells the 
 following story : 
 
 A little man came up to him in a restaurant, 
 and shook him by the hand. Mr. Corbett did 
 not recognize him, and made the apology that 
 he met so many people. 
 
 " Do you remember the time you came back 
 from Colorado?" asked the little man ex- 
 pectantly. 
 
 As that was the occasion on which he went 
 down to defeat before Fitzsimmons, Mr. Corbett 
 admitted that he had not been able to forget it. 
 
 "And when the train reached Jersey City 
 there was a crowd on the platform to see you." 
 
 Mr. Corbett confessed that he remembered 
 being the exhibit. 
 
 " Well," concluded the little man trium- 
 phantly, " I was the feller in the brown hat."
 
 138 "Wfllt ano Ibumot of tbe Stage 
 
 Collier Had Enough 
 Willie Collier tells a good story of a landlord 
 in a small Western town whose accommodations 
 and fare were particularly poor. The worthy 
 man said he always liked an actor guest to leave 
 him some quotations as a souvenir. Collier 
 agreed, and wrote: "Quoth the raven — never 
 more." The landlord was delighted, and Col- 
 lier has heard that he still continues to show it 
 with pride to all newcomers, totally unconscious 
 of the deep sarcasm of the words. 
 
 Romeo and the Problem Play 
 One of the most persistent and conspicuous 
 of first-nighters was a certain lawyer who achieved 
 notoriety in the divorce courts, especially as pro- 
 moter of what Harrison Grey Fiske once called 
 the theatrical marry-go-round. On the first 
 night of the Marlowe-Sothern production of ^^^wif^ 
 and Juliet he was on hand with a party of guests, 
 and made manifest his knowledge of the text by 
 repeating the most familiar passages half a line 
 ahead of the actors, in a nasal and rasping voice, 
 the product of a life of court-wrangling. Thus 
 while Miss Marlowe was saying, with the utmost 
 vocal harmony, "A rose by any other name," 
 he would be whispering, to the discomfiture of 
 those who sat near, " would smell as sweet."
 
 TKIltt anO t>umor of tbe Stage 139 
 
 Presently one of his party said : " Do they 
 get married?" and after a brief hesitation he 
 answered: "No." Then with a belief in mat- 
 rimony apparently unsullied, he added : ** You 
 know it's a tragedy." During the scene in 
 Juliet's room, the guest exclaimed : " My, but 
 ain't it an awful play ! I'd no sooner think of 
 taking my little sister to see it than I'd think of 
 taking her to Letty." Such is the fate of 
 Shakespeare on Broadway ! 
 
 The Real Sort 
 
 A certain famous actor had for years obtained 
 his wigs from a well-known maker. He always 
 had the same young man to attend to him, and 
 liked him so much that he finally engaged him 
 as his dresser. One day the actor found a fine 
 new wig on his dressing-table. 
 
 "What's this?" he inquired of his dresser. 
 " I ordered no new wig. I meant to have done 
 so, but I have been too busy." 
 
 "I made that wig for you, sir," replied the 
 dresser. "Excuse me, sir, but your old one 
 was gettin* 'orribly shabby." 
 
 The result was that the dresser made all the 
 player's wigs afterward, and the costumer began 
 to worry about the loss of a good customer. 
 He dropped into the theatre one afternoon when
 
 14U limit aiiD Ibumor ot tbe Stage 
 
 the dresser, his former employee, was getting 
 things ia shape for the night's performance. 
 
 "Who's making Mr. 's wigs now?" 
 
 asked the wig-maker, with a slight show of 
 asperity. 
 
 •' I am," replied the dresser. 
 
 "Humph!" — taking a new wig from the 
 dressing-table — " and is this a specimen of your 
 work?" 
 
 The young man admitted that it was. 
 
 "And do you really think," continued the 
 costumer, holding it at arm's length, " that this 
 thing looks like a wig? " 
 
 " No, sir, I don't ! " retorted the dresser. " I 
 think it looks like the hair of the human head." 
 
 When Actors Meet 
 
 Tlie courtesies exchanged by actors when they 
 meet might be misconstrued possibly by those 
 unacquainted with the odd terms of compliment 
 sometimes employed by friends in the profession. 
 
 For instance, Nat Goodwin and Jack Mason, 
 who are really great friends, met one day and 
 addressed each other as follows : 
 
 Mr. Goodwin: " Wild ass of the desert, how 
 passes your miserable perishing and useless life 
 these days?" 
 
 Mr. Mason : " Creeping thing from the slime
 
 •wait anC> Ibumot ot tbe StaQC 141 
 
 of the sewer, my health is as vigorous and 
 healthy as your morals are feeble and tainted." 
 And each went on his separate way in high 
 good humor. 
 
 Every One Writes Plays 
 
 Says a well-known press-agent: 
 
 "At the office the other morning I was re- 
 marking that after I had told the capitalist that 
 a certain friend of ours was writing a play, he 
 said : 
 
 " ' What's the use of telling me about the 
 people who are writing plays? It would be 
 much easier for you to mention the man who 
 isn't.' 
 
 "'Not at all,' interposed the office wit. 
 ' That would be the hardest job yet, for such a 
 person apparently doesn't exist.' " 
 
 John Drew's Barber 
 
 John Drew, as he lunched, talked about bar- 
 bers. 
 
 "They are so uncomplimentary," he said. 
 "They tell you such unflattering things. 
 
 " A friend of mine went to be shaved at the 
 Dark Harbor Hotel one day last summer, and 
 the barber said to him : 
 
 " ' Your hair is getting thin, sir.'
 
 142 iWit mi) Ibumor of tbe Stage 
 
 " ' Yes,' my friend answered tartly, ' I have 
 been treating it with antifat. I never did like 
 stout hair.' " 
 
 A Musical Retort 
 
 They were talking of the strange names of 
 many of the interior villages of Indiana and 
 John McCutcheon told the story of Wes Burnett, 
 who played in the orchestra of the local "opera 
 house. ' ' 
 
 Wes played the trombone, or slip-horn as Kin 
 Hubbard insists it should be known. Wes sent 
 up to Chicago and got a new trombone. He 
 was very proud of it and went to the village tin- 
 smith to get a case made for it. 
 
 The tinsmith fixed up a nobby case and 
 painted it black. Then he painted on it in 
 white letters : " Wes Burnett." 
 
 Wes looked it over and insisted that the name 
 of the horn should be put on, also, and when 
 the decorations were complete the legend was : 
 " Wes Burnett — Trombone." 
 
 The band went to Lafayette to play one day, 
 and a stranger noticed Wes's case. "Say, 
 friend," said the stranger to Wes, "why don't 
 you finish that? " 
 
 " Finish what ? " asked Wes. 
 
 "That address on your horn case."
 
 Timtt anO Dumoc of tbe Stage 143 
 
 "How?" 
 
 " Why, put on ' Indiana,* of course." 
 
 A Triple Stunt 
 Mr. Fred Stone, the singing comedian of the 
 Red Mill, and Mr. Eugene Wood met on Broad- 
 way recently. They stopped for a moment to 
 exchange a few cheerful views, when a woman 
 in a particularly noticeable sheath-gown passed. 
 Simultaneously, Wood turned to Stone; Stone 
 turned to Wood ; then both turned to rubber. 
 
 The Unabashed Nerve 
 Some actors are irrepressible. A member of 
 a stock company that had a woman manager 
 had made himself very disagreeable and, when 
 the time came to renew contracts for the next 
 season, he was left out. To the manager's sur- 
 prise the actor showed up for rehearsals in the 
 fall. She wanted to break the news to him 
 gently that he was not wanted, so she said : " I 
 am sorry that we shall not be together this 
 season." It did not phase the actor a bit, for 
 he answered : " Are you going to leave us ? " 
 
 Too Much for the Man-Eater 
 A well-known theatrical manager repeats an 
 instance of what the late W. C. Coup, of circus
 
 144 "wait anO Ibumor of tbe Stage 
 
 fame, once told him was one of the most amus- 
 ing features of the show-business j the faking in 
 the " side-show," 
 
 Coup was the owner of a small circus that 
 boasted among its principal attractions a man- 
 eating ape, alleged to be the largest in captivity. 
 This ferocious beast was exhibited chained to 
 the dead trunk of a tree in the side-show. Early 
 in the day of the first performance of Coup's 
 enterprise at a certain Ohio town, a countryman 
 handed the man-eating ape a piece of tobacco, 
 in the chewing of which the beast evinced the 
 greatest satisfaction. 
 
 I'he word was soon passed around that the 
 ape would chew tobacco ; and the result was 
 that several plugs were thrown al him. Unhap- 
 pily, however, one of these had been filled with 
 cayenne pepper. The man-eating ape bit it ; 
 then, howling with indignation, snapped the 
 chain that bound him to the tree, and made 
 straight for the practical joker who had so 
 cruelly deceived him. 
 
 " Lave me at 'im ! " yelled the ape. ' " Lave 
 me at 'im, the dirty villain ! I'll have the 
 rube's loife, or me name ain't Magillicuddy ! " 
 
 Fortunately for the countryman and for Magil- 
 licuddy, too, the man-eating ape was restrained 
 by the bystanders in time to prevent a killing.
 
 "Wflit an& Ibumor ot tbe Stage 145 
 
 The Theatrical Manager 
 There is as much truth as poetry in the fol- 
 lowing lines : 
 
 The man who stands behind the blaze 
 
 Is he who gratifies the craze 
 
 Of high society to pay 
 
 To worship at a matinee. 
 
 He is the sun round which one learns 
 
 The " stars " revolve and " do their turns," 
 
 The sun which liolds its genial rays 
 
 From ticket speculating ways. 
 
 Ah, friends, how happy all could be 
 
 Could all live such a life as he ! 
 
 Bier or Beer 
 
 George Marion is credited with the following 
 tale : 
 
 He was rehearsing a company of supers in a 
 Shakespearian play. After he had allotted most 
 of them to their several i)laces, he said : 
 
 '• Now, at this place the corpse is brought on. 
 I want some men for the bier." 
 
 Immediately there was a rush forward, and it 
 was not until Marion had explained that he 
 spelled the bier with an I, not an E, that calm 
 was restored.
 
 146 imtt anD Ibumor ot tbc Stase 
 
 The Cheerful Idiot 
 
 " What part am I cast for ? " asked an ambi- 
 tious amateur actor of the club manager. 
 
 " You are to be the heroine's father," was the 
 reply. 
 
 " What does he do? " 
 
 " He dies ten years before the curtain rises 
 on the first act." 
 
 A Managerial Foible 
 
 Not all the stories told to illustrate the illiter- 
 acy of the powers that be in the theatre are true, 
 but this one comes from an eye-witness, and a 
 person of undoubted veracity. One of the great 
 managers was conducting a rehearsal. All 
 through the earlier stages of the preparation one 
 of the actresses had slurred certain words in her 
 part, excusing herself on the plea that she could 
 not quite make them out. Now she turned to 
 him and repeated the apologies. 
 
 " Fads and f-o-i-b-l-e-s," she read. " Do 
 you pronounce it fo-ibbles ? " 
 
 The manager took her part and pored over 
 it. " It's a mistake of the typewriter," he ad- 
 judicated, and turning to his stage-manager 
 ordered him to have it at once corrected by the 
 author's manuscript.
 
 miit anO t»umor ot tbc Stage 147 
 
 A Few Escaped 
 
 Richard Mansfield was once seeing London 
 from the top of a bus. As he swung along the 
 streets he asked the driver to point out the 
 places of interest. 
 
 "Right you are, sir," agreed the driver, 
 touching his hat. " There's Luggit '111, where 
 they 'ang 'em." A little later, " There's Parlia- 
 ment 'Ouses, where they make the laws wot does 
 it across the way. An' there's Westminster 
 Habbey, where they buried the good 'uns wot 
 didn't get 'anged." 
 
 Draw One 
 
 " What do you think ! " exclaimed the the- 
 atrical star, proudly. " They are going to 
 name a new cigar after me." 
 
 " Well," rejoined the manager, " here's hop- 
 ing it will draw better than you do." 
 
 " 'Ave-a-New-Road " 
 
 Sir Charles Wyndham, who is one of Eng- 
 land's most popular actors, once perpetrated a 
 monumental pun. 
 
 A distinguished friend was walking with him 
 toward Regent's Park. " I wonder," he said, 
 ** why they call this Avenue Road ? " 
 
 " Oh, don't you know ? " asked Sir Charles,
 
 148 "mit auD "ttjumor of tbe Stage 
 
 in seeming surprise. " It was the expression of 
 the man who made it." 
 
 " How was that ? " inquired the friend. 
 
 "He said, 'Want a new road 'ere? Well, 
 *ave-a-new-road 'ere ! ' So they called it 'Ave- 
 a-new-Road. Nothing simpler." 
 
 Wedding Encores 
 
 In a speech before the Wellesley Club re- 
 cently, Augustus Thomas told this story about 
 Nat Goodwin : 
 
 " Say, Nat," said Willie Collier to Mr. Good- 
 win as they were comuig out of the Lambs' 
 Club shortly after the latter's marriage to Miss 
 Goodrich, " invite me to one of your weddings 
 some time, won't you ? " 
 
 One On a Deadhead 
 
 Of all nuisances, the greatest to an actor is a 
 would-be deadhead. Willie Collier tells how he 
 got the best of one of them. 
 
 " I received a postal card from a man I didn't 
 know from Adam, who said he had met me in 
 California. He wished to renew the acquaint- 
 ance, and maybe I would send him two tickets 
 for the following Wednesday night. Oh, yes, I 
 answered it on a postal card, too ! I merely 
 wrote, ' Maybe I wouldn't ! ' "
 
 TlCllt anD 131111101 of tbe Stage i49 
 
 Hungry Thespians 
 
 They looked like actors, or rather they looked 
 as if they would have been actors if some mana- 
 ger with more than the usual discernment would 
 recognize their ability and give them a job. Just 
 now they were staring through the window of a 
 popular- priced restaurant in Congress Street, 
 Portland, absorbed in the unerring accuracy of 
 the chef as the griddle cakes were flipped into 
 the air by him, only to fall gracefully back into 
 the grease mark they had just quitted. The tall 
 man jingled some keys in his pocket and the lit- 
 tle one pulled his belt another notch. 
 
 "Lord!" said the big one; "I'm hungry 
 enough to eat my own words." 
 
 "I'm just as bad," complained the little one. 
 " I feel as though I could bolt a front door." 
 
 To Make It Fit the Crime 
 
 George Grossmith, "Gee Gee," the popular 
 English entertainer and creator of the principal 
 leading funny characters in Gilbert and Sulli- 
 van's operas, says that when Sullivan was 
 knighted some one asked him why he, and not 
 his collaborator, W. S. Gilbert, was chosen for 
 this honor. 
 
 "I don't exactly know," said Sir Arthur;
 
 150 mtt anO Dumor of tbe Stage 
 
 "but I suppose her Majesty did it to make the 
 punishment fit the crime." 
 
