Evening Star Newspaper, September 26, 1896, Page 16

16 _THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 26, C2 : 1896—T WENTY-FOUR PAGES, oF I ed so that the scene might be set for the second act. Carpenter watched the graceful, gray- eyed girl go back into the dim auditorium entrance was give! she came forward with a burst of aj jal laughter. “That laugh was very good,” Sherrington declared; “better than it was last time, the group and managed to draw Dresser away with him. After they had exchanged a few words, Carpenter looked into the auditorium to Highest of all in Leavening Power—Latest U.S.Gor't Report and take a seat beside her mother, and his Ne PART I. When Wilson Carpenter came to the funetion of the two great thoroughfares, he stood still for a moment and looked at bis watch, not wishing to arrive at the rehearsal too early. He found that it was then almost 8 o'clock; and he began at once to pick his way across the car tracks that were here twisted In every direction. A cloud of steam swirled down as a train on the elevated railroad clat- tered along ~ver his head; the cyclops eye of a cable c: > glared at him as it came rushing down town; from the steeple of a church on the corner, around which the mellow harvest moon peered down on the jnolsy streets, there came the melodious call to the evening service; over the en- trance to a variety show a block above a gaudy cluster of electric lights illuminated the posters which proclaimed for that evening a grand sacred concert, at which Queenie Dougherty, the Irish - empress, would sing her new song, “He's an Iligant Man in a Scrap, My Boys.” As the young dramatist sped alorg he noted that people were still straggling by twos and threes Into the house of worship and into the place of entertainment; and he could not but contrast swiftly this Sunday evening in a great city with the Sunday evenings of his boyhood in the little village of his birth. He wondered what his quiet parents would think of him now were they alive and did they know that he was then going to the final rehearsal of a play of which he was half author. It was not his first piece, for he had been lucky enough the winter before to win a prize offered by an enterprising newspaper for the best one- act comedy; but it was the first play of his to be produced at an important New York house. When he came to the closed but brilliantly-lighted entrance of this thea- ter, he stood still again to read with keen pleasure the three-sheet posters on each side of the doorway. These. parti-colored advertisements announced the first appear- ance at that theater of the young Ameri- can actress, Miss Daisy Fostelle, in a new American comedy, “Touch and Go,” writ- ten expressly for her by Harry Brackett and Wilson Carpenter, and produced under, the immediate direction of Z. Kilburn. — When the author of the new .‘merican cemedy had read this poster twice he took cut his watch again and saw that it was just 8 He threw away his cigarette and walked swiftly around the corner. Enter- ing a small door, he went down a !ong, ill- lighted passage. At the end of this was a small square hall, which might almost be called the landing stage of a flight of stairs leading to the dressing rooms above and to the property room below. This hall was cut off from the stage by a large swinging door. As C penter entered the room this door swung open and a nervous young man rushed in. Catching sight of the dramatist he checked his speed, held out his hand and smiled, wearily, saying: “That's you, it? I'm so glad you've come! hasn't begun, ly. t here yet,” answered the actor, never in a hurry, you know. her own time always, Daisy I know all her little tricks. I've told has it?” ces. you already that I never would have ac- cepted this engagement at all if I hadn't heen out since January. I don't see myself in this part of yours. I'll do my best with ft, of course, and it isn’t such a bad part, but I don’t see myself in it.” r tapped the other on the back heartily and cried: “Don't you be afraid, Dresser; you will be all right! Why, I ith that he started to open the door that led to the stage. But Dresser © a sudden appeal: “Ivg got to have your advice, and it’s important.” “Don't go away just as I've found you. I've been wanting to see you all day. I've got to have your advice, and it's important.” Well?” the dramatist responded. “Well,” repeated the young actor, “you know that bit of mine in the third act, where I have the scene with Jimmy Stark? He has to say to me: ‘I think my wife's mind is breaking," and I say: ‘Are you afraid she is going to give you a piece of it?" Now, how would you read that?” After the author had explained to the actor what seemed to him the obvious dis- tribution of the emphasis in this speech he was able to escape and at last to make his ‘a upon the stage. sene of the first act of “Touch and s set and the stage itself was bril- iantly Hghted, while the auditorium was absolute darkness. It was at least a in minute before Carpenter was able to dis- cern the circle of the balcony, shrouded in the linen draperies that protected its velvet and its gilding from the dust. Here and there in the orchestra chairs were little knots of three or four persons, perhaps twenty or thirty in all. The proscenium boxes yawned blackly. Although it was a warm evening in the early fall, the house struck Carpenter as chill and forbidding. He peered into the darkness to discover the face he was longing to see again. ‘Two men were talking earnestly, seated at a table in the center of the stage near the footlights. One of these was a short man, with grizzled hair and a masterful manner; this was Sherrington, the stage manager who had been engaged to produce the play. The other was Harry Brackett, Carpenter's collaborator in its authorship. Just as the newcomer had made out in the