Evening Star Newspaper, July 17, 1921, Page 56

OOK, Inez.” savs I as we wandered back to Miss Wellby's prunery late that night after the lady boss of our Greenwich Village joint Bad announced that she meant to sell but and go back to Michigan with the druggist hubby I'd discovered for her. “See who's waiting for you on the front steps.’. “Huh!" says Inez, who's been drag- ging her heels all the way from the L station. “That newspaper feller?” “None other,” says I “Barry Platt, the constant ¥night of ‘the clicking Corona. And he's waiting patientiy. poor chap, for a few Xind words from Yo “Poor boob!" 44 ¢ says Inez. “I—I'm So, while the lady of his heart's desire yawned her way past him. 1 had to,park myself alongside of Bar- ry and be as comforting as 1 knew & how. Tl say I'm not so poor at it, even if nobody else tells yon. Course, 1 could do better with the stage set- ting a little more romantic than the brownstone steps of a West 5ith cet boarding house. But at that, with Ruby giggling at the basement door to an admiring bell hop who has fallen for her dusky charms; and Miss Smithers, the old maid stenog, stretching an ear from the second floor hall bedroom just above; and an avdience of maybe ‘half a hundred apartment house dwellers staring | street—well, 1 don't get | anyway. te tonight, Frilby May, J e of you to know tha k of—of you both, ve been a big even the White God: “Not fo much big.” says I ‘as— ¢ Jemme see, what's the word? I got Crucial.” “Whaddy! asks Barry. Another crossroads, says . L “Looks like our career in the Village had come to a full stop. In other words, Barry, I'm afraid we're over- board again.” suy> he. ing at The Cave of crucial®” mean., * ok * x HEN 1 sketched out for him how Mrs. Tremaine, after a year of \ out various schemes for self expres- sion, had decided to quit and go back with her moon-faced Oscar to Main screet, Michigan. i “Just when the place was ‘making a big hit,” says I, “and we were get- ling the hang of the business.” The worst of it is, I shall always feel that *] talked myself out of it. You see. if 1 hadn't allowed this tank-town drugglst to get chatty and tell me 4 the story of his life he'd never foun out that it was his dear Gwendolyn who cooked the spaghetti. But I did. 1 even egged on the get-to- gether. So the ship Is scuttled. ‘But what will she do with the .place?” demands Barr. “Oh, most likely she'll sell out at hird cousin of Caruso.” “or else call in"a second-hand man and just close u Either way we're thrown for a loss. “Now don't you worry,” says Barry Platt, smoothing the back of my right hand cheerful. 1 . “Go on, hold it if you feel that way,” say. ‘I promise not to wake Inez. up and bulletin the fact if-you Attaboy! Comes easier when You can’t see me so plain, doesn’t it? No, 1 don't mind a bit. It's good for my shy nature to get a jolt like that once in a while. And as for worry- ing. That's the seldomest thing I do, Barry. Inez and I haven't any sched ule ta make. We're just on our way, flitting from job to job like a pair of rare-free’ humming birds who have forgotten which bush they started. to build a nest in last. * That's us. And Lefore we get to the hunger point times will have to be so hard that there’ll be free soup kitchens inj every block.” At that Barry actually squeezed my hand. “You're a great team, you ‘and Inez” says he. ;. “Yes," says I. “Inez is the sleep- ing partner. Good night, Barr: He's a nice, fair-hadred youth, Barry: 1 like the polite little tricks he pulls, showing that he's been brought up in a real home by 2 real Taother; and I'm strong for the hesi- tating way he springs that chummy mile of his when he's about to say or do something that would be fresh in _any one else. Also I suspect there's a Iot 3f real thinking goes on back of those sunmy blue eyes of his. But why should I waste perfectly ¢ A WIG! AND WHEN IT WAY LIFTEP THERE WAS A SANDY IZZLED HEAD THAT I'D SEEN RAL TIMES BEFORE. ¢ good slumber hours on a young hick who can't see me except as sort of «a trailer to an over-size Swede girl that's long on curves and complexion, but whose chief mental trait is a passion for gum? Lver sincg.Barry helped us stage that little ‘dinner party for Inez's ciusive Uncle Nels, though, he has seemed to declare himself in as one of us; not merely as a casual friend, but as volunteer guide and counsel- or. Maybe he felt kind of guilty for scaring off the tight-wad uncle -the way we did at