 " Brother Artists " 
 
 Mr. George Scott, the well-known theatrical 
 manager, was a splendid story-teller. One of 
 the best anecdotes relating to himself is associated 
 with a tour, during which he visited Leicester. 
 One evening, when he was in "front" of the 
 house, two seedy-looking individuals came for- 
 ward and asked to be admitted. 
 
 "We want two passes," said the spokesman. 
 
 "Are you connected with the profession ? " 
 asked Mr. Scott. 
 
 " Of course," was the reply. " We are run- 
 ning a Punch and Judy show round the corner, 
 and you have taken all our customers." 
 
 "Pass two brother-artists," said Mr. Scott, 
 with a smile, to the doorkeeper. 
 
 Valuable Ideas 
 
 Two ambitious young writers in New York 
 heard that a well-known vaudeville artist needed 
 a new sketch and went to see him about it. 
 
 They found him at the theatre and explained 
 their errand. 
 
 "Sure," said the variety star, "I want anew 
 sketch and you can write it."
 
 Mit anO Ibumor of tbe Stage I6i 
 
 "How about the money? " asked one of the 
 writers. 
 
 "Oh," said the variety star, "it is this way 
 with all my sketches : When the writers furnish 
 the idea I give them a royalty, but when I give 
 the idea I pay one hundred and twenty-five 
 dollars flat and own the sketch. Now, I want 
 this sketch for six girls and one man. You see 
 there's the idea ; so go ahead and turn it in by 
 Friday and I'll pay you one hundred and twenty- 
 five dollars for it if I like it." 
 
 True Prophet 
 
 He was an actor, and had been engaged for a 
 week by the manager of a pantomime company 
 in order that he might be given a chance to 
 prove his claims to be a popular favorite. He 
 went through his performance with scarcely a 
 sound of applause, however, and on the second 
 night his success was even more doubtful. On 
 the third night a compassionate spectator aj)- 
 plauded slightly. As the young actor swaggtred 
 off he met the manager at the wings. Pointing 
 in the direction of the applause, he said, " I say, 
 old fellow, I do go, don't I ? " 
 
 "Yes, my boy," replied the manager, with a 
 sad smile, "you do — on Saturday."
 
 152 M(t anD ibumor ot tbe Stage 
 
 Ready Wit 
 
 The pantomime in a provincial town had 
 fallen very flat and the manager was extremely 
 anxious not to lose an opportunity of infusing 
 energy into his cast. * 
 
 Comedian : " I can't go on for a minute, sir. 
 I feel funny." 
 
 Manager: "Funny! Great Scott, man ! Go 
 on at once and make the most of it while it 
 lasts." 
 
 The Language of the Birds 
 A number of New York theatrical managers 
 
 were discussing Rostand's new play, Chanticleer, 
 
 in which the characters represent various fowls, 
 
 birds and animals. 
 
 " What language will the characters speak ? " 
 
 asked an inquiring producer. 
 
 "I don't know as to all of them," replied 
 
 Daniel Frohman, "but, of course, the hero, 
 
 Chanticleer y will talk cockney." 
 
 Wet, Wetter, Wettest 
 
 Suett, the famous actor, was one day alight- 
 ing from a coach after a long journey in the 
 pouring rain, when a gentleman, who had come 
 to meet him, asked : 
 
 "Are you Suett? "
 
 Wit anJ) Ibumor of tbe Stafle 153 
 
 The immediate answer was, "No, I'm drip- 
 ping ! " 
 
 Jew and Gentile 
 
 Sir Henry Irving's casiigation at tlie tongue 
 of a wilty cabman was often related by the 
 actor himself. One evening, during the run of 
 The Merchant of Venice, he arrived late at the 
 Lyceum and in the thoughtlessness of hurry 
 handed the driver a shilling, instead of the legal 
 fare of eighteenpence. Cabby regarded the 
 coin disdainfully, and, with bitter sarcasm, re- 
 marked : 
 
 " If yer plays the Jew inside that theaytre as 
 well as yer does outside, darned if I won't spend 
 this bob in coming to see yer." 
 
 So delighted was the actor at the man's wit 
 that he handed him half a sovereign. 
 
 When the Ghost Walks 
 
 Every one has heard the phrase " When the 
 ghost walks," as applied to salary-day; but not 
 one man in a thousand has any idea of the way 
 in which the phrase originated. 
 
 According to the best theatrical tradition, the 
 phrase originated in the days of Booth. 
 
 As the story goes, a company of players pro- 
 ducing a Shakespearian repertoire were in des-
 
 154 Mit anD Ibumor of tbe Stage 
 
 perate straits when they one day announced a 
 performance of Hatrilet in a small town. Sal- 
 aries had been unpaid for many weeks, and 
 there was much dissatisfaction in the company. 
 
 All went well with the performance, however, 
 until Hamlet comes on to lake a look at his 
 father's ghost. Now, the ghost is off-stage 
 when Hamlet searches, and Hamlet has to speak 
 the line, "Perchance 'twill walk again." 
 
 Here the ghost broke into the scene from off- 
 stage with the loudly-voiced answer, which is 
 not in the text of the play: "Nay, 'twill walk 
 no more until its salary is paid." 
 
 An Aggregation of Talent 
 
 Billy Frontrow: "Then you think you have 
 a good company this season ? " 
 
 Enthusiastic Manager: "A good company ! 
 Why, they're all stars, sir ! Every lady in the 
 cast is a celebrated divorcee, and every man has 
 won his prize-fight ! "
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 In Hard Luck 
 
 The often kaleidoscopic ups and downs of 
 the theatrical profession have passed into a by- 
 word, and where there is so much smoke there 
 must be some fire, as is evidenced by the follow- 
 ing miscellany of "hard-luck stories," many of 
 them "reeking with humor," as George Cohan 
 would say, or ought to say. 
 
 The Last Straw 
 
 Frank Daniels, early in his career, was prin- 
 cipal in a small company that was " touring the 
 provinces." Business had been poor and eating 
 had become a luxury. It was only the cheering 
 knowledge that the new opera house at Ticon- 
 deroga, N. Y., had been almost sold out for their 
 performance that kept them together. 
 
 " Wait till we get to Ticonderoga," the man- 
 ager would say to any one who faintly suggested 
 the price of a breakfast. 
 
 Finally they reached Ticonderoga. It was 
 eventide, and a rosy glow illumined the western 
 sky.
 
 156 mit anD Ibumor of tbe Stage 
 
 " Ah, me," sighed Daniels to the stage-driver. 
 " The sun may set in other places, but never as 
 it does here. Behold yon " 
 
 " Sunset !" growled the driver, "Sunset — 
 that's the opry house burnin' down." 
 
 The Reward of Persistence 
 "My only hard luck began regularly in my 
 career ; in fact, before my career really began ; 
 and thereby hangs this tale," says Edgar Selwyn. 
 "I had been 'suping' with William Gillett's 
 company, which was to make a London appear- 
 ance in Secret Service, when I was suddenly 
 informed that the company contained one too 
 many, and that I was ' it.' 
 
 " I immediately applied for an engagement 
 with a stock company down South, and was 
 engaged on the strength of my association with 
 Secret Service. But alas ! my new management 
 left me in little doubt as to what they thought of 
 my work; in fact, they had only one excuse for 
 keeping me — they forgot to pay salaries, and 
 whilst the various members of the company kept 
 leaving as regularly as the proverbial ghost re- 
 fused to walk, I clung on with tenacious per- 
 sistence, playing many parts, much to the distress 
 of small but select audiences, but gaining expe- 
 rience rapidly.
 
 TlWlt anJ) Ibumor of tbe Stage 157 
 
 " In the natural course of a company's career, 
 we reached Rochester, where, to the joy of the 
 management, business picked up tremendously, 
 and it was in the second week of this unexpected 
 prosperity that I received a summons to present 
 myself before the management forthwith. With 
 much trepidation, and a presentiment of coming 
 evil, I wandered out ' in front.' 
 
 " * You are now the only member of the orig- 
 inal company,* said my manager. 
 
 " I nodded weakly. 
 
 "'You have had no salary previously, as I 
 object to paying money under false pretense ; 
 but, while you have still much to learn as an 
 actor, I feel in duty bound to acknowledge your 
 loyalty, and, therefore, as I anticipate playing in 
 this town for eight weeks, here is your salary for 
 that period in advance.' 
 
 "I think I fainted." 
 
 An Impresario's Advice 
 Some years ago, after the regular Italian opera 
 season had ended at the Academy of Music, 
 New York, that building became a sort of trying 
 on arena for would-be prima donnas and tenors. 
 One day during the open and shut interim be- 
 tween the seasons, Max Maretzek met the tenor 
 Adams and Madam Papenheim.
 
 158 Mit anD Ibumoc ot tbe Stage 
 
 When the tenor said, " Congratulate us, 
 Max ; we have just leased the Academy for 
 classic operas — no candy rot for us," the im- 
 presario replied : 
 
 " I wish you great success ; but tell me your 
 proposed repertory." 
 
 To this Adams responded, *' Antigone, Orfeo, 
 Iphigenia, Sapho, Alceste, etc." 
 
 Maretzek suavely said, " That is magnificent, 
 but do me a favor as an old and experienced 
 friend. Give the Trovatore once each week in 
 order to pay salaries." 
 
 This advice was not followed, and very soon 
 the Academy was again for rent. 
 
 Better Late Than Never 
 
 Edward Peple, author of The Prince Chap, 
 a pretty domestic drama that has won success, 
 had the usual struggle for recognition. The 
 other day he told of it. 
 
 " It may sound incredulous, but it really took 
 me twelve years to get a hearing. Believe me, 
 I have had a few experiences. I recollect the 
 first visit I made to New York from my home 
 in Richmond, Va. I had been reading that the 
 managers were on their knees beseeching the 
 dramatists to give forth librettos. I had been 
 writing from my early boyhood, so I placed
 
 "Watt aiiD ibumor of tbe Stage 159 
 
 under my arm some things of a literary nature 
 and started for New York. In four offices, 
 bright, Irish boys on the door told me irreme- 
 diably that the manager was not in, and in the 
 fifth 1 got a surprise. I was taken right into 
 the sanctiwi sanctorum. 
 
 " ' Well,' said the great manager, smiling, 
 * you are a dramatist — a librettist, hey ? ' 
 
 " 'That is my allegation.' 
 
 " He led me to the front window and pointed 
 to one of the large buildings across the street — 
 fifteen stories high, 1 believe, — and said : 
 
 " ' See all the windows in that building ? It 
 is a whole block long, too. Each one of those 
 windows is filled with a young fellow like you. 
 Go back home, my boy. Good-day.' " 
 
 An Opera's Name 
 
 During an early performance of Gilbert and 
 Sullivan's opera. The Gondoliers, at the Fifth 
 Avenue Theatre, New York, its manager, John 
 Stetson, and Sir Arthur Sullivan watched the 
 performance from a box. 
 
 Presently Stetson asked Sullivan the name of 
 the opera. 
 
 Sullivan told him. 
 
 "A good name," retorted Stetson, looking 
 around liie half empty house, " ' Gone Dol-
 
 itio 1111111 anO Ibumor of tbe Stage 
 
 lars,' eh? Yes, 1 see 'em going out of my 
 pockets." 
 
 De Angelis and the Motor-Car 
 
 Jefferson De Angelis is a motoring enthusiast, 
 and carries a gasoline-car with him when on 
 tour. Recently, in Boston, the clutch on one 
 door of the machine got out of order, and the 
 comedian sent it to a garage to be repaired. 
 The job was to be done that same afternoon, 
 and Mr. De Angelis invited a friend out for a 
 spin on Charles River Drive. They went to the 
 workroom of the garage. The place looked as 
 if a racing-machine had struck it. Pieces of 
 automobile were scattered around, but nothing 
 resembling a completed one was in sight. 
 
 "Where's my car?" inquired Mr. De 
 Angelis. 
 
 " There it is," said the workman, pointing to 
 the wreck. 
 
 " Is that the way you mend the door-clutch ? " 
 gasped the comedian. 
 
 " Well, you see," was the answer, "in look- 
 ing her over I found one of the axles sprung, 
 the gasoline-tank leaking, a lever twisted, several 
 bolts missing, and the steering-gear out of order. 
 Thought maybe you wanted to live a little longer, 
 so I went ahead to fix it up right."
 
 TKnit anO Ibumor of tbc Stage 161 
 
 Mr. De Angelis got the machine three days 
 later — and also the bill. The latter was for 
 $148.00. 
 
 Told by John E, Henshaw 
 " If you want to get pure and unadulterated 
 criticism, go west with a road company and stop 
 off at Waco, Texas. I happened to be cast in 
 a company of uncertain backing a few years 
 ago, and through the leniency of the sheriff 
 from the last town we were allowed to proceed 
 to Waco, with the hope that we would increase 
 our door receipts. 
 
 " Alas for shattered hopes and caustic criti- 
 cism ! Not only were we disappointed with a 
 poor house ; but all efforts in Waco were vain 
 after reading in the local paper the following 
 morning: 
 
 "'Rain-storm in Galveston; lasted twenty 
 minutes. Hail-storm in Beaumont ; ten min- 
 utes. Wind storm in Langtry ; two days. Barn- 
 storm in Opera House; one night.' " 
 
 A Profitable Hoax 
 An amusing story is told of the ingenious 
 scheme resorted to by a company of actors in 
 Berlin, not long ago, in order to get together a 
 big audience for a certain benefit performance.
 
 162 mat anD Ibumor of tbe Stage 
 
 Some days before the eventful evening there 
 appeared in all the Berlin papers an advertise- 
 ment to the following effect : 
 
 "A gentleman who has a niece, and ward 
 possessing a disposable property of fifteen thou- 
 sand thalers, together with a mercantile estab- 
 lishment, desires to find a man who would be 
 able to manage the business and become the hus- 
 band of the young lady. The possession of 
 property or other qualifications is no object. 
 
 Apply ." 
 
 Hundreds upon hundreds of letters poured in 
 in reply to this advertisement. On the morning 
 of the benefit day each person who had sent a 
 reply received the following note : 
 
 "The most important point is, of course, that 
 you should like one another. 1 and my niece 
 
 will visit the Theatre this evening, and 
 
 you can just drop in upon us in Box No. i." 
 
 As a matter of course the theatre was t rammed. 
 All the best paying places in the house were 
 filled in the evening with a public, mostly male, 
 attired in a style seldom seen even at the Royal 
 Opera itself. Glasses were leveled on all sides 
 in the direction of No. i box, and eyes were 
 strained to catch the first glimpse of the niece 
 when she should appear in company with her 
 uncle ; but uncle and niece came not, and the
 
 unit anD Ibumoc ot tbe Stage 163 
 
 disconsolate lovers — of a fortune — were left to 
 clear up the mystery as best they might. 
 
 When Goodwin Played 
 
 At the Players' Club, in New York, a story 
 was once narrated about Nat Goodwin. 
 