dark house the group he was seeking and had bowed to the two ladies compris ing it, Harry Brackett caught sight of him. “Well, Will," he cried, “the Stellar Attrac- tion Is late, as usual—and we've got lots of work before us tonight, too. Sherrington isn’t at all satisfied with the way they do either of the big scenes in the second act; and we've got to look out and keep them all up to thelr work if we want this to be any. thing more than a mere ‘artistic success.” “‘Artistic success!"" said Sherrington, emphatically; “why, there’s money in this thing of yours. big money, too, if we can get all the laughs out of those two scenes of Daisy’s in the second act, but it will take good work to get out all the laughs there ought to be, legitimately—and we've got to do it! Every laugh is worth a dol- lar and a half; that's what I say.” “The two sceres in the second act,” in- quired Carpenter. “The one with Stark and the one with Miss Marvin, you mean?” “The one with Marvin will be all right, I think,” said the stage manager. “I'm pot so sure of that,” Harry Brackett interjected. “You insisted on her being engaged, Will, but she Is very inexpe- _- ard I don't know how she'll get rough that long scene.” “Miss Marvin is very clever," Carpenter declared, eager to defend the girl he was in love with. “And shs will look the part to perfection. “Looking 1s all very well,*’ Brackett re- sponded, “but it is acting she will have to do in that scene in the second act.” “And she will do it, too,” asserted the stage manager. “You see, she’s got her mether here tonight and there isn’t a sharper old stager anywhere than Kate Sbannon Loraine.” “That's so,” Harry Brackett admitted. “I suppose Loraine can show her daughter Woah OANIRIUSAT ULNAR TITS UIT THE REHEARSAL OF THE NEW PLAY, BY BRANDER MATTHEWS. ‘Author of “Vignettes of Manhattan.” (Copyright, 1896, by the Bacheller Syndicate.) heart thumped suddenly, as he found him- self wondering when he would dare to tell her that he loved her and to ask her to be his wife. Then he also left the stage and dropped into the chair behind mother and daughter. ” PART Il. “It was very good of you to come this evening, Mrs. Loraine,” he began. “I feel as if having your dauga&ter act in this play of mine will bring me luck somehoW.” 7 “Tine idea!” said Mies Marvin, smilngly. was,” the elder actress responded, “but it is really better than she sald. The dialogue is very brilliant at times, and the charac- ters are excellently contrasted—and, what 1s more important, the whole thing will act@The parts carry the actors; they've got something to do which is worth while rede! to get out of that scenc all there is in it.” jhannon’lI see the whole play tonight,” said Sherringtea, “and she'll be able to give Marvin lots of pointers tomorrow. The Uttle girl will be all right; it's Daisy | 70!ms. It will go Bll right tomorrow I'm more ufraid of in that ‘scene. It | Dish ought to ve played high comedy, ‘Lady | “It’s a beagtiful piece,” Mary Marvin de- Teazle," way up in G—and high ‘comedy | clared: “and I think my part is just isn't altogether in Daisy's line. lovely ‘hat can’t be helped now,” Brackett re- d, “and if the Stellar Attraction can’t reach that scene it's the Stellar Attrac- tion’s own fault, isn’t it? You remem- ber, Will, how she kept telling us all the }time we were writing the play that sho wanted as bfgh-toned a part as we could give her. We gave it to her, and now she’s just got to scratch up to it, if she can. “Iam not afraid of that scene,” Carpen- ter declared, “for I've always doubted whether she could really do high comedy, and that sceue is written so that it will go almost as well if it’s played broadly. You know there are two ways of doing Lady Teazle.” “There are And before he could say anything tn fit acknowledgment, Mrs. Loraine went on. “Yes, Mary's part is charming; and I think she will play it very well, too!” “I'm sure of it,” he cried, unhesitatingly. “I think there is more in it than I thought at first,” sa'd Mary’s mother, “now I’ve seen the play, ard I'il go over Mary’s part with her tonight, and show her what can be done with it. I'm waiting for that scene in the second act with Fostelle. I think that Mary ought to share the call after that. In fact, I’m not sure that she can’t take the scene away from Fostelle.”” “Oh, mother,” the daughter broke “that would never do! eels notice in, I should get my’two the next morning, shouldn't And I don’t want to be out of an en- no two ways being a gieat favorite,” gagement just at the beginning of the sea- manager. “She's aecepted, and “that's | son, when all the companies are made up. enough. After all, I don’t suppose it mat- “Are you sure that the ghost will walk ters much, how she takes that scene; high or broad, the public will accept her. The part fits her like a glove; and all we've got to do is to keep everybody up to concert pitch and get all the laughs we can. You took my advice and cut that talky scene in the third act and now the whoie act will &0 off like not cakes—see if it don’t. I tell you what it is, I'll teach you two boys how to write a real farce before I've done with you!” Harry Brackett every week with this Fostelle company, if you strike bad business for a month or 30?” asked Mrs. Loraine, with a suggestion of anxiety in her voice. “I think Zeke Kilburn is all right,” the Gramatic author responded; “he made a pile of money last year on that imported melodrama, the ‘Doctor's Daughter; and, besides, he has a backer.” Mrs. Loraine laughed gently, showed her beautifully regular teeth; she was still a handsome woman, with a fine figure and a crown of silver hair. “A backer?” she rejoined; “but who backs the backer? I've heard your friend, Mr. Brackett, there, say that a Jay and his money are scon parted.” Carpenter answered her earnestly. “I really think Kilburn is pretty