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Show T""1 snow Tras worked) work-ed) I J. "1 ing north through jjp I ' Illinois, hitting the i f I high spots tor a I night a spot; and Ld I '"V1 a n y b o d y will tell lw & 5''ou that IUinois i3 llMljliliC,!hPrheaeSzean Oil in the distance was two weeks In Chicago that is, nearly In Chicago, near enough to "stop" in town while "making" "mak-ing" the suburban theaters. And that was probably all that kept the troupe together. to-gether. The prospect of a sandwich with real butter on it has kept many a company com-pany from disbanding. And real butter can be had only In the city. iIt was a drama a bedraggled success dot hinteryears. The big producer had abandoned it because It had ceased to pay. So the little one bought the rights on royalty. That he bought that kind of shows probably accounts for his being little. Affairs were at the stage when the players were getting what they got at all in lump sums of one dollar at a time. Regular salaries hadn't been paid in :: many weeks that some of the hams had forgotten what they were supposed to be getting, and just hung on, asking every day for large moneys, showing pressing letters from Insurance companies and the folks at home, and then thanking their lucky stars when they gouged a "one-spot" from the lean sides of the frantic manager, who was doing the best he could, which wasn't much. The scenery was going to pieces and the properties were ragged; two disgruntled dis-gruntled performers had quit the outfit and two others were "doubling" their parts, which means they were each playing play-ing -two roles at different times. Tlv billposting "paper" announced it as the "original New Tork cast." Most of the. cast had never even seen Pittsburgh. The press agent had picked up a miscellaneous mis-cellaneous collection of left-over cuts at one of the theaters and was feeding to the one-night-stand editors likenesses of Eva Tanguay, Annette Kellermann In tights, Julia Marlowe as Juliet, Fanny .'avenport In her prime, Mrs. Leslie Car-ter Car-ter in her declension, and Kvelyn Nesbit Thaw in her Peter Thompson innocence, all labeled "Elise de Vaoille as Kitty SIall In 'When the Angelus Is Ringing.' " iie had no cuts left of Elise, nor had he money to have any made. But he was "plugging" Elise because she was the darling of his heart. He rarely saw her he was ten days "ahead" of the show. But each night, in the lumpy bed of the stuffy room In the smelly Main street hotel ho-tel of the county seat where he tarried, he dreamed of her. He always dreamed of her as Elise de Vaoille, though he knew that she was Fannie McCann, daughter of Lizzie Mc-Cann, Mc-Cann, the "character woman" of the show, and of a deceased "heavy." She was a hardened, seasoned, weathered, grained, warping ingenue who had done many years in stock, "on the road" and "under canvas in rep." of which the last Is the last peg that one may cling to and yet remain In "the business." The un-der-canvas companies are the ones that travel In wagons, camp at crossroads and play at each stop several nights, switching switch-ing the bill nightly, every artist di lbling for the ballyhoo at the door and the taudeville betwoen the acts. A girl who has gone through that, and who is still going through, is not soft, easily moved or highly enthusiastic. She has trampled on her optimism and worn out her faith and starved out her cheerfulness. Elise had won the fancy of Walter Cass, the press agent, when he had first seen her play her part. With artificial curls and knee dresses she had appealed to him as glorious. He had met her before be-fore and after that in her worn-down "street" shoes, her flea bitten fur boa, her nonmatching party skirt and walking walk-ing jacket and her own muddy-colored hair. But that chromo had not driven from his imagination the picture he had seen behind the gaslight footlights. And you will grant me that a press apent Is epdowed with imagination if he has an endowment at all. , Cass, in his flights of