 "Goodwin's opening in London, at the 
 Shaftesbury Theatre, with A Gilded Fool, was, 
 you know, a frost," said a tragedian, smiling 
 gladly. "The piece didn't go at all. Goodwin 
 had to make a quick change to An American 
 Citizen. 
 
 " Goodwin was staying at the Cecil, and one 
 evening he got into a hansom to go to the thea- 
 tre. Shaftesbury Avenue, in front of the Shaftes- 
 bury Theatre, is usually crowded with cabs and 
 hansoms and motor- busses, and, to make better 
 time, cabmen usually approach by means of a 
 little alley on the west. 
 
 "'Shaftesbury Theatre, said Goodwin to the 
 cabman, and, to save time, take the alley.' 
 
 " ' No need to take the alley to-night, sir, 
 said the cabman, grinning. Goodwin is play- 
 ing A Gilded Fool, sir.' " 
 
 For the Poor People 
 There was once a well-known Irish manager 
 called Huntly Mny McCarthy. On one of his
 
 164 imft an& Ibumor of tbe Stage 
 
 visits to Cork he found business so outrageously 
 bad that he was at his wit's end. At last the 
 idea struck him that he would get up a benefit 
 for the "poor of Cork." He did so, and it 
 being for such a deserving object, he got the 
 patronage of the Mayor and other notables of the 
 place, and a big house was the result. Next 
 morning the secretary and treasurer of the fund 
 called at McCarthy's lodging with the idea of 
 collecting the receipts. McCarthy talked about 
 all kinds of things except finance, and at last the 
 subject was broached by the visitors. 
 
 -■'-1." savs MrCarthy; "I 
 think you kilovt .... benefit was for the poor of 
 Cork?" 
 
 " So we understand." 
 
 "Then, gentlemen, I have divided the money 
 among ray own company, and if you can find a 
 poorer lot in all Cork you are welcome to let 
 them have it." But they couldn't. 
 
 Got It Going and Coming 
 One of the prize managerial hard-luck stories 
 relates to a small manager, but it will serve to 
 show how things sometimes happen. This man 
 saved up a few thousand dollars, and every 
 dollar represented blood. With this he took out 
 a company in a play that had made quite a sue-
 
 'WIlit anD Ibumot of tbe Stage 165 
 
 cess several seasons before. He was to get, on 
 an average, seventy per cent, of the gross r" 
 ceipts on the road. Being somewhat new in the 
 business, he carefully figured out what his com- 
 pany cost, but he did not consider the very im- 
 portant matter of how little he might take in. 
 On the opening night, at a New Jersey town not 
 far from New York, his share of the receipts was 
 two hundred and sixty dollars. He was so 
 elated that he blew the company to a dinner that 
 cost fifty dollars. Then business got bad, but 
 the company struggled on until Thanksgiving. 
 When the manager reached the theatre where 
 they were to play the Thanksgiving matinee he 
 could not believe his ears ; there had been an 
 advance sale of one thousand dollars. Thanks- 
 giving matinees are always good business for a 
 cat-and-dog show. The manager was in great 
 glee, but his enthusiasm soon chilled. The 
 leading man and the general understudy got 
 drunk, and the man who played the heavy parts 
 got into a fight with the baggage-master for 
 smashing his trunk, and was arrested. When the 
 time for matinee came, the company was short 
 four members and the performance was called 
 off. The manager then went to Chicago to 
 arrange for some transportation. He went along 
 the route his own show was booked, and at
 
 166 'wait anD Ibumor of tbe Stage 
 
 nearly every box-office he had to make a touch 
 to keep him going. This is often done by ad- 
 vance agents, for the money is later taken out 
 of the show receipts. Two days later in Chicago 
 he met one of the members of his company. 
 
 "Why aren't you back with the show?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "The company closed in Sandusky yester- 
 day," was the reply. 
 
 To cap the climax of this manager's hard 
 luck, he got a job as advance man for a show. 
 When he looked over the route he found that it 
 exactly doubled back over the route of his own 
 company, and included every place where he 
 had made a hot touch at the box-office. 
 
 An Actor's Pipe-Dream 
 
 John S. Flaherty, manager of the Majestic 
 Theatre in New York, was walking along Broad- 
 way with a theatrical friend, when the latter's 
 attention was attracted by a fine meerschaum 
 pipe in a show-window. After admiring it for 
 a time, the actor suggested that they go inside 
 and ask the price. 
 
 " How much for that carved pipe in the 
 window ? " he asked. 
 
 " Only fifty dollars," said the clerk. " It's a
 
 •wait anO Ibumot ot tbe Stage 167 
 
 beauty, aiul is the genuine article. Shall I show 
 it to you ? ' ' 
 
 " But he did not show the pipe," said Flah- 
 erty, in relating the incident, " for the actor was 
 out of the door and strolling down the street. 
 When I overtook him, I heard him say to him- 
 self: 'Two weeks' alimony for a pipe? Well, 
 I guess not ! ' " 
 
 For Lack of a Lead PencU 
 " In certain parts of the country," said Ray- 
 mond Hitchcock, being in a reminiscent mood, 
 "the 'room with bath ' is hard to round up in 
 a sequence of one-night stands — ^just when it is 
 most valuable. I won't designate the town of 
 this experience, because I may have to visit it 
 again. I was overdue for a dip when I reached 
 the hotel in this place, and gave three cheers 
 when I found the tub was a local institution. I 
 had splashed around like a kid taking a stolen 
 swim, when I found out that there were no towels 
 in the room ; also there was no telephone to the 
 hotel office, and there was nothing but a hole in 
 the wall where the electric button ought to be. 
 
 " For drying myself there were these expedi- 
 ents — running up and down the room swiftly, 
 converting the lace window curtains into crash, 
 or sitting still and fanning myself with my hat.
 
 168 Timit and "toumor of tbc Stage 
 
 Recourse lo these three, pieced out by a burning 
 sense of injustice, enabled me to put on my 
 clothes over a dry skin after a while, and then I 
 tore down-stairs to say something hard-boiled to 
 the proprietor. 
 
 " VVhen I had finished, he gave me a pitying 
 smile, beckoned to me to follow, and led me to 
 my room. 
 
 " ' It is very simple,' he said. * Observe.' 
 
 " With this he took a lead pencil from his 
 pocket, and inserted it in the hole wiiere the 
 button used to be. The wiring was still there, 
 for in a minute up came a bell-boy. The pro- 
 prietor looked at me triumphantly, and left the 
 room before I could think of anything appro- 
 priate to say. 
 
 " The company still had some doubtful terri- 
 tory ahead. If it had been possible to can a few 
 baths, I should have done it. Instead, I thought 
 I would take another the same day, while the 
 opportunity lasted. Secure in the knowledge 
 that the room was not isolated, and despite the 
 fact that towels were still missing, I jumped into 
 the tub and tried to absorb water to the full ca- 
 pacity of the human frame. 
 
 " Then I put a dripping hand into the pock- 
 ets of my vest. There was no lead pencil there. 
 My fountain pen was too big for the buttonless
 
 "Uatt auD Ibumor of tbc Staflc 169 
 
 bell, and so was the handle of my tooth-brush. 
 By following the original program, I got dressed 
 and started for the proprietor again. He wasn't 
 in, but I was told I could find him across the 
 sireet. Outside the door I encountered three 
 blind men selling lead pencils." 
 
 His First Experience 
 
 Jefferson De Angelis, star of Fantana, and 
 other pieces, had been indulging in reminis- 
 cences. "I remember," Mr. De Angelis said, 
 "that my first real experience in spending 
 money at a high class restaurant was at Har- 
 vey's in Washington. There was with me at 
 the time a young woman noted for her epicu- 
 reanism, and, when I asked her what she would 
 like to eat, she selected soft-shell crabs.. 
 
 " ' Same here,' said I to the waiter. The 
 creatures were brought to us alive, though I did 
 not realize the fact, or know that I was supposed 
 to treat them with scalding water. The food 
 looked strange to me, but I was game, and I 
 did not propose to show my ignorance. The 
 first thing I did to the bunch was to throw some 
 salt and pepper over them. A moment later, 
 one crab stood up on his forty-nine legs and 
 shook himself, much as a dog would after coming 
 out of the water. My companion looked on in
 
 170 "mil anD Ibumor ot tbe Stage 
 
 amazement, but turning to the waiter, I said, in 
 my most sophisticated tone : 
 
 " * Bring me the Worcestershire ! ' 
 " He brought it, and I dumped the whole 
 bottle full over my soft-shell friend, who 
 promptly stood up again, lifted his head like an 
 ostrich, and started to crawl across the table. 
 He walked off, dropping to the tile floor with 
 the green tartar sauce and brown Worcestershire 
 dripping like paint from every corner of his 
 anointed person. The waiter, of course, cap- 
 tured the creature, and gave it a boiling bath. 
 I took the hint with the other, but I'm not likely 
 soon to forget my first soft-shell crab ! " 
 
 The Madness of Hamlet 
 
 Richard Mansfield, at a dinner party in New 
 York, contributed an anecdote to the old ques- 
 tion of the sanity of Hamlet. 
 
 " One morning in the West," he said, " I 
 met a young friend of mine and asked him 
 where he had been the night before. 
 
 " ' I went,' my young friend replied, 'to see 
 So-and-So's Hamlet.' 
 
 " ' Aha, did you?' said I. ' Now tell me — 
 do you think Hamlet was mad? ' 
 
 " ' I certainly do,' said he. ' There wasn't a 
 hundred dollars in the house.' "
 
 TMlft anO Ibumor of tbe Stage ni 
 
 Every Little Helps 
 
 Will Mandeville, the actor, and another 
 actor named Babcock, went to New York in 
 their early days in search of an engagement. 
 They had some money and lived on Broadway 
 while it lasted. They could get nothing to do 
 and retreated, step by step, until they got into 
 a reasonably clean, but very cheap, lodging- 
 house on the Bowery. 
 
 One morning they awoke with the distressing 
 knowledge that they had no money, that they 
 had had nothing to eat for a long, long time, 
 and that they had no prospects of getting either 
 money or food. They had pawned everything 
 they had that was pawnable. The situation was 
 desperate. At its most doleful phase, an Italian 
 organ-grinder started a lively tune beneath their 
 window. Mandeville was too disconsolate to 
 listen, but Babcock walked over to the window 
 and looked out. 
 
 Suddenly Babcock crouched down on the 
 floor and made signs to the astonished Mande- 
 ville to keep quiet. Mandeville sat and stared. 
 Presently a tiny monkey with a tin cup clam- 
 bered on the window-sill and held out the cup. 
 Babcock made a feint as if to put a coin in 
 the cup, and the monkey jumped into the 
 room.
 
 172 -mit aiiD ibumor of tbe Stage 
 
 " Shut the window, quick ! " yelled Babcock, 
 "and I'll hold the monkey." 
 
 Mandeville slammed down the window and 
 Babcock grabbed the monkey by the throat. 
 "What's the matter?" asked Mandeville. 
 " Are you crazy? " 
 
 " I am not," Babcock replied. " Look here." 
 And he held up the monkey's cup, which had 
 some coins in it. 
 
 But Business Flourished 
 
 It is well known that Lew Dockstader goes to 
 a theatre to ask about advance sales before he 
 thinks of a hotel. On his last visit to Charles- 
 ton, S. C, he covered the distance between the 
 depot and the playhouse in an extraordinarily 
 short time. He nodded once to the treasurer, 
 twice to the manager, who knew the minstrel 
 king's habits. Dockstader looked at the ticket 
 rack, and seeing it full, said : 
 
 " What are the prospects ? " 
 
 Charles Mathews replied with a word equiva- 
 lent to putrid. 
 
 "M-m," said Dockstader. "I'll fix that; 
 just watch me." 
 
 He hurried back on the stage, found the 
 property man, who was arranging the tubs for 
 the boys, and sent him to all the hotels and
 
 IWlt mt> Ibumor of tbe Stage 173 
 
 boarding-houses to summon every member of 
 the couipany. When they swarmed to the 
 theatre, Dockstader ordered them to get into 
 their uniforms, and with their instruments, for 
 they often act in the capacity of a band, started 
 out and made a four-hour parade under the still 
 hot Southern sun. 
 
 Hot and perspiring, for he himself had led 
 the band of minstrels. Lew appeared again at 
 the box-office. 
 
 " How are things looking for me, now ? " 
 
 "Everything sold. We are having the S. 
 R. O. sign brushed up." 
 
 "Aha! I told you so." The monarch of 
 bones fanned himself with his hat and grinned. 
 
 "What's the matter with you, Lew?" said 
 Charley Mathews. "We haven't had a seat 
 left for you since yesterday. This rack of 
 tickets is for to-morrow night's show."
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 Jefferson and His Friends 
 
 A MORE loved and lovable actor than Joseph 
 Jefferson never lived. His friends were legion, 
 both on and off the boards. Elsewhere in this 
 book there will be found some examples of his 
 witty sayings, but there are enough besides of 
 these extant to deserve a chapter by themselves. 
 
 How Joe Jefferson Packed the Jury 
 
 Each spring, for a number of years, it was the 
 custom of Joseph Jefferson to leave Palm Beach, 
 where he had his winter home, for a theatrical 
 tour of six weeks. He was once asked by the 
 writer if, after nearly seventy years on the stage, 
 he did not find this professional work burden- 
 some, and he answered quickly that his spring 
 tour was the easiest way that he knew of to 
 make about thirty thousand dollars. Mr. Jef 
 ferson was always fond of telling stories, and 
 often told the following about himself: 
 
 He had been invited to be present at the 
 meeting of a certain secret order, noted for its
 
 TKnit anD fjumot of tbe Stage 175 
 
 hospitality. But he was hardly seated before 
 the chair roared out : 
 
 " Let our worshipful officers arrest one Joseph 
 Jefferson, and bring him before us." 
 
 " But what am I arrested for, Mr. President ? " 
 asked the prisoner, after he had been promptly 
 hustled " up front." 
 
 "For discharging firearms in the Catskills, 
 and compassing the death of your good dog, 
 Schneider." 
 
 "But it was only a little holiday lark, and 
 Schneider died while I was asleep ! " protested 
 Mr. Jefferson. 
 
 "Was I to blame, gentlemen of the jury?" 
 he asked, appealing to the others. 
 
 " No," came the answer in a chorus. 
 
 "The jury acquits me, your honor," remarked 
 the prisoner. 
 
 "I am suspicious of the jury," replied the 
 president; "you are such an old hand at pack- 
 ing houses that I believe you have packed this 
 jury." 
 
 She Wore Them Right 
 
 One of the stories told by Joseph Jefferson 
 
 when playing in Philadelphia on his last tour 
 
 had to do with a woman bicyclist, who overtook 
 
 him as he was walking along a rural road. As
 
 176 "mil and Dumot ot tbe Staflc 
 
 she reached him, she jumped from her wheel 
 and standing erect revealed the fact that she 
 was attired in a radical bloomer costume. 
 