solid, but I suppose that a great deal does depend on the way that the play draws. They've got open time here in New York, and if ‘Touch a Go’ catches on they can stay here till Christmas. So it comes down to this, that was standing almost be- if our piece is a go, the ghost will walk regularly.” “I hope it will make a hit,” Mrs, Lo- raine a- wered, “for your sake, too. haven't sold it outright, have you?” “No, inde: the young dramatist re- plied. “Harry Brackett is too old in the business for that. We've got a nightly royalty, with a percentage on the gross, whenever it plays to more than $4,000 a week. We stand to make a lot of money— if it makes a hit. What do you think of its chan Mrs. Loraine?” “The first act is all right,’”? she re ed. “That's the most I can say no’ ccme and ask me after I've seen the third act and I'll teli you what I think, and I be. br] a re can then prophesy its fate pretty we Ly this time the scene of the second act had been set. It represented a stone sum- mer hevse on the top of a hill overlooking the Hedson just below West Point. It was picturesque in itself, and it was in- d to provide opportuni- age business. Carpenter accompanied Miss Marvin back You “We've got all nigh haven't w before hind Sherrington as the stage manager made this speech. He winked at Carpenter. “Yes,” he said a moment later, “I think it is a pretty good piece of the kind, and I hope it wili fetch them. At any rate, I don’t believe even our worst enemies will praise it foc its ‘literary merit.” Carpenter laughed a little bitterly. “No,” he assented, “we've got it into shape now and I doubt if anybody insults us by saying that ‘Touch and Go’ is ‘well written.’ ” “Do you remember our joke while we were working on it last winter, Will?” ask- ed Harry Brackett. Then, turning to Sher- rington, he explained: ‘“‘We used to say that the managers wouldn’t ‘touch’ it, so the people couldn't ‘go.’ “It’s harder to touch the manager than it is to mal the public go,” added Car- renter. “I believe that any fool can write a play—but that only a man of great genius ever succeeds In getting his play produced.” A hardsome young woman with snapping k eyes walked on the stage briskly. Here’s the Attraction at last,” said Harry Erackett; “now we can get down to busine e “Am I late?” the handsome young wo- man asked, as she came forward. “Every- body waiting for me?” “You are just twenty minutes late, my dear,” said the stage manager, looking at to the stage when ihe time drew nigh for the second act to begin. As he was passing through the door be- he tween the auditorium and the stage fovnd himseif face to face with Dre: who was fidgeting back and forward. “Oh, Me. Carpenter,” he cried, “I’m so lad to see you. I want to ask your opinion about this. After all, you know you wrote the play, and you ought to be able to de- cide. In my scene with Marvin in this act am I really in love with her then, or ain I? Sherrington says I am, bat I think It’s @ great deal funnier if I’m not in love with her then—it helps to work up the la: better. Now, what do you think? Sh rirgter insists that his way of playing tt is more dramatic. Well, I don’t say it ain't, but it isn’t half as funny, is it?” After Carpenter had given his opinion upon this question Dresser allowed him to escape. But he had not advanced ten yards until he was claimed by Mrs. Castle- Te: ‘Mr. Carpenter,” the elderly act his watch, “and we are all waiting for | gan, in her usual haughtily dignifie ae you.” ner, “how do you thi . dres: “That's all right, then,” she replied, | this part in the trot ete Qught to dre: t t ir She's a house- keeper, isn’t she? So I suppose I ought to wear an apron. The young dramatist expressed his be- lief that perhaps an apron would be a proper thing for the housekeeper to wear in the first act. “But not a cap, I hope?” urged Mrs. Castleman. laughing lightly; “we've got all night be- fore us, haven't we? The prompter clapped his hands and call- ed out “First act!” Two clean-shaven men of indefinite age, who had been sitting in the wings, rose and came forward. Mr. Dresser joined them, and hi ager SUg- gested a certain increase of his ordinary nervous tension. A well-preserved elderly | Carpenter doubted lady left her seaeompne cae of the aisles | necessary. under the proscenium box and came hank you,” sald Mrs. Castleman. “Y. through the door which led from the au- | see, 1 have always hitherto been eetpoiatea ditorium to the stage. She was followed | with the legitimate and I really don't quite by a slight, graceful girl, a blonde with | know what to do with this sort of thing.” clear gray eyes. i Then she suddenly paused only to break “Mrs. Castleman— Marvin,” said the | cut again impetuously: “Oh, I beg your promptor, seeing them; “now we are all| pardon, Mr. Carpenter, if a cap would be “Mary had told me how clever the piece |" but you must ma¥e'it as hollow as you cen. Remember thé situation; your best young man has goye back cn you and you are trying to keep a stiff upper lip—but your heart is brea! all the same—see?” ‘The star repeated the laugh, and it was more obviously artificial. “That's it, my dear,” said the stage man- ager. “Now keep {t/up till you cross, and then drop into that,chair there, and then you let the laugh dig away into a sob.” The star went kK, to the rustic gate by which she had enterad; laughed again and came forward; then, she crossed the stage, sank upon a seat ang choked with a sob. Carpenter stepped forward and whispered into Shcrrington’s ear, whereupon Mis: Fostelle sat upright instantly and very suspiciously asked; “What's that? I'd rather have you say it out loud than whisper it!” ‘The young dramatist explained at once. “I was only suggesting to Sherrington that perhaps it would be better if that seat were turzed a little so that you were not so sideways—then the audience