brainstorm, al- ways conjured up a vision of some day bringing out Elise in that actors' heaven, Broadway, as a star, surprising the blase natives of insular Manhattan with her Fannie McCann, daughter of Lizzie Mc- N .sag, "?iy0i'' Cann, the "character woman" of the V Jt .iTir J$'& show, and of a deceased "heavy." She '0.''Pi was a hardened, seasoned, weathered, ' Vs4 Pv'-'.?'Sh grained, warping ingenue who had done , JtfPi1 many years In stock, "on the road" and CjJgJJJJ... X$$L "under canvas In rep." of which the last ' " ZJw-S:t?yiv.5:Vi Is the last peg that one may cling to and $S&&jbi.i vV5,tS,'"?, yet remain In "the business." The un- f JK 'l t?K j ' " A ' .'"' der-canvas companies are the ones that ' ' f 't;' - .:-.'vv. r,-.L;1.'w' 'r f'-7ii?L ' -T;"r' :L""t travel In wagons, camp at crossroads and i ' Ky.y'.'' SmJ&3 play at each stop several nights, switch- ' i lj0?T!'-(X-Si!tJt'- v. lng the bill nightly, every artist d. lbling witfft'ftd'Pt '- - for the ballyhoo at the door and the " I'CXt-?'' taudeville betwoen the acts. -fiftf?? jt'f?'--:' A girl who has gone through that, $ ' ' ' ' ? yv'f i, '4 s ill feMteMfli j issifU f With artificial enrs and knee dresses she had appealed io him cs slcrious. beauty and her genius, proclaiming her to the world as making Billy Burke look like a mudhen and acting figure eights around Nazimova. Thus far he was starting her by getting get-ting hyperbolated "notices" about her in the jay papers in advance of the "attraction." "attrac-tion." These were more or less neutralized neutral-ized by the roasts that the critics thundered thun-dered after her on her departure from each town. Cass couldn't write the reviews; re-views; but he could and did write the "front stuff." It so happened that one of the big New York managers had been born in one of the little IUinois towns. Because he liked to keep cases on Tom, Zeke and Harry of his boyhood schooldays, he got the home paper every week. And, as he glanced through it one week, hunting "locals," he saw a cut of a beautiful girl, and under it the name of Elise de Vaoille. H perked up, got his head closer, and read : Mile, de Vaoille Is the daughter of a French nobleman, orphaned by the war now raging over the blood-soaked blood-soaked fields of sorrow-stricken Europe. Eu-rope. Having studied at home for the drama as a pastime, and part of her curriculum in an ultra-fashionable Parisian finishing academy, she turned to that as a means of livelihood and a prospect of a career ca-reer when she came to this country. In less than three months she had learned enough English to enablo her to play the part of Kitty Dugan brilliantly and tellingly. What Mile, de Vaoille may lack in the perfect accent she more than makes up by her exquisite and fragile beauty, soi appealing that the audience loves her on, sight and is in the hollow of her hand before the curtain rings down on the first thrilling act of that terrific and spectacular drama masterpiece, "When the Angelus Is Ringing." The Forty-second street manager read it twice. He knew the way., of tanktown press agents. But you know how it is- " when one sees it in print it seems plausible. plausi-ble. Why, I have known (ho very men who write the stuff (and invent it) to read and believe it! So the wise New Yorker touched a button. The office boy was sent to summon one of (he stage directors, who in turn was sent to Illinois to find that show, ' watch Eiise de Vaoille "work," and wire in a report. Two nights laier the stranjrer boiteht a ticket at the box office in a hayseed burg, sat down in an aisle seat, and wait-eel wait-eel for the curtain to rise on (he "drama masterpiece." When the curtain rnng up on "When the Angelus Is Ringinfr" the metropolitan scout leaned forward in his chair. There w-ere no programs. In tl-.cp.ter? of that kind it is not usual to issue 7;ros;ran;s. But he guessed he coul-.l guess this imported im-ported dainty, this noble child of bcauty and genius he wouid have bet you he could. The flay proccc-cl. FJi.s, in the