 «' Pardon me, sir," she said, " but is this the 
 way to VVareham ? " 
 
 Jefferson said he stammered and faltered until 
 he was ashamed of himself, as he replied : " I — 
 I — really — I guess so. They seem to me to look 
 all right." 
 
 " Pigs is Pigs " 
 Mr. Jefferson, on his visit to Pekin, Illinois, 
 called on the editor of a newspaper of that town, 
 and in their conversation the editor said that he 
 had something appertaining to the actor that he 
 thought would interest him. Going to his book- 
 case with a bland smile, he brouglit forth the 
 city directory, in which were pasted sundry 
 newspaper cuttings. The editor proudly held 
 up the book, and this is what Jefferson read : 
 
 " In April, 1857, Mr. Jefferson appeared in this 
 city in the opera house that formerly had been a 
 stable, and on which site to day stands St. Mary's 
 Catholic Church. It was during this perform- 
 ance in one of the most pathetic scenes between 
 his wife and himself in J?ip Van Winkle that the 
 pigs underneath the stage made such a rumpus, 
 spoiling the scene. Mrs. Jefferson, who was of
 
 lUtt anJ) Ibumou of tbe Staae n? 
 
 a very nervous temperament, lost control of her- 
 self and burst out crying. The jovial Rip, quick 
 as a flash, raised his cup, and bowing gallantly 
 to his wife said : ' Here's to your good health 
 and your family's and the little piggies. May 
 they all live long and prosper ! ' " 
 
 The " Dead Beat " and the Pass 
 Among after-dinner speakers, Joseph Jefferson 
 ranked as one who could tell a good story in a 
 dry, delightful way. His stories dealt princi- 
 pally with theatrical subjects. 
 
 "While starring through Indiana several 
 years ago," he said at a dinner one night, <' my 
 manager was approached by a man who had the 
 local reputation of being a pass 'worker' or 
 dead beat. He told the usual yarn about being 
 a former actor and ended by asking for profes- 
 sional courtesies. 
 
 " ' I would be glad to oblige you,' said the 
 manager, ' but unfortunately, I haven't a card 
 with me.' Just then a happy thought struck 
 him, and he added : 'I'll tell you what I'll do. 
 I will write the pass where it will be easy for you 
 to show it.' 
 
 "Leaning over, with the pencil he wrote, 
 * Pass the bearer,' on the fellow's white shirt 
 front, and signed his name. The beat thanked
 
 178 iKfltt atiD Ibumor of tbe Stage 
 
 him and hastened to the gate. The ticket-taker 
 gravely examined the writing and let him take a 
 few steps inside, then called him back, saying, 
 in a loud voice : 
 
 " ' Hold on, my friend ; I forgot. It will be 
 necessary for you to leave that pass with me.' " 
 
 Forrest and Jefferson 
 
 Joseph Jefferson tells this story of Edwin For- 
 rest, one of whose early successes was young 
 Norval, in the tragedy of Douglas. The story 
 goes that William Wood, the stage-manager, who 
 seldom was known to praise any one, being caus- 
 tic and severe in his criticisms, one night was 
 relating in the greenroom before the whole 
 company that the finest first appearance he ever 
 had witnessed was that of a young man from 
 Philadelphia in the character of Norval. There- 
 upon the great tragedian rose, and, bowing with 
 comic gravity, said: '-Mr. Wood, I was that 
 young gentleman." 
 
 The actors were delighted to see that Wood 
 had betrayed himself into a compliment unin- 
 tentionally, when Wood exclaimed : " Well, sir, 
 you have never done so well since." 
 
 She Met Her Match 
 There is a story of Jefferson, which the actor
 
 imtt anD Ibumot of tbe Stage 179 
 
 himself was fond of repeating. He was asked, 
 some fourteen years ago, to spend a week with 
 a Scotch peer. Among the guests was a haughty 
 and brilliant woman, who was the daughter of 
 an earl. 
 
 "1 suppose," said Jefferson, " that there must 
 have been a homespun flavor in my American 
 manner that amused her, for she persisted in 
 quizzing me about America. 
 
 " But when I discovered that 1 was being 
 made game of I felt, for the honor of my coun- 
 try, that if ever she made another thrust at me I 
 should parry it if I could. I had not long to 
 wait, for emboldened by her success, she soon 
 turned upon me and said : 
 
 " ' By the by, have you met the Queen 
 lately?' 
 
 " ' No, madam,' I replied with perfect serious- 
 ness. ' I was out when her Majesty called upon 
 me.' 
 
 "She colored slightly, and then turned away 
 and never spoke to me again. But I was re- 
 venged." 
 
 Fact vs. Fiction 
 A number of years ago Jefferson played a one- 
 night engagement in a small Indiana town, 
 appearing in his favorite character. In the hotel
 
 180 "Wait anD Ibumor of tbe Stage 
 
 at which he stopped was an Irishman recently 
 "landed," who acted as porter and general as- 
 sistant. Judged by the deep and serious inter- 
 est which he took in the house, he might have 
 been clerk, lessee and proprietor, combined into 
 one. At about six o'clock in the morning Jef- 
 ferson was startled by a violent thumping on his 
 door. When he struggled into consciousness 
 and realized that he had left no call order at the 
 office, he was indignant. But his sleep was 
 spoiled for that morning, so he rose, and soon 
 after appeared before the clerk. 
 
 •' See here," he demanded of that individual, 
 " why was 1 called at this unearthly hour?" 
 
 "I don't know, sir," answered the clerk. 
 ''I'll ask Mike." 
 
 The Irishman was summoned. Said the 
 clerk : 
 
 "Mike, there was no call for Mr. Jefferson. 
 Why did you disturb him? " 
 
 Taking the clerk by the lapel of the coat, the 
 Hibernian led him to one side, and said in a 
 mysterious whisper: "He was snoring like a 
 horse, sor, and Oi'd heard the boys say as how 
 he were onct afther shlaping for twenty years, so 
 Oi sez to meself, sez I : ' Mike, it's coming onto 
 him again, and it's yer duty to get the craythur 
 out of your house at once.' "
 
 XClft anD fjumor ot tbe Stage 181 
 
 The Power of the Truth 
 Jefferson once had in his enriployiuent a plausi- 
 ble sort of man, half valet, half factotum, grossly 
 incompelenl and unsatisfactory, whom he desired 
 to get rid of. It was a certainty that the man 
 drank. Wine from the cellar would mysteriously 
 disappear, and gradually go down in the de- 
 canter ; but there never was any ocular proof. 
 
 "And," said Jefferson, in telling the story to 
 a friend, "there I was. What could I do? 
 However, one day as I was sitting in my library, 
 whom should 1 see but William come reeling up 
 the walk, drunk as a lord. There was no doubt 
 of it. My opportunity had come after many 
 years. I waited for him. I would tell him 
 how drunk lie was. He would deny it, of 
 course. He would insist that he was perfectly 
 sober, and that I was the one who was drunk. 
 But I should have the calm consciousness of 
 right on my side, and my excuse for sending 
 him away would be sufficient. So when Will- 
 iam appeared in my room I gazed at him with 
 all the severity that I could summon, and said : 
 
 " 'William, you are drunk ! ' 
 
 " He returned my look with perfect imper- 
 turbability. ' Mr. Jefferson,' said he, ' I am 
 more than that — I am very drunk, sir.' 
 
 "And," continued Jefferson, "will you tell
 
 182 mat anO Ibumor of tbc Stage 
 
 me what I could do? He took the wind out of 
 my sails. He proved himself a perfectly truth- 
 ful man, and I couldn't discharge a man for 
 telling the truth, could I?" 
 
 The Son of His Father 
 
 Peter F. Dailey's leading support when he 
 starred in Hodge, Podge <s' Co. was Christie 
 MacDonald, now the wife of William Winter 
 Jefferson, a son of the famous comedian. While 
 Dailey and his company were playing in Wash- 
 ington, Jefferson dropped into town to see his 
 fiancee. On the opening evening he occupied 
 a box at the theatre, and when Dailey saw him 
 a merry light glittered in the comedian's eye. 
 In the second act of the play Dailey and Miss 
 MacDonald had a humorous duet to sing. Be- 
 fore beginning the song, "Now, Christie, he 
 came all the way from Palm Beach to hear you 
 sing. Every one in the audience knows you 
 are engaged, and that he is in the lower right- 
 hand box; so do your nicest." 
 
 Needless to say, the audience took the cue, 
 and all eyes were directed toward Jefferson. He 
 fled precipitately, while Miss MacDonald grew 
 crimson, and was obliged to go into the wings 
 to recover her composure. Dailey remained on 
 the stage and enjoyed his joke hugely ; so did
 
 mat anD Ibumor of tbe Stage 183 
 
 the audience, but it broke up the performance 
 for a time. 
 
 The Real Rip 
 
 Mr. Jefferson was very fond of relating the 
 following story : 
 
 " In the village of Catskill there is a Rip Van 
 Winkle Club. The society did me the honor to 
 invite me to act the character in their town. I 
 accepted, and when 1 arrived was met by the 
 president and other members of the club, among 
 whom was young Nicholas Vedder, who claimed 
 to be a lineal descendant of the original 'old 
 Nick.' I was taking a cup of tea at the table in 
 the hotel, when I was attracted to the colored 
 waiter, who was giving a vivid and detailed 
 account of the legend of the Catskill Mountains 
 to one of the boarders who sat nearly opposite 
 me. 
 
 "'Yes, sah,' said the waiter, 'Rip went up 
 into de mountains, slep' for twenty years, and 
 when he come back here in dis bery town his 
 own folks didn't know him.' 
 
 " ' Why,' said his listener, ' you don't believe 
 the story's true ? ' 
 
 " ' True ? Ob course it is ! Why,' pointing 
 at me, 'dat's de man.' 
 
 "When I got to the theatre," said Jefferson,
 
 184 imit anJ) Ibumor ot tbe Stage 
 
 " I scarcely could get in, the crowd was so great 
 about the door. In the scene in the last act, 
 when Rip inquires of the innkeeper, ' Is this the 
 village of Falling Water?' I altered the text 
 and substituted the correct name, 'Is this the 
 village of Catskill ? ' 
 
 "The name of the village seemed to bring 
 home the scene to every man, woman and child 
 that was looking at it. From that time on the 
 interest was at its full tension. I never had seen 
 an audience so struck with the play. 
 
 •* There was a reception held at the club after 
 the play, and the president was so nervous that 
 he introduced me as Washington Irving."
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 First Person Singular 
 
 To tell a good story in which oneself figures 
 does not necessarily spell egotism, especially 
 when the narrator comes out second best. In 
 the following pages will be found some "first- 
 hand" anecdotes whose value is not lessened 
 because they are narrated by the principal actor 
 in each. 
 
 When I Was Twenty-One 
 " A few years ago," says James T. Powers, — 
 " I will not tell how many — I served my appren- 
 ticeship upon the stage, and after each unsuc- 
 cessful venture I returned home broke; and 
 heard the familiar and family joke, ' I told you 
 so ! ' Still I held on to the belief that some day 
 I would show them that the stage was for mine, 
 and after spending a few weeks in the bosom of 
 my family, and enjoying the fatted calf, I would 
 wander forth again. 
 
 "At this particular period I strayed so far 
 West that I couldn't get back; and it lacked 
 but two days of my twenty-first birthday.
 
 186 'Wilit anO Ibumor of tbe Stage 
 
 "'Oil, saving grace!' I exclaimed to an 
 actor friend who was in the same boat. ' On 
 my twenty-first birthday the judge won't refuse 
 me, so if we can scare up the price for a collect 
 telegram, I believe he will come down hand- 
 somely.' 
 
 " After much thinking and rewriting, I finally 
 sent the following message : 
 
 " ' Father, I am twenty-one to-day and broke.' 
 
 " How we hung around that Western tele- 
 graph office waiting — waiting for the wire that 
 would soon put us on the sunny side of easy 
 street ! 
 
 " At last, the next day, the answer came ' col- 
 lect.' This was puzzling; however, I borrowed 
 the price, and read my message from father : 
 
 "'So was I, my boy, when 1 was twenty- 
 one.'" 
 
 Prove It ! Prove It ! 
 
 Edward Stevens, the actor, first decided he 
 was born to go on the stage when he was a 
 young man in San Francisco. 
 
 He tried for several engagements and got none 
 in the drama. Then he thought he would make 
 a start in vaudeville. 
 
 He went around to the leading variety house 
 and was shown into the manager's office. The
 
 lUit anD Ibumor ot tbc Stage 187 
 
 manager was an old German, very cross and 
 very busy, and wiih no high opinion of actors. 
 
 "Vat you vant ? " he asiied. 
 
 "I want a job," stammered Stevens. 
 
 "A job? Votyoudo?" 
 
 " I am a comedian." 
 
 "Oh, a comicker, eh?" He turned fiercely 
 on the shrinking young man and roared : " Veil, 
 make me laugh ! " 
 
 A Warning 
 
 Orlando Day, a fourth-rate actor in London, 
 was once called, in a sudden emergency, to sup- 
 ply the place of Allen Ainsworih at the Criterion 
 Theatre for a single night. 
 
 The call filled him with joy. Here was a 
 chance to show the public how great a histrionic 
 genius had remained unknown for lack of an 
 opportunity. But his joy was suddenly damp- 
 ened by the dreadful thought that, as the play 
 was already in the midst of its run, none of the 
 dramatic critics might be there to watch his 
 triumph. 
 
 A bright thought struck him. He would 
 announce the event. Rushing to a telegraph 
 office, he sent to one of the leading critics the 
 following telegram: "Orlando Day presents 
 Allen Ainsworth's part to-night at the Criterion."
 
 188 mtt anO Ibumor of tbe Stage 
 
 Then it occurred to him, " Why not tell them 
 all?" So he repeated the message to a dozen 
 or more important persons. 
 
 At a late hour of the same day, in the Garrick 
 Club, a lounging gentleman produced one of the 
 telegrams, and read it to a group of friends. A 
 chorus of exclamations followed the reading: 
 "Why, I got precisely the same message!" 
 "And so did I." "And I, too." "Who is 
 Orlando Day?" "What beastly cheek!" 
 " Did the ass fancy that one would pay any at- 
 tention to his wire? " 
 
 J. M. Barrie, the famous author and play- 
 wright, who was present, was the only one who 
 said nothing. 
 
 " Didn't he wire you, too?" asked one of the 
 group. 
 
 "Oh, yes." 
 
 " But of course you didn't answer." 
 
 " Oh, but it was only polite to send an answer 
 after he had taken the trouble to wire me. So, 
 of course, I answered him." 
 
 " You did ! What did you say?" 
 
 "Oh, I just telegraphed him: 'Thanks for 
 timely warning.' " 
 
 Sacrificed His Prize Books 
 'Perhaps the most strenuous period of my
 
 "Uatt aiiD Ibumor ot tbe Stage 189 
 
 'hard time' was also my happiest," said Otis 
 Skinner. 
 
