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Show i i M Be With The First Nighters BS I $ ORPHEVM The mystic performance given by Mercedes and Mile. Stantone at the Orpheum this week has been the vaudeville attraction of the town and, even if those in the audience were allowed to call the musical selections by name, the effect would be remarkable in the woman's ability to memorize and interpret the music, varying from the most difficult grand opera to various ragtime tunes. But, combined with the mental telepathy of Mercedes, the performance is doubly interesting interest-ing and amazing in the rapidity and accuracy ju of the thought transference. T Dunbar's "White Hussars are possibly second in interest on the bill that is varied but not particularly appealing. The White Hussars sing and play and "kiss her as they place a yellow tulip in her hair," oh my, yes, and become generally, gen-erally, popular before their performance is over. Billy B. Van and the Beaumont sisters have a comedy sketch called "Spooks" which provides an opportunity for some very fat lines, that is, for Van, not .the Beaumont sisters, but, outside of the stuff he puts over, the comedy is rather thin. Minnie Kaufman is a bicycle rider who opens the bill; Hal and Frances .have some passable comedy in "The Stock Farm," even if Prances does insist upon singing "The Sweetest Story Ever Told;" La France and Bruce in "The Argument" Argu-ment" have a negro sketch about as poor as anything of the kind on the circuit, and Chinko, the youthful juggler, is clever enough, though he was scarcely in form on the opening day. ALICE LLOYD It is with much satisfaction and pleasure that the Orpheum management announces the return re-turn to vaudeville of Miss Alice Lloyd, and that this delightful little Salt Lake favorite will appear ap-pear at the theater on West Second South dui-ing dui-ing the week beginning with the matinee, February Febru-ary 14. The charm radiated by Alice Lloyd when she first came to Salt Lake City, singing "Splash Me" and other hits, has never faded from memory. mem-ory. Her popularity was instantaneous. For her return to vaudeville, Miss Lloyd is said to have been supplied with exceptionally clever material. Unquestionably the dainty English Eng-lish comedienne will receive a lousing welcome at every performance. ROSE STAHL Again have the playwrights in this instance Channing Pollock and Rennold Wolfe failed to provide that delightful actress, Rose Stahl, with a vehicle adequate for her talents. As a play, there is nothing in "A Perfect Lady" but some delicious slang, such lines as "The Chorus Lady" can say better than anyone else, and the timely lessons that come of the expose of the ibigots in a hick town. It would be most unusual to see Miss Stahl in a play where she was anything but the self-sacrificing self-sacrificing older sister, misunderstood, but even - though the writers have failed to do anything ' for her like thai, which made her first success, she has a charm of voice and manner and an individuality indi-viduality and magnetism which make her performances per-formances personal triumphs, irrespective of the strength or quality of the play in which she appears. Howard Kyle, is playing a prominent role in "Polygamy," the new play recently produced in New York dealing- with Mormonism. Kyle was formerly a great f vorite in stock here. The American public consumes 40,000,000 postage post-age stamps per day. By the ordinary method of printing postage stamps this process costs the government a tremendous sum annually. By the invention of one machine the officials of the bureau bu-reau of engraving and printing the cost of manufacturing man-ufacturing stamps has been reduced 57 per cent. The new stamp machine eliminates nineteen of the operations in making stamps, goes through twenty-one diferent operations of its own, and jH turns out 4,000 completed stampB per minute, 2,- H 400,000 in a ten-hour day. This machine is shown H at work and fully explained in Henry W. Sav- H age's motion wonder picture, "Uncle Sam at H Work," which illustrates the twenty-seven prln- H cipal phases of governmental activity. H H The Sergeant Look here, before you're served H out with your uniform you'd better nip down to 1H the wash-houses and get a bath. H The Recruit Wot? I come 'ere to be a sol- H dier not a bloomln' mermaid! London Opinion. H ALICE LLOYD ,1 But, on tho other hand, ought he to leave thege things as they wore? His wife, tomorrow, might notice this old piece of furniture, open It. . . At any price he must prevent such a painful discovery. dis-covery. And a wild longing, violent, unconsidered, unconsid-ered, to turn the key and cast his eyes for one a moment only over tho contents of the wardrobe, M took possession of him. He hesitated; then, steeling steel-ing himself for the task, he opened it with a great noise. A gust of confined air struck him in the face, and the moths escaped, flying in every direction. di-rection. On the shelves were ranged parcels robes, boxes. It seemed to him that these garments, these things belonging to the dead, that is to say, to a shadow, a negation, a person who had existed, ex-isted, assumed a peculiarly sinister immobility, and to destroy this Impression he emptied the wardrobe of its entire contents, overturning everything, ev-erything, throwing out linen boxes, everything v haphazard. When this was done he began, with trembling hands, to examino each article separately. sep-arately. There was, first, a little bag, filled with herbs and faded flowers, which she had embroidered embroid-ered on returning from an excursion; next, a pair of tiny, black-satin slippers; linen with the faint scent of the lavender she always had about her still clinging to it. A. bodice that yet retained the rounded impression of her form, skirts, handkerchiefs hand-kerchiefs with her beloved Initial, K Katherlne "the first letter of the word "kiss," she had said, holding up her lips to him. Oh, that kiss! fresh, perfumed, which she gave him even in her laBt agony, her arms around his neck! He recalled it now, in spite of the fourteen years which had elapsed since then. She had loved him, once and for all. Her affection af-fection had never for one moment waned. She had adored him to her last breath. Fool triple fool that he was, to remarry! "Was It possible to win twice in succession in tho lottery of happiness? happi-ness? He recalled his furious despair when the undertaker's men entered the death chamber one morning in November. He had thrown himself on the coffin, clasping it frantically, shrieking: "No one shall take her from me!" What must she think of him if she should o present at this shameful scene! And in an excess of exaltation he threw himself on the garments, pressing to his lips the dainty finery which he drenched with his tears, clasping to his heart the poor little relics, rel-ics, erpeating, between his sobs: "I love you! I love you! I love no one but you!" He lived over again the six years passed with her. She reappeared to him, slender, caressing, as in the old days. . . Suddenly ho heard the clock strike twelve. Ho sprang to his feet, recollecting, with u shudder of horror, that this was to have been his wedding day; everyone had been awaiting him the relatives, rela-tives, the bride for over an hour already.' He realized the dreadful and ridiculous catastrophe, catas-trophe, but he could do nothing to avert it. His bride, in truth, was the little dead girl whom he had never loved enough. He felt that she was there, pleading with him to bo faithful to her. iShe had come back t& him through the gates of death, and he would never leave her again. The sounds of footsteps on the stairs startled him. Tho wedding party, alarmed at his unwarranted unwarrant-ed delay, had sent in search of him. What should ho say to them? They would not understand! He would be forced to go with them. He cast a rapid, frightened look around him, like a trapped animal seeking some avenue of escape. His breath was coming in quick, short gasps. Great drops of sweat stood on his pallid brow. The footsteps were drawing nearer. . . A slender steel stiletto gleamed up at him from the depths of a quaint Indian basket his little dead love leaned toward him, the grave-damp grave-damp clinging to her garments, but the old love-light love-light in her eyes. . . There was a flash of steel in the sunlight, then a fall. When the old housekeeper, Agatha, who had been searching for him everywhere, entered the room, she found him lying at full length among the scattered contents of the wardrobe dead, a smile on his lips, the blood oozing slowly from a wound in his left breast. From the San Francisco Fran-cisco Argonaut. |