fore- front, was doing her bit with an ax. following fol-lowing her natural bent. Little did she know that, out in front sat her destiny or what might have been her destiny. An aged gent with white whiskers named Whittier once wrote a passage on the tragic color of "it might have been." He did not have Elise in mind; but he might have had. The New Yorker tossed one slant at her when she first opened her lips to speak a line, and after that he never saw her again looked right past or over or through her. 1 -- But he did note that the amiable old character woman, who had done twenty years in the sticks, playing every ungrateful un-grateful part from the mother of Zaza to the nurse in "Romeo and Juliet," had sweet features and a sympathetic and ingratiating personality and a smile that was like the smile of a woman, not a No. 4 company slavey. And he couldn't take bis eyes off old Lizzie McCann. And the further the play went the more he loved her. The curtain rang down and the weary players slopped toward their dressing-rooms. dressing-rooms. Elise took off her wig and flung it into the corner, and turned to Lizzie. "It's a gay life if you don' weaken." said she. "An' I'm weakenin". This here hittin' American plan towns an' playin' and who is still going through, is not ' beauty and her genius, proclaiming her front, was doing her bit with an ax, fol-soft, fol-soft, easily moved or highly enthusiastic. M to the world as making Billy Burke look lowing her natural bent. Little did she She has trampled on her optimism and ', like a mudhen and acting figure eights know that, out in front sat her destiny-worn destiny-worn out her faith and starved out her ' jlf-7 , Sj around Nazimova. or what might have been her destiny, cheerfulness. sff ' Thus far he was starting her by get- An aged gent with white whiskers named Elise had won the fancy of Walter J'$ k tins hyperbolated "notices" about her in Whittier once wrote a passage on the Cass, the press agent, when he had first ycS ' :' ,he izy PaPers in advance of the "attrac- tragic color of "it might have been." He seen her play her part. With artificial Aj.j &trg.f tion." These were more or less neutral- did not have Elise in mind; but he might curls and knee dresses she had appealed ' 4 V J'A. 'zed by the roasts that the critics thun- have had. to him as glorious. He had met her be- fytPb WjPk. dered after her on her departure from The New Yorker tossed one slant at fore and after that In her worn-down .y s'jf iff'- ' '" a each town. Cass couldn't write the re- her when she first opened her lips to "street" shoes, her flea bitten fur boa, icj' .f.'f :SyI views; but he could and did write the speak a line, and after that he never saw her nonmatching party skirt and walk- iit&t S 'fy Lf i p "front stuff." her again looked right past or over or ing jacket and her own muddy-colored -v'i;- Jf'1tt&AP Wi&Jjf J 14 so happened that one of the big through her. 1 hair. But that chromo had not driven .6 .jsT.-'. ' sts.. A4- 2 New York managers had been born in "V'e-f- :-.-."' .A .4-4 -h!'J . . 1 from his imagination the picture he had t v ' t 'l one of the little Illinois towns. Because seen behind the gaslight footlights. And fit,' f -ify he k6eP cases on Tom' Zeke and But he did note that the amiable old f - 1 ff?y Harry of his boyhood schooldays, he got character woman, who had done twenty 1 1 Ji v J f W " tn0 home Paper every week' And' as he years in the sticks, playing every rni- f- ' --'''v5i?r-l (Ittf glanced through it one week, hunting grateful part from the mother of Zaza JJ'f:kU'M':: -: (f&V'Wffi rat "locals," he saw a cut of a beautiful girl, to tne nurse In ..Roraeo and Juliet." had 'tljMe MiiwH Nfi sweet features and a sympathetic and !!" i:JS. XT ''" r''i 1 VR i'l ingratiating personality and a smile that 'in?.; .V.,.55S,' vfyty 1 liM I i . was like the smile of a woman, not a No. ' . . 41- $A hm ' M l M ' I 4 company slavey. a If. vY7 IVM i'i 5 1 I'l 5 i And he couldn't take bis eyes off old -"VV V .J i '?,, f ' ' V I ,, , .' , Lizzie McCann. And the further the play f , N; t jf''V''"' 'C' t'''if'&Ai3tl' ' ' ''!'' 