 " I doubt if I should care to live again through 
 the experiences of that period, however, for alas ! 
 we grow no younger. 
 
 '« It was my first season on the stage in the 
 stock company of a minor theatre of an Eastern 
 city. 
 
 "I had just tumbled out of the soft comfort 
 of the parent nest, and had never known the 
 necessity of earning my daily bread, but here 1 
 was put to it in earnest. The promised wage 
 was small, but the parts intrusted to my youth- 
 ful talents were glorious. What cared I if my 
 worldly possessions were confined within the 
 space of agarret bedroom, sumptuously furnished 
 with a bed, a wash-stand and a chair, so long as 
 I could find a vent for my genius in the low- 
 browed character-villains in the current melo- 
 dramas ! 
 
 "Even though salary day became more or 
 less a movable feast, one's enthusiasm rose 
 triumphant over baser considerations. No use 
 asking aid from home ; opposition to my deter- 
 mination had been so strong that I had burned 
 my bridges. 
 
 " I recalled one day when I had been impor- 
 tuned for unpaid rent by an indignant landlady
 
 190 imitt anO Ibumoi- ot tbe Staflc 
 
 for the fifth time, I resolved to bring my mana- 
 ger to a proper realization of his financial respon- 
 sibilities. He listened patiently to my demand, 
 and then turned over a number of notices from 
 the gas company. 
 
 '* ' How can I give you salary when I have 
 these to pay ? ' he said. ' If I don't meet these 
 payments, they'll turn off the gas; then where 
 will you be ? ' 
 
 "Sorrowfully I went to the garret room, and 
 from a small zinc trunk I took a number of 
 books, souvenirs of my prize-winning days at 
 school, and carried them to a second-hand book- 
 store ; and the result was a square meal at the 
 best restaurant in town, and the smoothing of 
 the war-wrinkled front of the landlady. 
 
 " Moreover, when on Friday night the parts 
 were given out at the theatre for the drama of 
 the following week, 1 received one of forty pages 
 — the juvenile hero of the play, who held all the 
 ' fat ' situations. Only one drop of bitterness 
 in this cup of joy. Where in heaven's name 
 would I get the costumes to dress the part ! " 
 
 Goritz's Bluff 
 *' Several years ago I was playing the part of 
 Wolfram in the opera of Tannhauser a( Breslau. 
 " 1 am very fond of good cigars, and after my
 
 lUit anO Ibumor of tbe Stage 191 
 
 scene a good smoke always seems to quiet my 
 nerves. It is hardly necessary to explain that 
 the period covered by the Tannhauser story long 
 preceded the manufacture of cigars ; but this 
 fact was unknown to the fireman who was sta- 
 tioned in the wings, and his ignorance saved me 
 just one hundred dollars. 
 
 " The theatre furnished us with a smoking- 
 room, and I did not know that smoking was 
 prohibited in the wings ; so when I came off the 
 stage, 1 lighted my cigar and started toward the 
 greenroom. Much to my surprise, I was halted 
 by the guard, who said : ' You are under arrest. 
 Come with me, or pay one hundred dollars 
 fine.' 
 
 " I remonstrated and said, 'Nonsense, man ! 
 This is in my part to smoke on the stage. Away 
 with you ! ' 
 
 " My mock anger had the desired effect, and 
 the bluff worked. 'I beg your pardon,' said 
 the subdued officer. ' It is my mistake.' 
 
 " However, 1 took no more chances, and re- 
 frained from smoking until 1 reached the green- 
 room. ' ' 
 
 The Stage To-day 
 The latest " Star " (being interviewed) : ** In 
 fact, I may say the author is quite immaterial to
 
 192 imtt an5 Ibumor ot tbe Stage 
 
 the success of a play. It depends solely on us. 
 Look how well some of us pull even old Shake- 
 speare through ! " 
 
 When Caruso Balked 
 
 Signor Caruso, the famous opera artist, tells 
 two funny stories, which show that it is not 
 always pleasant to be a great man. 
 
 The singer had taken a castle at Castello, 
 which was the original home of Cavalcante, a 
 great friend of Dante's, and, as the building 
 was old and needed repairs, he had the work- 
 men in. The signor says : 
 
 "My studio is on the second floor. While 1 
 was at home I used often to go in there to prac- 
 tice. One day the foreman of the workmen 
 came to me with a very sour face. 
 
 " 'Look here, Signor Caruso,' he said ; * you 
 want to get that new wing finished as soon as 
 possible, don't you? ' 
 
 " I told him that of course I did. 
 
 " ' Well,' he said, 'every day, as soon as you 
 begin to sing, every man on the place lays down 
 his tools. And they won't do a stroke of work 
 until you finish.' 
 
 " So I had to go elsewhere to do my prac- 
 ticing. And these same men had been working 
 but a short while," he added, ** when some one
 
 "wait anD Ibumor ot tbe Staae 193 
 
 suggested that, as I was a rich and successful 
 opera singer, I could afford to pay higher wages. 
 Then and there the whole crowd knocked off. 
 The foreiTian again came to see me. 
 
 " ' What do they want ? ' I asked. 
 
 " ' Double pay,' said he. 
 
 "But they didn't get it. Fortunately Flor- 
 ence is not far off, and I was able to get other 
 workmen who were content with the usual pay." 
 
 A Rapid Descent 
 Augustus Thomas wrote a part for McConnell 
 in the short-lived Champagne Charley. He had 
 not been on the stage for years, and it was 
 thought that his characteristic humor might be 
 amusing in the theatre. 
 
 That assumption proved incorrect, and Mc- 
 Connell retired from the show before its crush. 
 Then a vaudeville sketch called The Editor 
 was written for him, and he tried that for two 
 weeks. 
 
 "Vaudeville's all right, I suppose," he said 
 afterward, "but it didn't agree with me." 
 
 " What was wrong ? " asked one of his friends. 
 
 "Well, I began in Chicago in a roof garden 
 on top of a sixteen story sky-scraper. The next 
 week I went to St. Louis and played in Uhrig's 
 Cave. Could you beat anything like that ? As
 
 194 "Wlltt and Ibumov of tbe Stage 
 
 I said, 1 think vaudeville is all right, but I could 
 not stand the sudden changes in the climate." 
 
 De Wolf Hopper and the Darkey 
 
 "A real Southern negro will take a simple 
 story and so enrich it in the telling that it be- 
 comes a work of art. For instance, when Hap- 
 pyland was playing in Baltimore, I sat positively 
 speechless with delight for half an hour, listen- 
 ing to a colored baggageman describing to one 
 of his confreres the state of panic into which a 
 ghost had thrown an occupant of a haunted 
 house. 
 
 "They didn't know I was listening. They 
 were talking among themselves, in the language 
 they were accustomed to use. If a white man 
 had been telling the story, he would have gotten 
 to the end in a minute. But the negro was 
 talking for talk's sake. He was an artist. 
 
 " ' Jes' when them two niggahs wus a-fallin' 
 toh sleep in dat 'ar ha'nted house,' said he, 'dar 
 wus er hor'ble groan right outsiden de doah. 
 
 «« « " VVhut's dat? " sez one niggah. " Dey 
 ain' no one heah but you an' me." 
 
 " ' "Ah dunno whut 'tis," sez de old niggah; 
 "but Ah tells yoh one thing; yoh gimme time 
 fob toh git mah clothes offen dat hook, en Ah 
 gah'niies yoh'll be heah bah yo'se'f."
 
 unit an& Ibumor of tbe Stage 195 
 
 '* * En raight thaih dat niggah sta'ted fo' toh 
 run. He run so fas' he laik toh choke toh de'f 
 a-swallerin' de aih in front o' his face. He 
 come toh a town, an' lie runs th'o' hit so fas' he 
 foun' a new street in hit. He kep' on a-runnin' 
 twell he gits out in de woods an' laik toh run 
 oveh a deer. Dis heah deer nevah knowed whut 
 uz de matter, en he nevah stops toh ask. He 
 tuk one look at dat skeered niggah's face, en he 
 sez: "Ah'm a-gwine erlong. You-all ain' got 
 no moh impo'tant business gittin' outen dis 
 neighborhood den Ah has. Somepin' mus' be 
 mighty wrong back dar whar yo's comin' f'um." 
 
 " ' Well, dat ar deer he kep' a-runnin' erlong 
 with dat ar skeered niggah twell dey done run 
 sebenteen mile. Den de deer sez : " Ah run so 
 fas' mah sides is soah." And de niggah sez: 
 " Kam' holp dat ; y' gotter run some moah." 
 
 " * At las' Mr. Deer he gotter gib hit up. 
 " Ain' no use talkin'," sez he. " Looks laik yo' 
 suah outrun me." 
 
 " ' " Humph ! " sez de niggah. " You-all 
 ain' got no chance toh keep up wif me, lessen 
 yoh tek dat hat-rack offen yoh haid." ' 
 
 "That's all I heard of the story." 
 
 Desperate Remedies 
 Jack Barrymore, son of Maurice Barrymore,
 
 196 WLit and Ibumor of tbe Stage 
 
 and himself an actor of some ability, is not over- 
 particular about his personal appearance and is 
 a little lazy. 
 
 He was in San Francisco on the morning of 
 the earthquake. He was thrown out of bed by 
 one of the shocks, spun around on the floor and 
 left gasping in a corner. Finally, he got to his 
 feet and rushed for a bathtub, where he stayed 
 all that day. Next day he ventured out. A 
 soldier, with a bayonet on his gun, captured 
 Barrymore and compelled him to pile bricks for 
 two days. 
 
 Barrymore was telling his terrible experience 
 in the Lambs' Club in New York. 
 
 "Extraordinary," commented Augustus 
 Thomas, the playwright. ** It took a convulsion 
 of nature to make Jack take a bath, and the 
 United States Army to make him go to work." 
 
 Answered the Encores 
 
 Henry E. Dixey, the player, once told of an 
 experience in a small country hotel in New Eng- 
 land, whereby the actor was much annoyed by 
 the playing of a cornet at night by a guest whose 
 room was adjoining that of Dixey. 
 
 In the morning the landlord, meeting Dixey 
 on the stairs, said to him, before the player
 
 mat an& Ibumor ot tbe Stafle 197 
 
 could enter complaint in regard to the proceed- 
 ings of the night before : 
 
 " How did you enjoy the cornet-playing in 
 the next room ? ' ' 
 
 "Enjoy it!" sneered Dixey ; " why, man 
 alive, I spent half the night pounding on the 
 wall in my endeavors to make the fool cease ! " 
 
 A sorrowful smile crept into the countenance 
 of the boniface. " It must have been a misun- 
 derstanding," said he. "The gentleman who 
 was playing the cornet said that the party in the 
 next room applauded so lieartily that he went 
 over every piece he knew several times ! " 
 
 A Legless Acrobat 
 
 "I once had an interesting adventure quite 
 near Stratford-on- Avon," says Cyril Scott. " My 
 old comedian, Teddy Campbell, and myself 
 were returning from a hunt for patrons. Our 
 last town had been Kidderminster, and we had 
 seen there a couple of street acrobats, one on 
 stilts and the other clowning to him. As we 
 were watching them Teddy exclaimed, * Why, 
 that's Renneff.' 
 
 "'Who's he?' 
 
 " ' Why, a most celebrated circus clown, real 
 name Tom Fenner, who turned his name around
 
 198 mit mt> Ibumor of tbc Stafie 
 
 for professional purposes and called himself Herr 
 Renneff. Good heavens, isn't it awful? Come 
 down to this through drink.' 
 
 " We gave our coppers and came away. That 
 day we were walking to Alcester ; on the way a 
 heavy shower came on and we stopped under a 
 tree to shelter. On glancing down the road we 
 saw a strange figure approaching ; it seemed a 
 cross between a scarecrow and a windmill. 
 
 " ' Whatever's this? ' we asked each other. 
 
 "As it came nearer it turned out to be the 
 acrobat we had seen on the stilts; he had a 
 black eye and a nasty cut on his face. Teddy 
 was soon in conversation with him, and told him 
 he knew Fenner. 
 
 "'He is my brother,' replied the acrobat. 
 * I have just been invalided home from the war ' 
 (the Zulu War), 'and my legs have got very 
 stiff. I used to be in the business before I en- 
 listed, and when I came back I sought out my 
 brother and joined him. I was not very good 
 on the stilts, being out of practice, but was get- 
 ting into form all right, when my brother got 
 drunk and was vexed with me, and pulled the 
 stilts from under me, and this is the consequence ' 
 (pointing to his cut face) ; ' so I have left him — 
 gone on my own.' 
 
 " * Why were you invalided ? ' I asked him.
 
 Tamt anJ) Ibumor of tbc Stage 199 
 
 " * Well, they seemed to think my legs would 
 never be right again, through wearing my top- 
 boots sixteen days without taking them off.' 
 
 " ' What did you do that for? ' 
 
 " ' I couldn't help myself. I was in the Bat- 
 tle of Isandula ; I was driver in the Artillery and 
 saved the last gun ; everybody was shot around 
 me. I drove the gun out myself, and was six- 
 teen days getting to the nearest point of safety, 
 and when I got there they had to cut my boots 
 off my feet, and I was so stiff they thought I 
 should never be able to move my legs again, so 
 they sent me home.' 
 
 " Teddy and I glanced at each other. Teddy 
 said, ' Well, look here, old pal, we're a bit in 
 the same line ourselves and we're not over flush, 
 but if a couple of bob ' 
 
 "'No, thank ye,' the man said. 'I'm all 
 right ; I've had two good pitches to-day, and I 
 get sixpence a day pension and I'm to have 
 more later on. The Duke of Cambridge heard 
 about my case, and had me up before him. He 
 got me to drive a team and I did, and by good 
 luck I did it well, for I distinctly heard the Duke 
 say to the one next to him, "By gad, look, see 
 how he's put their necks in the collar," and they 
 tell me he is going to recommend me for more 
 money, so you see I'm all right. Have you a
 
 200 Mit anD Ibumoi: ot tbe Staac 
 
 match ? Thank ye. It's cleared up, so I'll be 
 off. Good-day; ' and away he went." 
 
 Well Lit-Up 
 The peacock is a shrinking violet beside some 
 actors. A manager once had a musical play on 
 in Chicago. The leading actor did not make it 
 go, so another man was put in to help brace it 
 up. One of the terms of his contract was that 
 he was to be featured. At rehearsal he did 
 splendidly and almost made a new play out of 
 the show. Naturally, the manager put his name 
 up in the electric sign in front of the theatre 
 under the name of the original star. When the 
 star drove past the theatre that night and saw 
 the other actor's name up with his, he was 
 furious. He threatened not to play if it wasn't 
 darkened at once. The name went out. Then 
 the second actor drove along. When he saw 
 his name dark, he raged and said he wouldn't 
 play unless his name was turned on. Those two 
 silly actors kept the electrician busy winking 
 their names on and off until the manager got 
 disgusted, cut both out, and substituted the 
 name of the piece. 
 