would get a full view of your face here.” “It would be a pity to deprive them of that, I'll admit,” said the mollified actress, as she and the stage manager slightly turn- ed the rustic chair. ‘Then she dropped into the seat and re- peated her-sob. Miss Marvin stepped upon the stage and remarked to space: “What a lovely even- ing, and how glorious the sunset!” Then she stood silently watching. Miss Daisy Fostelle sobbed again, and in tones heavy-laden with tears she said: What have I to live for now?” Looking back at the other actress, she remarked in her ordinary voice: “You will give me time to pick myself up here, won't you?” Then she went on in the former tear-stained ac- cents: “What have T left to Hve for now? My heart is broken! My heart ts broken!” Again she resumed her everyday tones to ask the stage manager: “Is that all right? Am I far enough around now?” ‘Thus they came to perhaps the most im- portant scene of the play—that between the Stellar Attraction (as Brackett liked to call her) and the girl Carpenter was in love with. Both actresses were well fitted to the characters they had to perform. Carpenter, who had no liking for Daisy Fcstelle, was a little surprised at the judg- ment and skill with which she carried off the bravura passages of her part; and he was not a little charmed with the delicate force the gentle Mary Marvin revealed in the contrasting character. And so the r@éhearsal proceeded laborious- ly, Sherrington directing it autocratically, ordering certain scenes to be played more rapidly, and seeing. that others were taken more slowly, so that the spectators might have time to understand the _ situation. Now and then either Carpenter or Brackett made a suggestion or a criticism, but both yielded to Sherrington, if he was insistent. The stage manager Kept the whole com. pany of actors up to their work, and im- posed on them his understanding of that work, much as the conductor of an or- chestra leads his musicians at the per- formance of a symphony. When the whole act had been rehearsed, and the final scene was repeated three or four times, until it ran like well-oiled clock- work, the stage was cleared, so- that the scenery of the third act might be set. Sherrington accompanied Miss Marvin through the door behind the proscenium box Into the dark auditorium. “You will play that scene very well,” he said, “but you've got to have confidence.” “It is a beautiful part, isn't responded, with enthusiasm. “I never had a part I could enjoy playing so much.” Carpenter was about to leave the stage to tell Mary whad a delight it was to him to hear her speak: the-words he had written, when his collaborator tapped him on the shoulder. As he.:turned Harry Brackett whispered in his gar: > “Look out for the Stellar Attraction. I’m afraid she has just dropped on Marvin's “Pm afraid she has just dropped on Marvin’s part.” part. If she once suspects that the little irl may get that scene away from her, she can make herself mightily disagreeable all round. I guess we had better go up and tell her she is a greater actress than Char- lotte Cushman.” PART UI. Carpenter laughingly answered: ‘Take care she doesn’t drop on you! It would be worse if she thought you were guying her.” “There's no danger of that,” Harry Brackett returned. “That Stellar Attrac- tion of ours Is a boa constrictor for flattery —there isn’t anything she won't swallow. discover where Mary Marvin might be. He saw that she was by the side of her moth- er, and that Mrs. Loraine and Sherrington were still engaged in an earnest conversa- tion. He made a movement as if to leave Dresser, whereupon the comedian begged him for a moment's interview. “I@s about that speech of mine in the third act that I want to-make a sugges- tion,” said the actor. “It’s a very good speech, too, and I think I can get three laughs out of it, easy. You know the speech. I mean the one about the three old maids: ‘There were three old maids in our town, one was plain as a pike-staff, The Actress Flashed a Suspicion Glance at Him. and the other was as homely as a hedge fence, and the third was as ugly as sin: and whenever they all: three walked out together every clock in -that place stopped short. Their parents had christened them Faith and Hope and Charity, but the bo: always called them Battle and Murder and Sudden Death.’ Now, don’t you think it would kelp to ‘bring out the point more if the orchestra was to play ‘Grandfather's Clock’ very gently just as I say that ‘every clock in the place stopped short?” What do yor think. ‘That's my own idea!” The dramatist said nothing for a sec- ond or two, and then told the actor to consult the stage manager. who was just returning to begin the rehearsal of the third act. The new scene had been set swiftly and the furniture was already in place. The first of the actors to enter was the cadaver- ous and irritable Stark. He began glibly enough, but scon hesitated for a word, and then broke out impatiently, regardless of the presence of the two authors: “Oh, I can’t get that line into my head! And I don’t know what it means, either! How can you expect @ man to speak such rub- dish?” As before, nobody paid any attention to this petulance, and the actor went on with his part without further comment. Dresser then entered .and the two men proceeded to misunderstand each other in the most elaborate fashion. ‘The charazter which Stark represented had reason to be- resented was the uncle of the character that Daisy Fostelle represented and was also a soldier. In like manner Dresser h; reason to believe that Stark was the la uncle and alsc a sailor. They add: each other, therefore, in sailor talk and in soldier talk: and the fun waxed fast and furious. At the height of the misunder- standing Daisy Fostelle entered —unex- pectedly and found herself instantly im- meshed in the humorous complication, with no possibility of plausible explanation. Once the stage manager reminded Dres- ser that he had omitted a vhrase. “You left out: ‘Confound it, man!’ "’ he sal “I know it,” the actor explained, “but T wanted to save it to use in my next speech. It goes better there—you see if it does not.” And Sherrington decided that “Confound it, man!” was more effective in the later speech, so the transposition was authorized to Dresser’s satisfaction. The stage manager had this important scene of mutual misunderstanding between Stark and Dresser and Daisy Fostelle re- peated twice, until every word fell glibly and every gesture seemed automatic. And so the rehearsal went to the end, Sherring- ton applying the finishing touches, and seeming at last to be fairly well satisfied with the result of his labors. The final lines of the comedy were, of course, to be delivered by the star; but when the cue was given to her, Miss Fos- telle simply said “Tag!” everybody being aware that it is very unlucky to speak the last speech of a play at a rehearsal—as un- lucky as it is to put up an umbrella on the stage, or to quote from “Macbeth.” “That will do,” said the stage manager, “I think it will be all right tomorrow night.” And with that the rehearsal concluded and the company began to disperse. “I hope it is all right,” Harry Brackett remarked to Carpenter, “and I think it is But I shall have a great deal more confi- dence after the man in the box office shakes hands with me cordially, say, next Wednes- day or Thursday, and Inquires about my health. He'll know by that time whether we've got a good thing or not Carpenter helped Miss Marvin to put on her light cape. Then, after her mother had joined them, they said good-night to the others and left the theater together. When they came out inte the warm night the street was quieter than it had been when Carpenter entered the theater. ready. And then the serious business of the re- hearsal began. Mrs. Castleman came down to the center of the stage and took up a newspaper and read the date of it aloud, and remarked that it was just five years since master and mistress had parted in anger, adding that neither of them had put foot inside the old house in all the five years, and yet it was not an hour from New York. Then one of the minor actors, an awkward young fellow, one of the two who had been standing in the wings, en- really I did not mean to Imply that this charming play of yours is not legitimate— The dramatic author laughed. “You need not apologize,” he declared; “I'm inclined to think that ‘Touch and Go’ Is so illegitl- mate now that its own parents can’t rec- ognize it!” ‘At last the rehearsal of the second act began, the two authors sitting at the little table with the stage manager. Sherrington consu.ted them once or twice in regard to the omission of a line here and ere. The two dramatic authors found Miss Daisy Fostelle standing in the wings and discussing with Dresser the personal pecu- liarities of another member of the dramatic profession. ‘As Carpenter and Brackett came up, the actress was saying: “Why, she had the cheek actually to tell me I was more amus- ing off the stage than on—the cat! But I got even with her. I told her I was sorry I couldn’t return the compliment, for she was tered with a telegram, which he gave to Mrs. Castleman. She tore it open and read it aloud. The master would arrive early that evening. Then Miss Marvin, the girl with the clear blue eyes, came forward with an open letter in her hand and told Mrs. Castleman that the mistress of tho house would be home again at last early that merning. And thus the rehearsal went on gravely, every one intent upon the business in hand. The speeches of the actors were interrupted now and then by the stage manager. ‘“‘Take the last scene over again,” he might command, whereupon the performers would resume their places as before and begin again. “Don’t cross till he’ takes the stage, my dear. And when he says: ‘What is the Meaning of this?” don’t be in a hurry. Wait, and then say your aside: ‘Can he suspect?’ in a hoarse whisper. See?’ Finally there was a jingle of sleighbells, and the orchestra, beginning faintly and slowly, soon worked up to a swift forte, and then Miss Daisy Fostelle made her first appearance through the broad door at the back of the stage. Finding that she had taken everybody by surprise, she smiled sweetly, and said: “You didn’t ex- pect me, I see—but I hope you are all glad to see me once more.” A thin, cadaverous man with a heavy black mustache here stepped forward to face the wife he had not seen for five years. “We are all glad to see you once more,” he had to say, “very glad, indeed, and we are gladder still to see that you seem to be in such excellent heaith and such high spirits! The separation has not difmmed the bright- ness of your eyes nor—" Here the tall, gaunt actor stopped and hesitated. “s don’t know what's the matter with that speech,” he said, im>atiently, “but I can’t get it into my head. I never had such tricky lines!” The prompter gave him the word he need- ed, and no one else paid any attention to this outbreak. The two authors were seated at the table in the center of the footlights, and Harry Brackett whispered to Carpenter: “Stark is “Cut it down to the bone, when you can— that's what I say,” he explained, “what you cut out can’t make people | 1wn.” But once he stopped the rehearsal to sug- gest that a speech be written in. “You've got to make that complication mighty he declared, “and this is the place “But your heart is breaking all the same—see?” to do it, I think. If you want them to un- derstand that Dresser here is going to mis- take Marvin for Fostelle in the next scene, you had better give him another line now to lead up to it.” The two authors consulted hastily; and Carpenter, drawing out a note book and a pencil, hurriedly