7 went the more he loved her. .UiH"' 'H f "VVVt . i jfe V &J '-:' .' . ' ' , ;', j i The curtain rang down and the weary 'si., iivnrVS w fM-f '. i i 1' .'iUr-. pia-ers slopped toward their dressins- , . Nv, y :' ' , i 5" 'Vv rooms. Elise took off her wig and flung feSivf V f f 'iV?.'' U'' ' l I ' Ify ZffS. '. .' '- " ffy&fA&Z it into the corner, and turned to Lizzie. V , ' ' X0"?&J1I WfVr rf ' I't! - rf5 V. "It's a gay life if you don' weaken," V;V'5,;,V--V-- ,i , SWt - ' t sft J hittin' American plan towns an' playin' iSMlil ' L-f 1l ftt gasped. li&H4mA - $2m-w I''- Sgr i vKAV. "If come." you will grant me that a press apent Is ways conjured up a vision of some day Sl'frY , -oSjrtAVXVXVS8'.'; S.M epdowed with imagination if he has an bringing out Elise in that actors' heaven, i'" -'" ' endowment at all. , Broadway, as a star, surprising the blase "1 feF" K'ffrNffi ??tft??&) Cass, In his flights of brainstorm, al- natives of insular Manhattan with her VVWVWV PCil NV "vjf'SvJfeii'i - WWW f Jitfo$'&&& ' " WO a night an never gettin' no place r" 'frfpi ds got my Eoat- SaV I'd marry a corn- . fa Je&- " " - husker an' live in a hut, I would, only to to $90 a night an never gettin' no place is got my goat. Say I'd marry a corn-husker corn-husker an' live in a hut, I would, only to get off o' this grind aroun' the suitcase circuit." "Don't be impatient, child," said Lizzie Liz-zie McCann. "My! 'it I had your youth and your opportunities " "Where'd you get that opperchunl-ties?" opperchunl-ties?" bawled Elise. "You call this here bumpin' aroun'' among them cattle an' reubs opportunities? If I could ever get to'N'York, or somewheres where a 'live human bein' could gimme a squint, I might get a tumble f'm somebody. But this here is shootin' at the moon, this Is; this here is wastin' my breath an' my looks an' my talent an' my everything, this is. An' I'm good an' sick an' disgusted, dis-gusted, an' you can bet your paint-stick this is my las' season under this here bum management. I'm goin' in vaud'-ville." vaud'-ville." She said the last as though she were threatening to sell herself for dimes. "Oh, don't say that, child," said Lizzie. Liz-zie. "Your chance will come. Stick to the legitimate. Have patience." "I got patience. But I ain' got no change o' stockin's. An' I haven' had a decent night's sleep in nine years." "Your time will come, dearie. Yes maybe even mine will, some day. I'm 51', but I haven't given up hope. Somewhere, some time " "Oh, wako up!" There was a knock on the door. The janitor handed in a card. Elise reached a bare arm after it. She saw the imprint im-print in the corner and she turned pale, then scarlet, then hit the ceiling, then bounced back to the floor, then wabbled and sank into a chair. "My stars!" she gasped. "It's conic!" And come it had. But not to Elise. Mr. Whittier nlased for Maud Muiler in well remembered language lan-guage which may here be utilized l,v your memory to deplore the burning, cursing, acid disappointment of Mile, do Vaoille. l'or it was finally broken to her that it was Lizzie that the represent.-! t i n, from the theatrical heaven wanted to s'-o and to sipn up and take Kast. It must be remembered that Mnnd married n farmer who made her bca r children, and who mumbl'-d o'er pipe and mug till Mauri wasted away and had no joy except to think of the horde's chest nut mane and how the judge had flirted with her. For Elise married the press agent, who had inherited a farm before the close of that ill-starred season, and who retired her to the hut she had in that wild moment of reckless wishes brought down upon herself. So let this be a lesson to you, children. The race is not always to the one whose picture gets into the Weekly Banner: a man doesn't always come back with what he started after; use your own homely name on the stage and off, be sweet and motherly, and remember that Whittier knew what he was alasing about. Copyright. 1916, by J. KeelcyJ |