that roof garden blow. Anyway, he never fails to look us up ut least once a day and get a report on how things are coming. Actually seems interested. which less soothing when there who hardly know you exis So next morning, when I broke the sad news to Inez at breakfast that we'd probably be at liberty again by & night, and she'd asked what I was going to do about it, I told her that 1 couldn't say until we'd becn really d I'd had a talk with Barry 1" says Imes, shrugging her wide shoulders. “Lotta good hell ~ at least A “I know,' he'll listen to our trouble: And when we reportcd earlier than usual at The Cave things did look as uncertain _as I'd expected. E\Ienl ¢ more so. Mrs. Tremaine was excited and fluttery. (A '‘Oscar’'s a regular old dear,” say she. “I don't know how I should ever have managed without him. He's been out to see some cafe 0 ) re coming ‘around this evening. One| «,f‘ them is a Hungarian who manages Village. Oscar, thinks he's sure -to make some kind of an offer that I can_accept.” “That'll be nice,” says L “A rign, eh? And he’ll probably put a jazz orchestra and feature zoulash' on the menu, with Inez and e retired in favor of an old who 1} wear big gold hoops | her ears, and a squi of ple-faced heroes Just drifted in from Cszecho- | | ls | place is sold!” That there.” sn Looks kind of shfuik:and especially about the nec] ree other’ places uptown and has, ders. been looking for a.good. buy in the|abou Gwendolyn. t manage for papers now. w I ous. owners,’ what may P Aien, gorryy - Mrilby:_JMayy”- says thing: very:nice. RILBY ANDTHE'TR Gwendolyn. ' “We were doing so well ere,, too. But you understand, I'm sure.” * % * ¥ «H. yves” says I “Yol've heard the call of Main street again. And there's the new sleeping porch| over the drug stere, and the revised bathroom, not to mention a lon(som_e hubby who wants to‘lead you back. I don't blame you & bit. Grab’ him. other try. But what about tonight? Bu!lnes} as usuval > “Very -much so/' ‘says Gwendolyn. “In fact, 1 have sent word to a num- ber of my old regulars that I'd like to have “hem comie \this evening as my guests.” “Going to paper the house. eh2” “Qught -to be something in And if it works our finale says 1. that, too. - ould be a busy one. ) !hl(“ was all of thal The parties began trickling in thfough the alley before 6:30, and by 7:30 we were playing to capacity and giving ‘em hot spoons for thelr ice cream and damp napkins for their knees. Eh? Well, whenever you get hot silver in a restaurant you may know that the supply isn't equal to the demand and that the dish washing machine is being speeded up. The SOEY nap- kins we had delivéred ‘on 2 ‘hurry call from the laundry in.the next block. It was lucky that Madam Hortens: the French war .wildow who does most of our cooking, h#d recovered from her toothache attack of theé night before and, WaAs on the job again, for Gwendblyn neder could have stood the stritii Besides, this was onion soup night and that's a confection that simply must be made by a person who can call it potage a Yognon to have it taste right. Hor- tense must have spfeAd herself on this particular task, 0o, for a bunch of real artists got 80 enthusiastic over it that they blew kisses toward: the kitchen door. I wish they coul have had a glimpse of Madame - tense, though. She's about as wide as she is high, has ankles like a bil- liard table and shaves every Sunday. It was one of the best crowds we've had, from an artistic. and tipping standpoint. Besides the usual ryn of two-room meal hunters there was one real poet in khaki shirt and brown corduroy pants, a fair sprinkling of botbed-haired girls from nearby studios and a table full of society slummers ‘in evening dress who brought their own Martinis in a sil- ver teapot. You know? It was the Kind of gathering that makes the strays from Utica and Lacrosse sure | that they're seeing life 'as it is ad- vertised in the Sunday papers. Any- way, with five cotirses to serve, it kept Gwendolyn #hd Rosa and mb on the jump for nearly three hours without much 1at- up, % So it was late fn. the ening be- fore I had time to’thke. much notice of this old boy who' sitting_back :-')‘ -:l a qu: :orner ible #ith Oscar, e druggist huMpy, and Barry Plat He hadn’'t been l‘n‘ _£0r * dinner, but had joined them latér and Gwendo- Iyn had given him 4 démi-tasse with \Eis cigar. I don’t know' as 1 should | th have looked at him very then if 1 hadn't seeft Harry ing him to e even introdué- Mrs. . Tremaine. And soon _after that Gwendolyn comes| ' over to where I'm chécking up a din- ner bill with Inez and announces tric umphant: A “Well, It's all settled, girls. The agnate?” says I says she, . “Oscar found some one who overbid.the Hungarian. is the new proprietor, over “To the goulash m “No,’ “The onp with the" water curl in raven' locks?” 