wrote a sentence which he showed to Brackett. “That'll do it,” said Sherrington; and he read it aloud to Dresser, who borrowed Carpenter;s pencil and wrote in the Hne on the manuscript of his part, wondering aloud whether he should ever remember it on the first night. even less amusing on the stage than off!” ‘The two dramatists joined in the laugh; and then Harry Brackett began. “Is it your hated rival you are having fun with?” he asked. “Well, if she comes to see you in this play tomorrow, they'll have to put a waterproof carpet into the private box, for she will weep bitter tears of despair while she’s watching you in this second act of ours."” Miss Daisy Fostelle snapped her big black eyes at him and smiled with pleasure. “Yes,” she admitted. “I don’t believe she will really enjoy that scene—and yet she'll to give me a hand at the end of the ‘She'll go through the motions, perhaps,” Brackett returned, “but she won't burst a hole in her gloves.” Then he slyly nudged his collaborator. “The fact is,” began Carpenter, thus ad- monished, “I was just going to tell Harry Brackett here that maybe we have made a mistake in writing you a high-comedy part hike this—” ‘The actress flashed a suspicious glance at him; but he went on as if unconscious of this. “We can see now,” he continued, “that you are going to play this part so well that you will make @ great hit in it, and then the critics, will all be after you to play Lady Teazle apd Rosalind. They’ll tell you that you are only wasting your talents in modern. plays, and that you ought to devote yourself to the legitimate.” ‘The suspicion faded from Miss Daisy Fos- telle’s face, and thé Smile of pleasure re- appeared. x : “That's so,” Harry Brackett declared. “You will maké ‘such a hit in this part, I'm afraid, that Sherfian and Shakespeare will be good engugh for you next season. Now that would)be t#king the bread out of our mouths!” ¢ The actress Ihughed easily. ‘I don’t think you would starve,” she returne: “and I might, mgybee if I took to the legiti- mate. Not that™it would be my first at- tempt, either, for I’ played Ariel in the ‘Tempest’ when I was a mere child. And it wasn’t easy, I can tell you. Ariel's a real “Half of it?” she echoed. There were fewer cable cars passing the door and the trains on the elevated road in the avenue were now infrequent. The lights had been turned out in front of the variety show across the way and evidently the Grand Sacred Concert was over. The moon had sunk; and before they had gone a block the bell of the church tolled the hour of midnight. The young man who was walking by the side of Mrs. Loraine broke the silence he asked, “what do you think of the play new?” “I think it is a good piece of its kind,” the elder actress answered. “A very good piece of its kind, and it is well staged, and it will te well acted, too. Sherrington kncws how to get his best work o of everybody. Yes, it will be a success. “Ig it good for three months here now?” the young author asked, “‘and for the rest of the season on the road?” “Oh, yes, indeed,” replied Mrs. Loraine. “Yes, indeed. It's safe for a hundred nights here at least.” They paused at the corner to walt for a cable car, and Sherrington joined them. This gave Carpenter a chance to lead the daughter away from the mother half a dozen steps. “I'm so glad mother thinks the play will go,” the girl began. “And mother is a very good judge, too. You ought to make a lot out of it.” The young dramatist felt that he had his chance at last. "ve wanted to make money mainly for one reason,” he returned. “I wanted to ask you to take half of it.” Raval ABSOLUTELY Baki Powder AUNTY AND HER AMANUENSIS. The Letter That Was Finally Fi ished Under Considerable Difiic: jen. From the Chicago Daily News. Aunty crossed the floor with her heavy plantation tread and set the clock on the mantel. It had in its day kept company with cld creole mahogany and carried itself in jordly fashion among Its peers, but now for many years, on account of some obscure visceral derangement, it had been retired to humble society. “The clock doctor, he say she all right now, an’ jest as magnificus as she ever were; only you'll jest have ter wind her up, please, ma‘am,” said aunty. The mistress cheerfully arose and essayed the novel task. The key turned in its place with infinite difficulty, as if it dragged after it the whole weight of the unwilling years, and there Was a strange groaning and creaking within and a convulsive shudder of the whole ma- chinery and framework. But it began to tick and the hands began to move. Aunty surveyed it with awe and delight. “She goes tribulatin’ along as pear: ever she did. How nachal it does soun “Where did you get such a fine old 1 asked the mistress, noting surrender. They was all broke up and the ole plantation was sold and they went to N’ Orleans ter live. An’ now, honey, I’se ready fer de letter if you is.” “Yes, aunty. Who is the letter for?” “My granddaughter. Her mother give her ter me an’ I let her go to N’ Orleans ter stay with her father. You see, they didn’t rlong—" ho, aunty? Your granddaughier and her mother?” “Bless yer heart, no! I mean her father an’ mother, an’ they separated, an’ he’s got ae wife an’ she’s got another hus- pan’.”” I have written, “My dear grand- Now, what next?” I was mighty glad ter hear from you all an’ that you was well an’ doin’ well.” “She give one when she orter give twelve, an’ she give twelve when she orter give one,” said aunty, interrupting her droning recitative. The scribe looked up in_ bewilderment. Aunty’s eyes were fixed on the clock. “Didn't you hear her strike?” “No. Never mind the clock now, aunty.” “He said she were all right,” murmured aunty, sadly. “We will consult him again if she is not, but now we must write the letter if we want it to go in the next mail.” “I does want it ter go powerful bad.” “Well, then, what next?” “‘T am weil and doing well at present, but I have had mighty pore health this win- ter. Be a gcod girl an’ don’t forgit your pore ole gran’mother. If her father don’t let her come up here ‘fore long I'm gwine down there.” The seribe caught her breath and drew pen through a line and a half. What you do that fer?” complained aunty. ‘ever mind. Go o1 “You worries me so, scratchin’ out the writin’, I done fergot. Gh! ‘Won't you please let my gran’daughter come up an’ see me, if it's only fer a day? That's fer her father,” said aunty. ‘The writer paused. “If I'd listen to her Aunt Lulu I shouldn't never have let her ga with him. Tell her I'm a-comin’ down ter see her. He beats her with his crutch and don’t give her noth- in’. ‘Don't think hard o° me ‘cause I didn’t sent you anything Christmas. I was away from home two months, water bound.’ ” ‘The mistress laid down her pen. “Oh, aunty, What a story!” “It's jest ter satisfy her, honey, so she don’t think hard o’ me. Tell her I'm comin’ veek or two an’ to be sure hi aunty, you know I can’t spare you ek or tw “Co'se I does, an’ I ain't a-gwine. But she kin be lookin’ out. I wish,” added the kind regretfully, “that I could send her » fruit. But how can I? I don't know anybody gwine there.” “Why, aunty, there's always lots of fruit in the city market, and you can send her a dime or two bits any time in a letter and she can buy some.”” “Law, sakes! So I kin, Huccomes it you al'oys thinks of everything? That head o’ alyours is plum full all the time,” said aunty, admiringly. that all, aunty?” ‘Oh, tell her ter be sure ter ax her father ter pray fer me.” “Aunty, I wouldn't. fellow. “But you see, honey, I don’t want lim ter be mad at me, ‘cause mebby then he won't let her come an’ see me. I don’t reckon he aims ter let her come nohow. He :ook her away ter keep her, but he needn't have r gone at it that reverent way. He seers to be a bad Jim Brown.” aunty, it's for your granddaugh- “But, ter.” “He gets the letters an’ he'll know who it's fer. And now there's another one an’ it’s to the Rev. Jim Brown. An’ then if you ain't anything partickler ter do, I'd like ter have you write ter my daughter out on Tickfaw, piease, ma’am.” Two hours later the amanuensis laid down her pen with a long sigh of relief. cera Fables Up to Date. Fiom Truth. A kind-hearted and philanthropic fly was ‘one day buzzing around a room, when he noticed another fly firmly attached to a piece of sticky fly paper. The philanthro- pist did not know what ailed its brother and did not stop to make inquiries. “You are in sore distress,” said the kind- hearted one. “I will render you all the assistance in my power.” Saying which the misguided Samaritan alighted and was soon as badly tangled as the other fly. Moral—Perform your deeds of charity thro.gh some benevolent organization. A NATURAL GIRL. Why Will Young Women Try to Im- prove Upon Nature? From Modern Society. I cannot understand why it is that so many girls make the mistake of trying to adopt the manners of their most admired friend instead of studying their own style and behaving as will best set off that style. The little, round Miss Dimples, who woulg be perfectly delick if all a-purr and a-smile, who could clap her little soft hands and run about with her sun-vonnet hanging by the strings, who could curl her- self up on cushions, and tumble her pretty curls and be caressing, impetuous and pout- ing—she is the girl who straightens out that dear little back of hers, and puts down primly the little feet that would twinkle so prettily. She pulls dowa the corners of ber rosebud mouth, and is grave, polite and dignified. On, save the mark! Think of it! Of course, sometimes she is only delicious, being agnified, but now and then she :uc- ceeds in being stand-offish, and then all oue can do is to contemplate the ruin of her child-Itke charms and wonder why she does it. Thia spectacle is sad enough, but not so dismal as that of the Juno creature who refuses to be a Juno and attempts the hap- py soubrette. She is the one who dies, is chic, and skips about. Her figure is made for fine dignity, her features are well cut and somewhat classic; repose is what she wants. Those wide, serene eyes are splendid if allowed to illuminate one with a level loneliness, but they are ruined in try- ing to twinkle and sparkle. Her shoulders are magnificently poised in statuesque qulet, but when they are wriggled and shrugged they are only clumsy. Of course, the June girl is always sure to admire her little pussy friend, but she must remember that she cannot be pussy, and that many veople admire her own type. It is oniy fair to them that she should not spoil it. Then there is the big girl, who must cul- tivate a touch of hauteur—not the ‘n Iiffer- ent serenity of the classic girl, but the hau- teur of the perfectly poised mondaine. ifere is a high-bred scorn of commonplace: she holds her head aloft, cultivates all elegant ccnventionality, associates herself with the imperative rustle of petticoats, is adept in the latest social forms, always perfectly groomed, always faultiessly armored in manner. This is a difficult type to sustain, Lut so’rare and beautiful a one that it is a shame to see such a girl w: chances doing the ingenue. The type is out of style, but the tall, very slew» der girl, with well-shaped hands, und a wistful beauty, a little wan, who looks best in soft lixhts ana loose gowns, had better go in for graceful langu »pealing lassitude. She will simply ruin herself by being energetic and athl Then the snub-nosed little girl, who freckles, whose figure is stumpy, who has a head of hair that will make itself into a vest act shock, whose muscles asily hardened, ard whose health is fect, why should she rob the world of the delightful tom-hoy for which she meant, and t airy flirt of hall room