 Astonished the Manager 
 Harry Bulger tells the following story at the
 
 mat anO Ibumoi: of tbe Stage 201 
 
 expense of a New York theatrical manager to 
 whom he was under contract not so many sea- 
 sons ago : 
 
 " We were engaged one morning testing voices 
 for a summer production, the manager, musical 
 director and myself; there was a rather long 
 line, and all looking for positions in the chorus, 
 and nearly every voice was below the standard, 
 which was very disappointing, and the manager 
 got to be very irritable as we got to the last of 
 the applicants, who was a very melancholy look- 
 ing man. As he came to the piano he attempted 
 to make some remark, but was promptly cut 
 short by the manager, who said : 
 
 " ' You will omit all preliminary remarks and 
 get down to business. Try him,' he added, 
 turning to the director. 
 
 " The latter began the accompaniment to a 
 popular song, which, with some hesitancy, the 
 applicant for a job attempted with what voice 
 he had. His effort was about as bad as it could 
 have been. 
 
 " ' Look here ! ' cut in the manager, after the 
 singer had cleared his throat for a second verse, 
 'that'll do! You actually have the nerve to 
 ask me for a job ? * 
 
 "'Certainly,' replied the sad one in an in- 
 jured tone.
 
 202 Mtt and Ibumoc ol tbe Stage 
 
 << « Why, man, you can't sing a little bit ! ' 
 " 'I don't claim to be able to sing,* calmly 
 
 responded the man, 'and I don't want to sing. 
 
 I am a stage carpenter. I was only singing to 
 
 please you people — you seemed to be so set on 
 
 it.' " 
 
 No Hurry 
 
 "I could write many volumes on my experi- 
 ences in the hotels of the ' tank towns ' of the 
 middle West," recently observed Edwin Tar- 
 risse, " but of these none would be more anms- 
 ing than an incident that occurred during my 
 stay some years ago in a Kansas town. 
 
 "I, as well as other members of the company, 
 had turned in at the principal hostelry, which, 
 by the way, was dubbed 'The Occidental.' 
 We retired at about midnight, after leaving a call 
 for five o'clock, in order that we might catch a 
 train at 5 : 30. Exactly on the stroke of five 
 we were awakened by the landlord and his 
 menials, who were yelling at the top of their 
 voices : ' Everybody go to sleep again. Th' 
 train's an hour and a half late ! ' 
 
 "Accordingly, with much grumbling, we 
 turned over for another snooze. Just ninety 
 minutes later we were aroused again in similar
 
 XWlit anO Dumoc of tbc Stage 203 
 
 fashion. But this time it was to receive this 
 unique message : 
 
 " 'Everybody can sleep again, if they want. 
 The train's gone.' " 
 
 One Cold December Night 
 " It was twenty odd years ago, one cold De- 
 cember night," says Lew Fields, "and I had 
 met with but very little encouragement in the 
 theatrical world at that time, and, having over- 
 slept myself on the train whicli bore me from 
 St. Joseph, Missouri, to Leavenworth, Kansas, 
 I found myself on the platform of the latter 
 station, hungry and depressed in spirits. 
 
 " When I left St. Joe I knew I had the sum 
 of seventy-eight dollars in my pocket. When I 
 stood on the platform of Leavenworth I had but 
 one single cent. I realized that a kindly stock- 
 yards man with whom I had fallen into conver- 
 sation had robbed me, and that the company of 
 which I was a member had gone on to Kansas 
 City. 
 
 "The telegraph office was closed. I could 
 not wire on for money ; and it was bitter cold 
 in Leavenworth that early morning. Across the 
 street I saw a ray of comfort. It was an Italian 
 fruit stand, displayed upon which were red
 
 204 ixflit an& TDumor of tbe Stage 
 
 apples and brown doughnuts. Each doughnut 
 was marked 'one cent,' and so vvas each red 
 apple. Remember, please, that I was inordi- 
 nately hungry. And yet I had but that one 
 penny in my pocket. 
 
 "For fully five minutes I stoo<l in front of 
 that Italian stand, debating in my mind how I 
 should spend my sole capital. Every time I 
 looked at a doughnut I got hungry, and every 
 time I looked at one of those red apples I got 
 hungrier. I took the coin in my hand. 
 
 " ' I'll toss it up,' I said to myself. ' Heads, 
 doughnut; tails, red apple.' 
 
 "I spun the coin in the air. It fell, and, 
 striking against my outstretched palm, bounded 
 off, and fell down an iron grating. The Italian 
 was sorry for me in my misfortune, but explained 
 that he could not lift the grating without the 
 permission of the commissioner of public works. 
 He further explained that he could not give me 
 an apple or a doughnut without cash. And so 
 I had to remain in Leavenworth for five hours, 
 without food, until my collect telegram to 
 Kansas City had been answered, and I was 
 enabled to depart. But I have since thought 
 how fortunate I was. Suppose I had been com- 
 pelled to spend five hours in Atchison ? I would 
 have died."
 
 ■wait auD ■fijumot of tbe Stage 205 
 
 Colonel Ingersoll's Cure 
 E. H. Gilmore, the New York theatrical man- 
 ager, once engaged Robert G. IngersoU for four 
 Sunday lectures at Gilmore's Garden at $500 a 
 lecture. 
 
 The first lecture was delivered to a $2,400 
 house. There were $3,000 in the house on the 
 second Sunday night. On the following Tues- 
 day, Colonel Ingersoll's manager visited Mr. 
 Gilmore and said : "I'm very sorry, but the 
 Colonel cannot lecture next Sunday night. Bet- 
 ter make your announcements." 
 
 Gilmore pondered. There was already a 
 thousand-dollar advance sale for the next lec- 
 ture. He hunted up Colonel IngersoU. " Sorry, 
 Colonel," he said, "that your throat is so sore. 
 Bother you much?" 
 
 " Yes," replied IngersoU, "it is very trouble- 
 some. I couldn't think of using my voice next 
 Sunday." 
 
 " Doing anything for it? " 
 
 " Oil, yes, spraying it and all those things, 
 you know." 
 
 Gihiiore walked over and looked out of the 
 window. Then he turned and said : " Bob, do 
 you think it would cure that throat if I gave you 
 forty per cent, of the receipts for the next two 
 lectures instead of a flat five hundred dollars?"
 
 a06 Timtt anO Ibumor of tbe Stage 
 
 " Really, Ned," IngersoU replied, " I think it 
 would." 
 And it did. 
 
 When " Drammers " Come Easy 
 At the Players' Club in New York one even- 
 ing there was a guest from out of town, a play- 
 wright well known for his extraordinary facility 
 in turning out the alleged drammers that do the 
 "ten-twenty-thirty" circuits. It is no uncom- 
 mon thing for this producer to grind out five 
 or six of his plays annually. 
 
 Some one innocently asked the playwright if 
 it was rather difficult to find new ideas for his 
 plays. 
 
 •' Really, I don't know," was the frank answer 
 of the man who has made thousands of dollars 
 from his drammers ; " I have never tried it." 
 
 When Grossmith Arrived 
 
 George Grossmith, Jr., the popular actor, tells, 
 with great enjoyment, this little anecdote : 
 
 The elder Grossmith — his father, who is also 
 the famous entertainer — was due at a hall in 
 London at nine o'clock one evening, to deliver 
 one of his inimitable "talks" before a large 
 audience. 
 
 His train had been delayed, and the start from
 
 TKntt anD Ibumor ot tbe Sta^e -^o? 
 
 his hotel was made at an hour that would bring 
 he and liis son, who accompanied liiin, to their 
 destination about a half-hour after the time ad- 
 vertised for his appearance. 
 
 It was with considerable mental discomfort 
 that the entertainer, whose ideas of the virtue of 
 promptness are unusual, viewed the streets from 
 a cab window, anxiously scanning the passing 
 buildings for a sight of the one in which his 
 audience, doubtless, was impatiently waiting for 
 him. 
 
 At last a brilliantly lighted building was 
 brought into view, from whose open doors a 
 stream of people was pouring. Terrible thought : 
 the audience had grown tired of waiting and was 
 leaving ! 
 
 Without ordering the driver to stop, the elder 
 Grossmith sprang from the cab and rushed into 
 the thick of the crowd, raising his arms implor- 
 ingly, and shouting: "Go back! Go back! 
 I am here. I was delayed. Grossmith is 
 here ! " 
 
 The building, however, proved to be a church, 
 from which the congregation was issuing after 
 early service ; and shortly, after an embarrassed 
 retreat, Grossmith found his audience in a hall 
 a few yards beyond, awaiting his arrival with a 
 commendable lack of impatience.
 
 208 TMlt anO Ibiimor ot tbe Stags 
 
 A Long-Lived Family 
 
 A "dime museum" manager, having heard 
 of a man one hundred and twenty-three years 
 of age, journeyed to his home to try and secure 
 him for exhibition purposes. 
 
 "Well, my friend," said the museum mana- 
 ger, " the proofs of your age seem to be all right. 
 Now, how would you like to come to my place, 
 just do nothing but sit on a platform and let 
 people look at you, and I will pay you one hun- 
 dred dollars a week ? " 
 
 "I'd like it all right," answered the aged 
 man. "But I couldn't go, of course, unless I 
 had my father's consent." 
 
 " Your father ! " gasped the manager. " Do 
 you mean to say that your father is alive?" 
 
 "Yes, indeed," replied the man. 
 
 " Well, where is your father ? Home, here ? " 
 asked the manager. 
 
 "Oh, yes," was the answer. "He's up- 
 stairs putting grandfather to bed ! "
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 From the Audience 
 
 Without spectators, — and plenty of them, — 
 there could be no plays or players, and it is no 
 secret to those " in the know" that many kill- 
 ingly ludicrous happenings occur on the hither 
 side of the footlights. Similarly, the point of 
 view of those who occupy the seats of the mighty 
 frequently occasions mirth, while the altitude of 
 sundry and diverse individual auditors toward 
 the actors and the play often takes a ludicrous 
 turn, as may be gathered from the following 
 array of "really and truly" anecdotes. 
 
 " Mixed Those Children Up" 
 It is quite true that very often the name of the 
 author of the play is printed on the program in 
 no bigger type than that of the man who sup- 
 plies the shoes ; and not seldom it is quite 
 diuiinutive by contrast with the size of the letters 
 proclaiming the individual who staged the show. 
 And yet, what with the howl about the scarcity
 
 210 xrait and Ibumor ot tbc Stage 
 
 of plays still going up, you might think that the 
 playwright would be considered the most impor- 
 tant personage in the whole lay-out. But, to 
 judge by the following incident, the public cares 
 no more about the identity of the author than 
 does the usual run of manager. 1 quote from 
 the London Sketch : 
 
 " By a slip of the pen, the authorship of His 
 House in Order was recently attributed to Mr. 
 Henry Arthur Jones by the senior theatrical 
 paper in England. The fact is interesting, for 
 it demonstrates how comparatively little heed is 
 paid to the authors of plays. 
 
 "By a curious coincidence, this was amus- 
 ingly demonstrated at the St. James' Theatre at 
 a performance of one of Mr. Henry Arthur Jones' 
 plays attended by the present writer. In the 
 seats adjoining his were a lady and a gentleman. 
 After the second act the gentleman turned to 
 his companion and remarked : ' I don't know 
 who wrote this play ; do you ? ' 
 
 "She replied: 'No, I don't, either. I sup- 
 pose it's Pinero, because he generally writes the 
 plays for the St. James'.' 
 
 " ' Let us look at the program,' suggested the 
 gentleman. 
 
 "He opened it and said: 'No, it is not 
 Pinero; it is Jones.'
 
 TAlltt anJ) Ibumor ot tbc Stage 211 
 
 "*Is it?' she replied. '1 never know the 
 difference between them.' " 
 
 The Stony Critic 
 
 Deep knowledge and long experience of the 
 drama do not always soften the heart to the 
 appeal of theatric sentiment. Mr. James Hune- 
 ker tells this story of his experience at The 
 Music Master on himself— or is it on the play? 
 He had just returned from an extended tour 
 among the great artistic theatres of the Conti- 
 nent, in which he gathered much of the material 
 for his "Iconoclasts," a Book of Dramatists. 
 Now, as a disciple of Nietzsche, he has his 
 doubts as to the nobility of self-sacrifice, and, 
 as it happens, this play, like so many other 
 popular American pieces, centres in a deed of 
 Quixotic renunciation. In the pathetic last act 
 Mr. Huneker suddenly became aware that most 
 of the audience were blowing their noses. He 
 turned to Mrs. Huneker and remarked : 
 
 " Most everybody in New York seems to have 
 a cold. You'd better look out and not catch it." 
 
 Mrs. Huneker pointed out that the audience 
 was crying over the play. Even as he tells the 
 story, Mr. Huneker mingles a look of disgust 
 with his amusement.
 
 •212 mit anO Ibumor ot tbe Stafic 
 
 Numbers Told 
 
 William Collier relates a story of the days 
 when he was a member of a "fly-by-night" 
 combination doing small towns in the Middle 
 West. 
 
 "One night," said Mr. Collier, " while wait- 
 ing for the curtain to rise, I asked our manager, 
 who had his eye glued to the peep-hole in the 
 curtain, what sort of a house we were going to 
 have. 
 
 " ' Some of the seats are filled,' he answered, 
 'but we're still in the majority, my boy.' " 
 
 Thomas Q. Seabrooke and the Critics 
 " I remember distinctly my first press notice, 
 because I was thrilled with an insane desire to 
 get even with the man who wrote it. And I did 
 so, twelve years later. At the time of my first 
 appearance, I was playing Bertie Cecil in Under 
 Two Flags at Pittsfield, Mass., where the com- 
 pany appeared one night. 
 
 " The next morning the town critic roasted the 
 performance to a turn, and me especially, say- 
 ing, ' Seabrooke is neither physically nor men- 
 tally equipped for an actor.' 
 
 " He was really abusive, and what made mat- 
 ters worse, he came down to the depot the next 
 day to see us off. ' For your own sake as well
 
 "Oait anD Ibumot ot tbe Staflc 213 
 
 as the public, spare us,' he said ; ' you ought to 
 drop the stage.' 
 
 " * Don't you think you are rubbing it in ? ' I 
 said, and looked him over with a desire to 
 throttle him. 
 
 "'No; I am not afraid to tell you what I 
 think. This is on the square,' he said. 
 
 " ' Well, you'll get yours, old man,' I shouted, 
 as I stepped aboard the train, 'and befoie the 
 public, tool ' " 
 
 Twelve Years Later 
 
 " Twelve years later I had made good and 
 started for my revenge. 
 
 "I arri ved on the Thomas Q. Seabrooke Special 
 at Pittsfield, and carried one hundred and twenty- 
 five in the company. The town was too small 
 for the expense of the show, which by rights 
 should have played for fifteen minutes instead of 
 one night ; but I had waited all these years to 
 queer that critic, and took the risk. 
 