8sys I _“There ¢ much of him: but” halr, is dried u k. and shoul: But I sup] the knows all t the restaurant business?” _donm’t - belive . he doe: says “T uhdératand’ he is to e Cave.to a relative to im. Théy're signing the “Then vou can't tell whether or not, L] {mu part of' tHe fixtures, eh?” asks. 7 . urn over The Gwenlolyn winks &t me mysteri- “When . there’ss a change .of says she, ‘‘one mever know: happen. Perbaps sonle- S They're not all like .that, 1 hear, and; wandering up and down and trying|my guess is that yours is worth an-} ¢ Sy by ot with that kifid of halr’: siva 1. “My hurich {s that Inds and.1 had better write out’ our realghutions now. * X uOH , 1 wouldn’t be in & hgrry emiling contented. about that\. says Gwendolyn, quité an odd- character, the -new pro- *Ontar ‘says he’ prietor. 1f 1 ‘were you, I'd just .wait ard se really.! | “Say, 'y tihg me ecurious,.’: i . “Wh stianger, anyway? et 4 clo *No, +—I wonldn't - But I'd aiready startsd. and befose thie.trlo in the cormer knéw it"I was| standing ofer the table. Barry spots; me first and jumps up hasty,.os if he was trylng.to .block. me_o We d fng: % 3 Tall;ty May. ra m "hal't i tront’ vi 5 anage: o get & frol view, though; .’-‘n in lpi!e, of the big ||mok‘:| .’l|l:l¢l th | wearing there was {iar abeut the higi :the péaked end andithe iging " shoulders = Algp seen those ruddy Wrinkled .chéeks before? But thé black, wavy hair puzsled me most. e'll be through here in jur moment,” urges Barry, sort of ing me off. -“Sorry.”’ pays I crumb the table. 5 With that I- edged past him and got busy with a napkin. The stranger | bad just Mald down his foutain pen | and it was easy to Brush W ontp the; floor. Then. we both thade a' d.ve for it 4nd some way the little pins that fasten my white cuffs got caught in the dark locks and I was prompted to jerk my arm up at just the right moment. Even at that 1 had to gasp 4t the result. It was removable hair A wig! And wheén' it lifted there #as a sahdy, grizsled head that I'd seen several times before. . “Why, U Net"" suy's L He don't seem embarrassed br ashamed at_having béen scalped in public that way. He just actd peeved. ““There!'* says He. “Didn‘t I tell you? Such foollshnéss. Here! Put It away.” At which he anatches the wig and tosses it at:Barry. Platt. . i rry quite 0 | thing lands in hfs might have known' a av- “Orders. are to that [ never saw foolish as when the lap. “I supposé 1 agtise, Now if you'd picked,out s 'white Wig— 3 It wasn't a‘case of picking,” says {he. “Ijjust happened to have this one in my frunk. Besides, I wasn't 'sure I could get him ito wear it in Here..- Don't jyou se X3 “I can follow you that far,’ ‘say: “But_ why the masquerade at i} Barry hesitates and glarnces a4t Uncle Nels. “Shall we tell Ber now?’ he gaks. Uncle Nels sheds the smokéd glasses and nods. - v S s Well," 4 Fhd £qes on Barry, lit, was .this y: He had heard' that you aild"1es were here and t! place was t id. 56 e thotght Mea ooy 1t 1o¢ Tnés and let you twaq tuo it. But he didn’s mean t of you know who: wis doing i : | dome\s done. us' friend, fi'iourencful‘gn ught him rikht fh B AR e says he. . T g And you o séullo up “PaR WAt 1 tell ? d until I tell Ines,'” says’l, * {oushtto be’ in sonthe ee‘.l:ry:“;h:"flhe | Tk k% & OF ‘cquesé she hasi't noticed Enhything unusual goin§ o' ovet in e correr. inez mever.does: (Nothing leas.than an carthquake, or having Bill Hart:ridé in and . begin shootitig out .the'! eleciric bulbs would seriously disttrb that placid | poise “of “hérs, clall " & been without hu?fim\ o v Just sréhked'in a there? st fifl;;}-- -the ,’3"‘"."," g i, of | O SRR A e B O . T e 'She heard that without batting an CLE . By Séwc,ll Ford| “WE. DON'T NEED A THIN THANKS,” SAYS HE, “NOT A THING, TRILBY MAY.” violent emotion is by openin, v g her 1 sLghtly dnd letting a ficker of #lmost human intclligence come into the big gray eyes. watching her close, miss ° it _entirely. symptoms well. Unless you're though, you'll v But 1 khnew the 'm_an authorit Inez. 1 could almost write a go:: ::1“20 ir:A:law:'"' her‘l‘nfmll