tenden study your own style. It m. y to be Oh, girls; not be the style you prefer, but remember, in these days it is individuality that counts. == ne ICIS The ral Education. From the London Echo. That man, I think, has had a liberal edu- cation who has been so trained In youth that his body is the ready servant of his will, and does with case and pleasure all the work that, as a mechanism, it is ca- pable of; whose intellect is a clear, cold logic engine, with all its parts of equal strength and in smooth working order, ready, like a steam engine, to be turned to every kind.of work, and spin the gossamers as well as forge the anchors of the mind: whose mind 1s stored with a knowledge the great and fundamental truths of na- ture, and cf the laws of her operations; one who, no stunted ascetic, is full of life and fire, but whose passions trained to come to heel by a vigorous will, the ser- vant of a tender conscience; who has learn- ed to love all beauty, whethe nature or of art, to hate all vileness, and to respect others as himself. Such a one, and no other, I conceive, nas had a liberal educa- tion, for he is as completely as a man can be in harmony with nature. He will make the best of her, and she of him. They will get on together rarely; she as his ever beneficent mother, he as her mouthple: her conscious self, her minister and inter- preter. —- eee A Curiously Named Garde: Fiom the London Telegraph. There is a garden in Brixton kept by an cld gentleman, which presents some curl- csities in floral nomenclature. The owner has been seized with a desire to label his flowers after the manner of botanists, but, knowing nothing of scientific terms, con- ted an acquaintance. The result is more amusing than appropriate, and proves the folly of wisdom where ignorance ts bliss. Scientific names have been affixed to all the flowers, but strictly on the principle that “a rose by any other name will smell as sweet.” One row bears the inscription ‘Nux vomica;” another is boldly labeled “Nisi Prius;’ a third is affirmed to be ‘Ipe- cacuanha,” and another to be “Particeps criminis.” The amateur gardener is ex- ceedingly proud of his collection, and no cne has enlightened him on the incongruity of the descriptions. see Hard to Please. Ficm the Seattle Times, A man was taking his usual dose of pork and beans in a restaurant at Olympia and found two silver dimes in the beans. Call- ing the waiter, he howled out in an impa- tient manner: “Here, what kind of a lay-out is this? I have found tventy cents in my beans!” “Well, you are hard to please,” replied the waiter. “Yesterday you growled about not having any change in your diet THE COMING MAN. From Life. getting the big head, isn’t he? The idea of @ mere cuff-shooter like that taking him- self seriously.” Then there followed an important scene, in which the wifc gave her husband a witty and vivacious account of all her doings during the five years of their separation, ending with the startling announcement that she had spent six weeks in South Da- kota and had there procured a divorce from him! But there is no need to disclose here in detail the plot of ‘Touch and Go,” as the new American comedy unfolded itself scene by scene. As the end of the act ap- proached, Sherrington pressed the actors to play more briskly, so as to bring the cur- tain down swiftly on an unexpected but carefully prepared tableau. . When the act was over the stage mara- ger had the final passages repeated twice, to make sure of its going smoothly at the first performance, and then the stage was clear- A few minutes later Sherrington again interrupted the actors to insist that the sunset effect should be adjusted carefully to accompany the sp>ken dialogue. “I want a soft rosy tint on Fostelle in this scene,”” he expiained. “Quite right,” laughed the black-eyed star; ‘that ought to be becoming to my style of beauty.” “And I want it to contrast with the blue moonlight in the scete with Marvin,” said the stage manaser. : “Quite right again,” Miss Daisy Fostelle vémmented. “I'll take the center of ths stage and yor will order calelums for one “We had better go back to your en- trance, J think,” Sherrington decided, “and take the whole scene over.” .The. actors and actresses obediently re- sumed the positions they had occupied when. Miss Daisy Fosteile made her first appearance in that act. The cue for her hard part, I think; there's a certain swing to the words, too, and you can’t make up a line of your own if you get stuck, as I could in this piece of yours.” “No,” Brackett confessed, solemnly, ‘the dialogue of ‘Touch and Go’ is not as rhyth- mic as the dialogue of the ‘Tempest. ‘And I've played Francois in ‘Richelieu,’ too,”’ continued Miss Fostelle. “But I don’t think I really like any of those Shakespear- ean parts.” “No,” Brackett confessed again, with fearless gravity, “Francois is not one of Shakespeare’s best parts. It wasn't worthy of you, no matter how inexperienced you were. But Rosalind, now, as Carpenter suggests, and Beatrice—" Carpenter here guessed, from Dresser’s spasmodic manner, that the actor was about to intervene in the conversation, and, not knowing what might be the result, the yomnger of the dramatists dropped out of “Half of it?” she echoed, as though she did not understand. “Oh, well—all of it, ly, ‘and me with it. Mr. Carpenter!” she cried, and her blushes made her look even lovelier than before. : “Won’t you marry me?” he asked ar- dently. “Oh, I suppose I’ve got to say yes,” she answered, “or else you will 50 down on your knees here in the moonlight!” ees A Lending Question. From the Tesns Sifter. Mrs. Portly Pompous—What does that young man do all the evenings he spends with youin the kitchen?” Bridget—‘‘Sure, mum, and what did Mr. Pompous do when he called on you before you were married?” he responded swift- “Tell her I'll be right down.”