 " The august critic was in a box when I stepped 
 before the curtain in my speech to the audience; 
 and say, the things I said of him and the things 
 I did to him ! — I only wish I could remember 
 the speech. The house greeted it with cheers, 
 and I was even."
 
 214 Mtt an& Ibumor of tbc Stage 
 
 A Country Comment 
 
 One night Dave Warfield was playing at 
 David Belasco's new theatre, supported by one 
 of Mr. Belasco's new companies. The perform- 
 ance ran with a smoothness of a Standard Oil 
 lawyer explaining rebates to a Federal court. 
 A worthy person of the farming classes, sitting 
 in G 14, was plainly impressed. In an interval 
 between the acts he turned to the metropolitan 
 who had the seat next him. 
 
 "Where do all them troopers come from? " 
 he inquired, 
 
 " I don't think I understand," said the city- 
 dweller. 
 
 ** I mean them actors up yonder on the 
 stage," explained the man from afar. " Was 
 they brought on specially for this show, or do 
 they live here? " 
 
 " I believe most of them live here in town," 
 said the New Yorker. 
 
 " Well, they do purty blamed well for home 
 talent," said the stranger. 
 
 Chevalier and the Postal Clerks 
 Albert Chevalier has done more to reform and 
 raise the tone of the English music-hall enter- 
 tainment than any other artist. He is the grand- 
 son of a rector of a country parish, and his father
 
 Tamt anO Ibumot ot tbe Stafie 215 
 
 was a French tulor at Kensington Grammar 
 School. Although he early gained success as an 
 amateur, he did not appear on the stage until 
 1877. This was in An Unequal Match at 
 the Prince of Wales' Theatre when he acted 
 under the name of Knight. He was with Mr. 
 John Hare later at the Court Theatre. In 189 1 
 he began his famous career as an impersonator 
 of the coster, and has written the music and 
 words for fifty songs. Mr. Chevalier tells a 
 story of his once singing in a small town not far 
 from London. The audience had been very 
 enthusiastic, and he remarked on the fact to the 
 manager afterward, saying that he thought they 
 were almost too demonstrative. 
 
 '• Why? " asked that worthy. 
 
 "Well," said Mr. Chevalier, "they were 
 knocking their umbrellas and sticks on the floor 
 all the time I was on the stage." 
 
 "Not quite," was the quiet reply. "You 
 see, the post-office is right above us, and what 
 you took for applause was the officials stamping 
 the letters for the mail." 
 
 The Variable Joke 
 Vaudeville audiences are traditionally loyal, 
 loyal to old-time performers, and not less loyal 
 to old-time jokes. In f;ict, even in the very best
 
 216 imit anD Ibumor of tbc Stage 
 
 of the variety theatres, the old joke seems to find 
 a heartier welcome than the new. 
 
 It sometimes happens even that an audience 
 will laugh heartily at the same joke twice or even 
 three times in one afternoon. Ofcourse its form 
 is a little changed, but the idea is the same, and 
 it is always fresh. 
 
 Take the historic jest about stealing things 
 from hotels. Its simplest form is a reference to 
 a collection of souvenir spoons — some marked 
 "Fifth Avenue Hotel" and some " Astor 
 House," That's the way it first appeared at a 
 vaudeville theatre the other afternoon. 
 
 Half an hour later it turned up again. This 
 time two men, stage Hebrews, who sang paro- 
 dies of popular songs, were the perpetrators. 
 They sang a verse about some one's New Year's 
 party, and told about gifts the guests brought, 
 including spoons marked " Happy New Year." 
 The hero of the song, however, brought a spoon 
 marked "Blank Hotel." For the second time 
 an apparently intelligent audience showed keen 
 pleasure in the joke. 
 
 The last time it bobbed up for the day was 
 near the close of the entertainment. Two young 
 men appeared in a scene intended to represent 
 the dressing-room of a theatre. The dialogue 
 was about like this :
 
 "wait anD Ibumor ot tbe Stage ^n 
 
 First Young Man: "Hey, that's my towel 
 you got ! " 
 
 Second Young Man: "How do you know 
 it is?" 
 
 First Young Man : " My name is on it." 
 
 Second Young Man: "Is your name Blank 
 Hotel?" 
 
 The audience, now thoroughly familiar with 
 the ground plan of the joke, laughed even more 
 uproariously than on the two previous occasions. 
 
 It was fortunate, since all this took place in 
 Brooklyn, that no further demands on the joke 
 were made, for it is vaudeville etiquette to use 
 if possible the name of a local hotel in these 
 jokes, and Brooklyn is notoriously short of 
 hotels whose names are really familiar. 
 
 Revenge On a Ticket Speculator 
 Playgoers who have been blocked, jostled and 
 buttonholed by sidewalk ticket speculators will 
 appreciate this story all the more they hear of it. 
 One of the New York critics, while going into 
 the theatre with his wife, was lately caught by 
 the sleeve and whirled about-face. Now, the 
 sight of a ticket is about as alluring to the pro- 
 fessional first-nighter as the click of a typewriter 
 is to the business man ; and the victim, who has 
 a sense of humor, smiled, and was about to pro-
 
 218 -mit anD Ibumor of tbe Stage 
 
 test, when he caught sight of a Tenderloin 
 roundsman, an Irishman, who was a sworn friend 
 and admirer. The critic had once written a lit- 
 tle piece commending the cop for his skill and 
 promptness in handling a block in traffic. 
 
 "I guess this is a case for you, Haggerty," 
 he said smiling, and without thinking a second 
 time, dodged into the foyer after his wife. When 
 the play was over, as he was hurrying away to 
 write his article, the policeman saluted him with 
 a broad grin. " I locked him up all right, sir," 
 he said. 
 
 The critic, who had underestimated the lengths 
 of an Irishman's gratitude, was dumbfounded, 
 and has not yet had the courage to tell his wife 
 the result of his intended pleasantry. 
 
 Irving and the Gallery God 
 Once Henry Irving, while playing Macbeth in 
 London, was somewhat disconcerted by one of 
 the "gallery gods." He had reached the point 
 where Macbeth orders Banquo's ghost to leave 
 the banquet board. " Hence, horrible shadow, 
 unreal mockery, hence ! " exclaimed Irving in 
 his most tragic tones, and with a convulsive 
 sii udder sank to the ground, drawing his robes 
 about his face. Just as Banquo withdrew, an 
 agitated cockney voice from up in the gallery, as
 
 imit auD Ibumor ot tbe Stage 219 
 
 if to reassure Irving, piped out, " It's all right 
 now, 'Enery, 'e's gone ! " 
 
 What an Audience Will Swallow 
 "I never saw an audience swallow 'soft 
 sawder' so easily as I once did at Barrow-in- 
 Furness," says an English manager in reminis- 
 cent mood. "I was traveling with T. C. King, 
 a well-known tragedian in his day. Mr. King 
 was known familiarly as ' Tom,* and one night 
 during our week's stay Jem Mace, the celebrated 
 pugilist, was appearing at the music-hall, which 
 brought from Mr. King the remark : 
 
 "'By Jove! here's history repeating itself 
 with a vengeance — Jem Mace and Tom King 
 opposing each other once again ! ' 
 
 " As I had never seen anything in the way of 
 professional sparring, I went across to the music- 
 hall. The place was crowded to the doors. 
 We had gotten a very poor audience at the 
 theatre, but with true professional courtesy the 
 manager of the hall took me on to the stage, 
 where 1 was introduced to the redoubtable Jem, 
 and saw all that was going on from the wings. 
 Two or three local men opened the ball by 
 sparring for small prizes before the event of the 
 evening came off, and then occurred the cheek- 
 iest piece of showman's bluff I ever heard. The
 
 220 "wait anD ibumor ot tbe Stage 
 
 stage was set with all of Mace's trophies on a table 
 at the back. Montague, Mace's manager, came 
 on and gave a short history of Mace's career. 
 He then described each trophy. 
 
 "'Ladies and gentlemen, this belt was won 
 
 by Mr. Mace in his great fight with , in 
 
 the year , at .' As each success 
 
 with belt or cup was described, the applause 
 grew bigger and bigger, until he came to the 
 championship-of-the-world belt, when the audi- 
 ence nearly shouted itself hoarse; but the climax 
 was reached when Montague concluded some- 
 what after this fashion : ' 1 have been all over 
 the world with Mr. Mace, on the prairies of 
 America, in the backwoods of Canada, on the 
 plains of India, in the cities of Australia, but 
 Mr. Mace has always said tome, "Montague, 
 you must take me to Barrow-in-Furness." ' 
 Then the house nearly came down." 
 
 Stetson Asserted Himself 
 
 During the run of Patience at the Fifth Ave- 
 nue Theatre in New York, Sir Arthur Sullivan, 
 conducting the opera, complained that late 
 comers at the matinees annoyed the audience. 
 
 Stetson immediately sent for Sharp, his scenic 
 artist, to paint a door sign to the effect that the 
 matinees invariably began at two o'clock and
 
 mtt anD Ibumoi: of tbe Staac 221 
 
 that late comers disturbed the performances. 
 Obeying the orders, tiie scenic artist painted a 
 sign in large letters as follows : 
 
 "Please Take Notice! The Matinee Per- 
 formances Begin at Two O' Clock Sharp ! " 
 
 Steton passed the theatre later, and, seeing 
 the sign, became livid with rage. He sent for 
 the scenic artist and blurted out, " Do you or I 
 run this theatre? " 
 
 "Of course you are the manager," answered 
 the painter. 
 
 "Then get busy and take your blank name 
 off that sign and put in its place ' John Stetson.' " 
 
 Theatre Music 
 
 The snare drummer happened to get hold of 
 a selection that called for the use of half a dozen 
 instruments. It took some lively work to shift 
 from one to the other on time, and persons who 
 sat near him were nightly impressed. When he 
 had finished the lively operation, he would be 
 puffing and blowing and perspiring in streams. 
 One evening a man in the audience just outside 
 the orchestra rail leaned forward, and pointing 
 to the score remarked : 
 
 "That was good work, old man, but you 
 missed one place." 
 
 "I did?" replied the drummer in surprise.
 
 222 "mit anO Ibumoc of tbc Stage 
 
 ♦♦ Why, I thought I played everything that came 
 my way." 
 
 " No," the other resumed, " you didn't do it 
 all, and I saw the leader glance at you. Right 
 here in the middle of that measure is a place 
 where you should have gone down cellar and 
 shaken the furnace, and you didn't pay the least 
 bit of attention to it." 
 
 The Deadheads 
 
 I once knew a chronic deadhead whose only 
 claim to indulgence in the dramatic world was 
 based on the fact that he framed the pictures in 
 the lobby of a theatre in 1904, but who had 
 nevertheless somehow got himself placed on the 
 free list. And one night I came upon him in 
 the lobby of the theatre, with his wife, declaim- 
 ing loudly against the moral tone of the play. 
 The box-office man in any playhouse can tell 
 you sad tales of the deadheads. According to 
 him they are all deaf, for every one, when he 
 presents his pass to secure the seat coupons, re- 
 marks : "My hearing isn't very good, won't 
 you please put me down front?" The box- 
 office man recently told me he had heard this 
 request just fifty times that day, 
 
 *' I thought your show was a success," said I. 
 
 "Oh, 1 don't call fifty passes a day bad this
 
 latt aiiD ibumoc ot tbc Stase aas 
 
 ir," said he. " Ihe press-agent next door 
 i to get a rubber stamp to sign passes with. 
 : was threatened with neuritis." 
 
 Bonanza for Rubbernecks 
 
 The star assemblage of rubbernecks enjoyed 
 •msclves to the full at the professional matinee 
 The Squaw Man' s Girl of the Golden West. 
 To see the necks turned from the stage to 
 
 boxes where sat Blanche Bates and William 
 versham was a spectacle that must have been 
 ner disconcerting to those behind the foot- 
 its who were really providing the fun. Luck- 
 for the throat-cords of the rubbernecks, Miss 
 ies and Mr. Faversham were both on the 
 -le side of the house. 
 vVhat the rubbernecks missed, however, were 
 
 remarks of Mr. and Mrs. Faversham (Julie 
 p) over Ernest Lambart's impersonation of 
 ^avvy " as he appears in The Squaw Man. 
 "iibart, by the way, is a young Englishman of 
 ilth who has taken up the stage from pure 
 e of it, and the British swagger he puts into 
 
 hero's walk in the Weber travesty has enough 
 «ose about it to seem almost the real thing. 
 •'But I don't walk like that, do I ? " whis- 
 ed "Favvy" to a friend in the box with 
 
 3.
 
 224 IWit anD ■fijumor ot tbc Stage 
 
 Meanwhile Mrs. Faversham was confiding to 
 her neighbor: "Perfectly grand, isn't it — that 
 imitation of Willie's walk? " 
 
 A Missing Return Check 
 
 Henry E. Dixey, the comedian, tells of a per- 
 formance in Chicago where it would have been 
 difficult to say which was worse, the play or the 
 aciing. 
 
 Dixey had been strolling about the lobby, 
 during an entr'acte, when his attention was at- 
 tracted by an amusing colloquy between the 
 doorman and two youths seeking read mission. 
 Only one of the young men had been able to 
 produce his return check. " That's all right," 
 said he, with reference to his companion. " You 
 remember him; he's with me." 
 
 " I remember him all right," replied the door- 
 man ; "but how do I know that he hasn't given 
 his check to some one? " 
 
 Whereupon the young man who had spoken 
 before now solemnly added, " Why, man, he's 
 a stranger here, and hasn't an enemy in the 
 city." 
 
 •• Paper " 
 It is estimated on inside authority that in the 
 thirty-odd " first-class " theatres in New York
 
 laait anD Ibumor ot tbe Stage 225 
 
 there might be counted at least six thousand 
 deadheads on any Monday night this season — 
 Monday night being the evening when paid at- 
 tendance is always Hghtest. The various devices 
 used by the managers to secure deadhead au- 
 diences when they cannot induce the paying 
 kind to come make an interesting phase of theat- 
 rical life. 
 
 A year ago I sat at a performance, by Nazi- 
 mova, of The Master Builder, and behind me 
 sat two girls who chewed gum devotedly and 
 endeavored to find out what the play was all 
 about. From their conversation I gathered that 
 they were parcel wrappers in a Herald Square 
 department store. After the second act one of 
 them remarked to the other in an injured tone : 
 " And Mr. Hawkswell said this show was a com- 
 edy ! " "A bug-house funeral, I call it," was 
 the reply. 
 
 This autumn two girls of similar stripe sat 
 behind a friend of mine in the orchestra of a 
 leading Broadway theatre. But the play was 
 not Ibsen. It was a native, domestic melodrama, 
 with a villain perfectly recognizable by his pearl- 
 gray derby and his cigarette. As he made his 
 exit at the end of the first act, R. u. e., laughing 
 a prophetic and horrid laugh, one of the girls 
 exclaimed with deep feeling : " Gosh ! ain't it
 
 226 THatt anO Ibumor ot tbe Stage 
 
 orful, this revenge ! " And I have heard a girl 
 of the same type inquire at a perforniance of a 
 Midsummer Night's Dream, when Queen 
 Titan ia and her train entered : " Are them things 
 angels?" 
 