proc- e surprisin wh Isfl thetr drift. © EEi0 e mit it doesn't seem logical,” 0.” says she “Not Uncle Nels. ys. I, “but there he is, over there with Barry and Mr. Tremaine. And it all settleu. Gwendolyn and her hubby will probably beat it for Michigan ;:::vq':n:\‘:'n:n'd the I’Ml'(" will be.our: or a luc DALY b oL, y break and 11, hey?” H oL unanimous e, SAys 8 We've called him an old_tightwad, and a trick uncle, and things lke that, but I hereby move that those Fgrds be stricken from the record. s have it. o e it. Three cheers for nez has quit smiling, though, gone thoughtful ‘agaln. “How—how he know we are here?" she asks. B 'Hm-m-m! resting one and on my hip and propping up my chin with” the other. “As usual. Inez, your single-track mind has led !lrl!‘h! to the blind switch. But that's a point we'll take up later. I must bring Uncle Nels over and let him see how easy you are to look at in_your goddess get-up." “All right” says Inez, it Ih: ?Illlllolnll Inflectio: \nd - when '1 asked Uncle Ne he didn’t want to @me and l:e"h{: nfece, that he's been no kind and gen- erous to, he grunts that he would. iBhe’s by the kitchen, Inez?" he asks, "“)?I/l:n! an o«lig‘ctl)‘ntelll" saye . “Why you * nk Inez wi the kitchen?” Puld bejia “Well, she she? he asks. “Cook!" says I giving the cook here, ain't “Inez! Say, don't malke me laugh when I've Just had my hair curled. Why, Inez couldnt qual- ify as a cook at a Girl Scouts’ baco: bat, and she'd be the first to deny it Uncle Nels seems disappointed. iWhat—what she do, then' he de- Do you mean you didn't recognize her.” says I. “or was it that Barry smuggled you In here in such a hurry that you no chance to look around? Anyway, it you'll swing to !hh:rlef': Foulll see ines. Thatsit! That's . On the throne effect, In al satin and pearis. sinewhie 'ncle Nels took a good long look be((_)'lj the dazed expression crept into his faded eyes.. For evén when she's sitting at ease yauking her gum Inez looms up dazsing- and fmpressive. As the White Goddess she certainly is in a class by herself. It would be hard to find any one who could look more spotless or more goddessy. But 1 doubt if Uncle Nels i1s & judge of such types. “Huh!” ‘he snorts. “That all she does? “Oh, tha ¥ Just her side line.” says ashi “Incidentally, too, she's the er: but-her ‘main job is to give us 2 good excuse for the name of th place and to supply the local color. “No—no other work?' he asks. “Oh, a little emergency dish wash- ing_now savs 1. Uncle Nels shakes his head. “Girls should work.” says he. “At home : plenty.” She had to scrub and hoe potatoes, and do the es, 1. know.,” adys I . “And she had t6 chop wood and feed the pigs, and milk eight cows and make but- ter. She's told me about that. and how her old .man used to persuade her with a rake handle. . That's why she quit and went off hunting for the rich uncle she'd heard her folks talk- ing_about. ; 7' -says Uncle Nels. “I ain't I'm just foolish. Buyigh a place like -this! I .can't affod® it. Mister Platt, you show me them papers -agai A But Barry's' a smooth youth. pretends not to see the hand that's held out eager. “I'll do better than that, Uncle Nels says he. “I'll send you_copies of them-tomorrow. And you know what. I told you about how good an. investment.this.was? - You wait! By fall yoli “and, the girls will coining ‘money hre, simply coining, it.” < A * % % % U NCLE 'Nels eyes him steady for a minute with a suspicious squint, but then he gives a shrug of the showlders. “Well,” says he, “what's 0 But it's a loss, having anexpensive -girl like that. loafing around; a dead loss. And I'l make up no bad debt. . Understand?" He has started for the door, still shaking his head and growling, when calls to him. *Say, Uncle Nels, are run off without having expensive And -he 1 e? “My that's. what she is.” "“&' the door after him. hat & dear old uncl says "Lucky Ines isn’t sensitive. Se eye.” Tl ‘She’s _a perfect brick, isn't she says Barry. “In_some ways,” says I a second, Barry. Where did’ you dig up Uncle Nels again.at such a timely hour and “Why, . hap: es, 'you ays 1. “Com Uncle Nels . had disappeared. said eo0 yourself. He'd moved from wherée he was living early one morn- ing without leaving any address. And I know -hi 'oxy ‘an.old boy to t- happen to run across E ) “Well,”. says Barry, with his chin still down. X XRS5 ' “You've been -in-touch with hi all along, iven't -you?" “‘Been keebll? him . posted - on re and ‘what we' were doing? for e L3 lb. nfl‘;’l" ‘has hi 0. “Oply & lot ‘of humor- needs says I 1“We'll humor | Barry. him, in our ‘own ‘way. _Tve never tzakled tho job of ium{!ni a rubbe; neck Jjol : ! | | ' He | “But just | bl it _before,‘but:if a lot of Il-l; SUBPRISINGLY large number of our citizens have “appeared ugon the stage.” Perhaps al- mest as-many men might say, €0 fo be somewhat of anéctor myself” as do- say, “I used to be a newspaper man once myself.” Every iman who ever wrote a letter to the {editor complaining that the paper was not delivered on time, or that, in relating an occurrence that took place in 1851 or thereabouts, the writer did not know what he was talk! g about, because a misralevare . printer had turned a comma upside down or spelled Smyth as 8mith or Marfe as Mary, will tell you, “I used to be & newspaper man once my- self,” and hé often speaks the truth for it was only once that he way Whenever a writtep 8 communication to h county paper, telli that flies or the June bugs were impeding the threshing and of the watermelon crop in his nelg! borhood, he will, for eighty yea thereafter, Say several times a day “‘Oh, yes! 1 used to contribute to the pres: And it is the same way with the ladies, though generally they say, “Ypu know, 1 have been a contributor’ to the magazines.” These are nearly always old ladies- beg your pardon, elderly ladles—beg your pardon again,- for even thaf sounds ungallant—Ilet us write it, ladies who are not so giddy as they used to be. Ladies’ do not harp so stressedly on that magazine ling of talk as once upon a time, beciuse the newspapeis run departments which tell how to ‘cut a ten-yard skirt out of four and a half yards of goods, how to make a dainty salad for six persons out of one ham bone and a turnlp and how to give a tea for 65 cents which will brin, a-’ dollar and a: quarter's worth of im- vitations to other tea % A man, after reaching the years of discretion, and some men do this it they live long enough, does not as readily confess that he was once an actor as that he was once & news- paper man. Perhaps he has a secret fear that the unfortunate fellow he is talking to may have seen him met and knows that he never was ‘&n ctor. The Rambler, digging Iato he musty records of the past, often means only that he sent a mes- senger to bring him an armful of the files of the Star of a remote time, finds that a ggeat many of the good men and women of Washington once, and evén oftener, tried their talents in opera, 2| concert, tragedy or comedy. .And he hopes to make himself solid with them now by eaying that many of them were very promising, and might have kept their promises. and that if they had “adopted the stage as a pro- fession”—which is a time-worn‘and fraszled phrase — they would have made Rome howl just as they @ften| did make Bockville, Hyattsville, Falls Church and Manassas roar. But now, ladles and gentlemen, having rambled through this little introduction, let us get down to brass tacks, but why anybody ever gets down tacks, or any other kind of ticks, do not know. Perhaps it 'is just an-! other one of the phrases which per-! sons of scant vocabulary or meager resources in language and ideas usc to make those sounds which are | called “conversation.” | * % ¥ % JasT Sunday ‘we communed together matic Club, about the Lawvence Barret: Dra- which was, In fact, in! truth, an organization of fine young people with brains, imagination, a lively interest in dramatic and artis- tic expression, and with ambition ! good and strong enough to make| them work for Ideals. That club sent| to the regular stage a set of fellows and some sweet and charming women who were & credit to old Washington. Those who are with us now, and Vi ble, we honor, and those who may be with us yet, but invisible, .wd ‘Hold 1 tender memory. I The Rambler said last week that there were othor amateur. dramatic | clubs_in Washington and mentioned the Carroll Institute Dramatic Club and another club the naime of which lurked In one of the back and little- used cells of his brain—though, ot course, you will dony that he 'has such a thing. He said he thought it was the Forrcgt Club or the Foresters or something ke that. e was not sure, and when he wrote “Foresters” | | 1 i ho felt that he may have confysed |V an old-time dramatic elub with a se-; eret and somewhat bibulous associa- | tion in the old Columbia Athtetie Club called “The Forester: Those Foresters knelt longer at the shrine of Bacchus than at the altar of Thes- pis, Thalia or the other muses of the arts, whose names the Rambler has not now the time to look up in thel encyclopedia. But let us not speak of the Forester of the old Columbia Athletic ~lub! In these dry days of barched lips, ‘tis a provocation: to-re call them golden foaming day: : The name of association for which the Rambler went a-fishing in his {memory was the “Forrest Dramatic i Club” and the ringleader—I beg your pardon, thc moving spirit—in “that; |was Arthur Anderson, who was a. youth we all liked. 2 man we much | eateemed “and wa'll keep fr remembrance | hile memory holdi her.seat in this distracted globe. Ar. thur was a clerk in the Treasury; Department: "back in 1869, then he 1 H i went” into 'amateur theatricals, then the, went onsthe reg r stage, then itook up the managerial role as the business_guardian of . Bob Downing. Henry Chanfrau.and others. After nearly a quarter of a century on the road, and his health failing. thoughts o?denr old Washington and home coming over him, he came back and Went to work in the geological suf- Vey. In 1314 he #fled. It does not | scim 50 long ‘ago! ‘The Forrest Dramatic Club was in- corporated in the District in 1879, tte incorporators being S. M. Marshall, Louis Babcock and Arthur B. Ander- son, Arthur being the president and dramatic instructor of ‘thé club. The members of the club, or some of them | who piayed in it from the date of its; incorporation in 1879 until it dis- banded in 1882, were Anmie Taylor, Lella and Mollfe Redd, Hattié Laza- iller, Fannie Rice, Joseph M. Grady ig ¢.Grifin, John Clark, S.-D. Cowle, Marie Benton, John Bontsz, Mrs. John Miller, Lottte Willlams, Charles W. Darr. Frederick L. Siddons, Rose and { Julla Wheeler, Clarence Waters, Fred Benzler, Robert Dobbins, George Riee, iJohn Jéwell, Mr. Bedebeck and Ada Colvin. There were several other dear Iyoung fellows charged with dramatic ifervor who, while not borne on the club’s membership role, were devoted 1%o it and so closely associated with. it that the Rambler 8 going to admit them ‘to membership now. One of these was Dave. Bangs, another was Bob Downing and another was Will Clarke, who wrote and perhaps work- ed on.one of the ‘Washington papers. | LR KR X OME of these old friends went mu| in the world as-actors and got| their share of the bitter and the nnev,! in’ lite, and some of them got more | than their share of the bitter. But, you know a fellow who has always y wthrice-driven bed of down” of war,”, or & bench in the park, is Sort of & mollycoddle chap who has missed some-of the hardest and best and most interesting experiences in lite.. “What ner bell rang? t s gfiln' thern the joy, we felt the uBe ol he hard times of the nine- Ties ine Bismarck, which was\on the horth’side of the Avenue between 3d and 4%, :801d-ham. sandwiclies for 3 “br can make & ‘g0 oFin % on’t see' why I can’t ‘as well with this.”” Anyway, we've e Uncls - Nels,” d ¢ fair 8 G o . I stin - admit, he's a trick uncled™ !twelve-cent meal you could get five | i ;v E Writes of the Forrest Dramatic Club, the Leader of Which Was Arthur Ander- son—Bob Downing's First Appearance, Before |He Became’ a Professional—Well Known I Washingtonians as Actors and Actresses—A | | l List of the Members. i A PATTI IN HER YOUTH. FROM THE BRADY-HANDY COLLEC- TION OF PHOTOGRAPHS. boo™ and “High Up in the Steeple the Cuckoo is Calling.” Charles Darr was not the only acfor in the Forrest Club who rose to dis- tinction in the law, and probably found it less jealous as a_mistress than the stage. There was Fred Si dons. Fred bkecame famous as a law yer, and_ then got a position as a judse, which is his present occppa- tion. * An old chronicle before' the Rambler says that “In the stirring and beautiful play. ‘The Queensbury Fete,' Charles W. Darr and Frederick Siddons played the leading parts.” * % x % THE Forrest Bramatic Club gave a play each month during its ca- [reer at Talmadge Hall. on the south cide of F strees between 9th and 10th, and after the play, the flooM™was cleared and the actors and their audience danced. The club gave per- formances in nearby towns and al- ays got back safely. Bob Dob- bins. supported by the other mem- b club, played “The Irish in Rickey's (catch the me?) Opera House at Culpeper. It a big audience, and Bob could ve played there again. The For- rests had'two other plays which they "~ One was “Two and