 It was at Hamlet, that the pompadour beside 
 me exclaimed, as the Prince plunged his sword 
 through the arras: "He's killed old Foxy 
 Grandpa!" 
 
 To the initiated the presence of such girls in 
 a Broadway theatre apparently crowded to the 
 doors indicates paper, it indicates that the theatre 
 is being filled by artificial means, by the distri- 
 bution of free seats in the big department stores. 
 
 Too Great a Strain 
 Every once in a while the actor while taking 
 the part of a dude in a play would spend large 
 sums of his stage money. On one of these oc- 
 casions it seemed too much for a certain person 
 in the audience, when a voice rang shrill and 
 clear through the house, " Hey, Bill, how about 
 that five you owe me? " 
 
 The Fatherly Critic 
 That James J. Corbett is the ablest and most 
 conscientious of the prize-fighters who have at- 
 tempted the stage is admitted even by the hu-
 
 mtt auD Ibinnoc of tbe Stage 227 
 
 morous reporters who have hitherto been his 
 chief critics. On the first night of his recent 
 engagement in New York as the hero of Bernard 
 Shaw's romance of the pugihst, Cashel Byron's 
 Profession, he told an anecdote which quite un- 
 consciously indicated this. On his ai)pearance 
 in San Francisco, his home town, in a Naval 
 Cadet, his father, who is old and somewhat deaf, 
 sat in the front row. After the performance the 
 actor asked the old man what he thought of his 
 acting. 
 
 " It was a great part," said the elder Corbett. 
 "Yes, brass buttons were fine." 
 
 " But the acting ? " the son insisted. " I want 
 to know how I can make it better." 
 
 "As for that," the father replied, "I can't 
 say. I was that busy trying to hear what ye 
 said, I couldn't take observations." 
 
 The Fatal Truth 
 
 After the storm of applause by the ushers had 
 died away the author came down to the foot- 
 lights and began to speak. 
 
 "Ladies and Gentlemen," he said, "the 
 play isn't very good. I got the climax of the 
 third act from a magazine story that was copied 
 from a plot that Wilkie Collins took from Boc- 
 caccio. The second act is mostly from East
 
 228 TKait ano Ibumoc ot tbe Stafle 
 
 Lynne, although I have other stuff from Jim the 
 Penman. The first act would have been better 
 if I had used it just exactly as Boucicault wrote 
 it, but I had to change it in some places where 
 it didn't gibe with the rest. It was very hard to 
 keep all the characters alive and well long enough 
 to get them to the big scene. And then I found 
 further difficulty in killing off enough of them 
 so that they wouldn't get in each other's way in 
 the last act. 
 
 *' The star has been working under great diffi- 
 culties this evening. I arranged it so that she 
 would have all the best positions in the moon- 
 light passages and the firelight scenes. But at 
 the last minute her dressmaker disappointed her, 
 and she has been obliged to wear the same gown 
 for over an hour. She is at present in her 
 dressing-room tearing her hair — the hair she 
 wore in the second act. 
 
 " It is our intention to keep this play on for a 
 month at least here in this big city, so we can fool 
 the public by advertising a ' Big Metropolitan 
 Success ' when we go on the road. As our 
 backer is a personal friend of the star, this, of 
 course, will be easy. She isn't much of an ac- 
 tress, as you know, but her figure is perfect, and 
 she is very good to her mother. The manager 
 knew the show was a lemon after the first act,
 
 IKIllt an£) t>umor of tbc Stage 229 
 
 and he has sent the press-agent out with a bunch 
 of free tickets so we will be sure of an audience 
 to-morrow night. 
 
 "I don't care much whether you applaud or 
 not, and I would have made a speech at this 
 point anyhow, because my contract gives me 
 that privilege. I'm going home now, because 1 
 have seen the last act and I simply can't stand 
 it. The last act is all my own. Good-evening." 
 
 Goodwin and the Dog 
 
 Nat Goodwin, the American comedian, when 
 at the Shaftesbury Theatre, London, told of an 
 experience he once had with a juvenile dead- 
 head in a town in America. Standing outside 
 the theatre a little time before the performance 
 was due to begin, he observed a small boy with 
 an anxious, forlorn look on his face and a 
 weedy-looking pup in his arms. 
 
 Goodwin inquired what was the matter, and 
 was told that the boy wished to sell the dog so 
 as to raise the price of a seat in the gallery. 
 The actor suspected at once a dodge to secure a 
 pass on "the sympathy racket," but allowing 
 himself to be taken in he gave the boy a pass. 
 The dog was deposited in a safe place, and the 
 boy was able to watch Goodwin as the Gilded
 
 230 "Wllit nnt> Ibiimor of tbc Stage 
 
 Fool from a good seat in the gallery. Next day 
 
 Goodwin saw the boy again near the theatre, so 
 
 he asked : 
 
 " Well, sonny, how did you like the show?" 
 "I'm glad I didn't sell my dog," was the 
 
 reply. 
 
 Barnabee's Great Effort 
 
 " I have just had a narrow escape from a 
 fatal attack of heart disease," said Sol Smith 
 Russell to some friends who were joking him in 
 Manager Hartz's office at the opera house the 
 other day. 
 
 He looked so solemn that those around him 
 feared, for a moment, that he really meant it. 
 Then he took a letter from his pocket and ex- 
 plained. 
 
 " I've just received a rebate of $7.50 from a 
 Cincinnati hotel, where I paid a restaurant check 
 twice. If such a thing has ever happened to 
 any other actor I'd like to get his picture to use 
 as a souvenir. Here's a little story," he con- 
 tinued, "about Barnabee, of the Bostonians. 
 Not long ago he went to his old home, down 
 East, on a visit, and the folks got up a recep- 
 tion for him, at which he was to sing. Of 
 course, Barnabee proceeded to do his level best,
 
 Mtt anO t)umor ot tbe Stage 231 
 
 and when he was through the folks didn't know 
 how to express themselves and there was an 
 awkward silence, which was finally broken by 
 an old man, who stood up, wiping his face and 
 his bald head violently, as he said : 
 " ' Henry, I'm a-sweatin' fer ye.' " 
 
 Hawtrey and the Deadhead 
 
 An amusing story is told of an encounter 
 Charles Hawtrey had with a would-be dead- 
 head in a small town during a recent tour in the 
 United States. He was standing in the lobby 
 of the theatre one evening, when a man came up 
 to him and said: "Are you Mr. Hawtrey?" 
 The reply being in the affirmative, the fellow 
 said : 
 
 " Do you ' Recognize ' the profession ? " 
 
 "Are you an actor?" asked Mr. Hawtrey, 
 scenting a little fun. 
 
 The fellow said "Yes," and, being asked if 
 he was a tragedian, said he was. 
 
 The dialogue went on : " Did you ever play 
 Julius Ccesar ? ' ' 
 
 "Oh, yes." 
 
 "//am/el?" 
 
 • Naw, I never played any of them small 
 towns. ' '
 
 232 IRIltt anO •fiDumor of tbe Stafle 
 
 In the Front Row 
 
 " Any man with a sense of humor," once ob- 
 served Frank Daniels, the comedian, "can 
 always find something to his entertainment if 
 he will stand near the box-office window of ' the 
 opry house ' in any small town and listen to the 
 Rubes as they make known their wants to the 
 man who peddles the tickets. 
 
 "Out in Ohio one afternoon I was standing 
 near the box-office window a few minutes before 
 the beginning of a matinee given by a friend's 
 combination. A fine old boy from the country 
 — one of the kind that sees about one show in 
 two years — approached the window, his roll in 
 hand, and delivered himself of the following : 
 
 " Say, young feller ! (in a voice loud enough 
 to be heard a block away) gimme a good seat ! 
 I want it right down in the middle lane and close 
 up to the exercises ! " 
 
 An Evident Error 
 When P. T. Barnum was at the head of his 
 "great moral show," it was his rule to send 
 complimentary tickets to clergymen, and the 
 custom is continued to this day. Not long ago, 
 after the Reverend Doctor Walker succeeded to 
 the pastorate of the Reverend Doctor Hawks, 
 in Hartford, there came to the parsonage, ad-
 
 TOfltt anD Ibumor of tbc Stage 233 
 
 dressed to Doctor Hawks, tickets for the circus, 
 with the compliments of the famous showman. 
 Doctor Walker studied the tickets for a moment, 
 and then remarked : 
 
 " Doctor Hawks is dead and Mr. Barnum is 
 dead; evidently they haven't met." 
 
 Must Have Been Bad 
 
 One of our leading actor-author-managers 
 tells the following yarn. 
 
 A certain man obtained admittance to a the- 
 atre on a free pass. The play was an execrably 
 bad one, and the company playing it was even 
 worse. When the curtain fell on the first act, 
 sounds of marked disapprobation were heard 
 from all parts of the theatre. The deadhead 
 alone sat quiet, and did not join in the general 
 storm of disapprobation. At the close of the 
 second act a perfect tornado of groans, cat-calls 
 and hisses broke out among the thoroughly dis- 
 gusted audience. Still the free-ticket man sat 
 unmoved. At last a man sitting in the next seat 
 turned to him and said : 
 
 "Pardon me, but are you not disgusted with 
 this wretched play ? " 
 
 " I am, indeed," heartily concurred the dead- 
 head.
 
 234 Mit anD Ibumor of tbe Stase 
 
 *' Then why don't you signify the sanae in the 
 usual manner?" 
 
 " Well, you see, I am in hereon a free ticket, 
 and as I am getting something for nothing I 
 hardly feel justified in expressing my disap- 
 proval; but I'll tell you what. If this con- 
 founded play gets much worse I'll go to the box- 
 office and buy a ticket, and come back and hiss 
 like the rest of you ! " 
 
 A Lunatic Audience 
 
 "One of the most appreciative audiences I 
 ever had," said Harry Lauder after his return 
 to England, " was a thousand lunatics at Ward's 
 Island. I sang them ' The Saftest of the Family,' 
 and they didn't mind at all, but joined in the 
 chorus. Then I taught them to sing ' I Love a 
 Lassie,' and I never heard it sung before as they 
 did it. They nearly lifted the roof. 
 
 " After the performance, one of them, an old 
 lady, took me aside very confidentially. She 
 told me ' For heaven's sake, Mr. Lauder, do 
 nothing to let them think you are a little bit mad. 
 Don't make any faces or anything of the kind. 
 If they see the slightest sign of insanity, God 
 help you, for they'll take you and lock you up 
 in this terrible place.' "
 
 Tttait anD Ibumor of tbe Stage '235 
 
 Advice From the Gallery 
 One of the best stories concerning Charles 
 Warner tells of an amusing incident which hap- 
 pened when he was appearing in a play written 
 by Mr. George R. Sims, in which he was sup- 
 posed to be starving m a garret. Before going 
 on the stage he had forgotten to remove a val- 
 uable diamond ring, which glistened on his 
 finger. He had a peculiar trick of extending his 
 hand high above his head, and this night the 
 light caught the gem and made it flash at the 
 very moment he was declaring : " My wife and 
 child are starving and I cannot give them bread. 
 What shall I do ? What shall I do ? " A voice 
 from the gallery responded : " Pawn yer ring, 
 guv' nor ! " 
 
 The Point of View 
 
 The manager of a suburban music-hall was 
 testing the abilities of a few candidates for stage 
 honors one day last week, and this is how he let 
 down one of the would-be funny men : 
 
 " Your songs won't do for me. I can't allow 
 any profanity in my theatre," said he. 
 
 " But I don't use profanity," was the reply. 
 
 "No," said the manager, "but the audience 
 would."
 
 236 "mn anD Ibumoc of tbe Stage 
 
 Samples of Ready Wit 
 
 In Dick Whiitington, a very popular panto- 
 mime in the provinces, a youth is dressed up tc 
 represent and play the part of the cat that fol- 
 lows the future Lord Mayor of London over the 
 hills to the city. When Miss King walked onto 
 the stage of a provincial theatre on Boxing Night, 
 with a basin in her hand, calling out, "Come 
 on, pussy ! " she was somewhat surprised to find, 
 on turning round, that a real cat had followed 
 her on to the stage. It belonged to the prop- 
 erty-master and knew Miss King well, for during 
 the rehearsals she had petted and fed it. 
 
 Not wishing to make a disturbance by driving 
 the animal away, Miss King addressed it, as 
 Dick^ Whittington does the conventional pan- 
 tomime creature, saying, " They have turned us 
 out of London, pussy." The cat promptly 
 showed its sympathy by mewing, an action 
 which brought down the house. Soon after the 
 lost pantomime creature, who had missed his 
 cue, strolled on to the scene. Here again Miss 
 King secured another hit. Turning to the 
 smaller creature, she said, "Oh, pussy, here 
 comes your mother ! " at which the audience 
 simply shouted with laughter.
 
 Los Angeles 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 ^ Mc^^fffiii 
 
 Jt'i 2 "y W$' 
 
 JUL s5 
 
 S,'^<\m 
 
 U) URL 
 
 f-yU 
 
 ^06 1 
 
 
 "^^ f^ 
 
 r' 
 
 I^ECO W-^^ 
 
 FEB 02 
 
 50»i-7,'69(N296s4) — C-120 
 
 1981 
 
 kXAF IIWIVFRC/K 
 
 •m'^AWf.
 
 wmm/A. u^iij 
 
 ' 2 
 
 
 58 001 
 
 45 2993 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 '^^ 
 
 ^t-LIBRARYQ^ 
 
 
 >AT-IIRrAPV/0^ 
 
 O 
 
 ^<!/OJI]V}jO'^- 
 
 :> 
 
 
 ameuniver% 
 
 ..^r —n 
 
 vK 
 
 
 3> 
 
 o 
 
 
 ;0FCAL!F0/?4/. 
 
 ;\\E CNIVERS//, 
 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 ij: 
 
 W^EUNIVERS/^ 
 
 c 
 
 UC SOI ITHFRN RFGinNAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 
 AA 000 412 313 9 
 
 \VWSANClu,^ 
 
 5' 
 
 S.WE IINIVER^//^ 
 
 
 o 
 
 ?3 
 
 "^AaaAINH ^UV' 
 
 ^lOSANCElfx^ 
 
 gTo OZIi 
 
 -«C V >■■■». ....ir., >> 
 
 ■=. ( 'A,..n.. 
 
 ■<- V ri».....ir.. 
 
 3> 
 
 V kiL/iir^ii i 
 
 t>A 
 
 ^ 
 
 '%ojnv3jo^ 
 
 ^OFCALIFO/?,!^ 
 
 Co 
 
 
 
 
 %a3AiNii-3v\v ^<?Aavaaii^v^ ^^ok 
 
 r I inn 1 n\/ * 
 
 . r I inn i r\\/ ^ 
 
 ^«tr ifkM\/rnr.