one was n. the Good-for-Nothing,” In these Arthur Anderson. Mrs. John r, Lelia Redd and Ada Colvin { were the chief players, and they were | capable persons. Joe Grady, at time_he was an actor with the st Club, was a clerk with Saks .. and he is still a factor in that biz old house. There lies by the Rampler's typewriter a little note re- lating to the Forrest Club, and writ- a young woman's hand. It is Joseph Grady was a clerk in cents and a mflig of coffee for the same price? Then, there was old Jim’'s place n I street between 9th and which kept open all night, and you could get a meal for about 12 cent nd take a nap, too. Why, after first-class cheroots, big as cigars, for 10 cents, and then you talk for hours in dénunciation of those plutocrats o were living off “unearned incre- mentand all that. Then, on the south side of the Avenue between 10th an 11th etreets was Mrs. Gottchalk’ lunchroom and cigar s next door on the east w: Cannon's place. where in glasscs served a free lunch of hot dog potato_salad. But let us get back to the Fo. Club. Julia Wheeler went on the pro- fesstomal stage and was married to James Morrissey. actor and manager. George Rice gave up a regular en gagement on the stage to go with the Greely arctic expedition as official photogragher, poor fellow. and never returned. Clarence Waters and John Clark went in the compan Henry Chant! t with nnd later with “harlie Darr went ir and is now known throuzhout Thistrict, and then some. o out w trade, | ¥ the makes a speech whi ever the occasion times when it is thinking back member .of the For “Home.. Housebreaker” | t and _“The Gentleman” And | F speaking of Irish _Gentleman™ | reminds me that Robert Dobbins the star in that play. made & hit singing in h voice those melodious songs of Joe (Fritz) Emmet, “Lullaby.” “Peek-a- | this: “Naomi MARIE. WAINWRIGHT. PHOTOGRAPH FROM THL' BRADY-HANDY % COLLECTION, \ THE RAMBLER FINDS ANOTHER FAMOUS * 'DRAMATIC CLUB LONG POPULAR IN CITY Saks' store; still connected with the traveling. Fine actor and fine man, Hattie Lazalier went on the pro- fessional stage. Mrs. John Miller is still a Washingtonian: Ada Colvin still lives in Washington and Bob Dobbins was in the city a few yeal ago, but some of the old Forresters I have seen say they have lost track of him. Clarence Waters and John Clark have passed on. Will Clark, the newspaper man who was affection- ately associated with the club, went out west, wherever that may be, and has not been heard from for so many years that the Forrestcrs fear that he is dead. In 1885 Arthur Anferadn decame manager for Robert Downing, star- ring Bob in “Tally Ho!" “a western comedy drama by Joaquin Miller.” and the Rambler has this little n-ie sent him by a Forrester: “In this pay.was a description of the fa'nous drive over the Slerra Nevada moun- tains by Horace Greeley on his trip out west. Music for the play was written by John Philip Sousa, then leader of the Marine Band. An over- ture, ‘Tally Ho' was very spirited; the cracking of the whip was brought out vividly by the music. Mr. Down- ing gave the description of the drive’ in fine style." Mr. Downing sang the song, “Tally HQ!" In the play by that name, and he had another song, the music for which also was written by Sousa, called “Tom Moore.” Bob sang that song a thousand times, and When he revived “Ten Nights in a Bar Room,” at the Garrick last winter, he sang “Tom Moore” again and as well as he ever did in his life. In the days of “Tally Ho!" Mr. Downing toured the country with a play called “Vor- ture, the Exile.” git was in 1887 that Arthur Anderson became manager of “Kit the Arkansas Traveler,” as played by Henry Chanfrau., who was the son_ of Henry Chanfrau, who played “Kit the Arkansas Traveler” when Kit was a boy. and when Arkansas was a territory and before your grandfather put on his first pair of pants and red-top boots. Young Henry Chanfrau had another written by Dion Boucicault, “The Octoroon.” in which Henry's mother, Henrietta Chanfrau. played the main part. * % x % O my desk are some old programs. One is of Harris' Bijou Theater, {once Ford's Opera House. The date is November 7, 1887. You may read the program. Here it is: “Special Engagement of Mr. Henry Chanfrau in his famous comedy- drama Kit the Arkansas Traveler. ‘A pronounced success for seventeen years: Produced in all the leading | theaters in America. Under the sole management of A. B. Anderson. Per- isonages of the prologue—1856: Mary Redding, age 23, Kit's wife and Man- uel's victim, Miss Grace Wade; Alice Redding, age 5, Kit's chick, who takes after the old rooster; the smartest child this side of creation, Little Lena Hill; Manuel Bond, age 30, a right smart man, good looking, but ili-doing, Mr. Eugene Bertram Washington Stubbs, age 40, a bache lor whg having no wife of his own looks after the wives of others, Mr. Edward Summers; Justus, a ferry man, Mr. J. L Clark; Kit Redding. age 25, a right smart chance of a man, fond of music and matrimony and 'especially devoted to his little ‘Allie; and the Arkansas Traveler, Mr. Chanfrau.” ‘ The “Personages in the Drama, 187 are the same as in the prologue, with these additions, Miss Ruth Hill, W. B Alexander, Clarence Bellair, W. W. Taylor, Bassett Willard, J. 1. Sidley, Rob Taylor and 'E. L. Lee. Here is another program: “New Na- tional Theater, W. H. Rapley, manager. Week commencing Monday, April 25, 1886. Six nights and Saturday matinee. America’s brilliant young tragedian, Roberf “Downing, ‘under the personal management of Mr. Joseph H. Mack, in Forrest and McCullough's great suc- cess, Dr. Bird's romantic prize drama in five acts, ‘Spartacus_the Gladiator. Powerful - cast of characters. Mr. Robert Downing, as Spartacus; Mr. Henry Aveling (of principal theaters, London; England), as Phasarius; Mr. Henry Meredith (formerly with’ Mc Cullough’s Company), as Bracchiu etc. The other actors with Mr. Down- ing in “The Gladiator” were John winburne, Charles Nevins, T. F. Mc- Cabe, Royal Roche, Lawrence Hanly L. Al Wagenhals, Harry Willard, G. D. Farnum, E. W. Hillard, P. A. Clin- n, Miss Mercedes Malarinl, Miss Gail ‘orrest and “the world's most famous athlete, Mr. William Muldoon, as the fighting Gaul." Executive staff of the company were C. W. Vance, William Eversole, Gharles Barton, William Beamish and Dustin Farnum as “mas- ter of transportation.” The Rambler has a great many other things to bring out, but the night is late, the typewriter is getting sticky and’ rebellious and perhaps your in- terest has waned. Some of the things which he hoped to reach tonight were a batch of letters from admiring and unadmiring friends, mainly the lat- ter, and a bunch of statistics relating to ‘the Linthicum Institute Students’ Dramatic Club The Number of Hairs. ]DATA sathered in this relation show that fair-haired persons pogsess, commonly, between 140,000 and 160,- 000 hairs on the scalp, the number being about the same for man and woman. Dark-haired persons have, on_an average, about 105,000, while ired-headed persons are said to have only 30,000 hairs. But the latter ap- parcntly possess one great advantage in the fact that they retain their hair better, seldom becoming bald. Their hair is much coarser than that of dark ‘or fair haired persons. Portable Grinder. A PORTABLE electric grinder for the machine shop, designed to be moved over the work, has the power of one-eighth to one-half horsepower placed above the work out of the op- [erator's Wi The spindle 1s bored with a five-sixteenth-inch hole tp re- celve an adjustable shaft for interior grinding and the use of interchangeable grinding wheels adapts the little ma- chine to a wide range of work. Shell-Cracking Bird. ERTAIN species of birds which in- habit eastern Africa possess the largest and strongest beaks known to ornithologists. One of these is the tpen-bill or shell fbis. It is a long- legged, storklike bird, which has a beak like a nutcracker. The parts of the bill cannot be closed in the mid- dle. It eats frogs and fishes, but its favorite food is fresh water molluscs, the shells of which it can crush with its powerful beak. Revolving Door Etig | From the Argonaut. The etiquette of the revolving door has yet to be standardized. At pres- ent there are two schools of opinion on the subject. One holds that when a man and a woman approach a re- volving door it is the man's place to go first, pushing the door slowly so as to allow his partner to follow in the next compartment without any effort on her part. The other con- tends that ladies first still holds sway. It is good manners, those theorists say, for the man to step aside, lot the woman start the door revolving, and then jump into the compartment be- hind her. In this way, it is con- tended, the man may assume ccntrol of the door and guide ‘t aniil the woman mhead of him iv safely out. The bilzerdst riv; 15 Delwena slg Lwy 8ckooisn uette.