Evening Star Newspaper, August 28, 1921, Page 52

2 ~ Easing Out of a Clinch "M strong for my friends, the few that I've got. But say, they do keep one busy, don’t they? Take Ines and Barry Platt. Miss Pe erson first. Here I thought I had her all placed. Her rich Uncle Nels, after a good deal of skittering around, had asked her to come and share his nine-room elevator apartment. keep him from being lonesome and help spend some of his income. What could be fairer than that, or softe Yet at the end of the one day Ines takes to think it over she calmly shakes her head aud announces that all off. Whaddye mean, “What's the idea? I off?" says t must be a snap de luxe” says 1. “to make you turn down all Uncle Nels' offers. What sort of a job?” “Ticket lld% in big_movie hou says Inez. “Twenty dollars a week und 1 see all the reels. Y “Great lollypops!” says I. You'd rather do that than be the favorite niece of a kind old plute whose only out is that he likes to sail tin “boats in the bathtub! “Huh!" sa; nes. “Old dumhuvud!” Doom-what > exclaims Ines, “they s 1. andinavian for ? I'm not $o sure, though. me as being rather a shrewd old scout «n a good many He must have worked up good credit at the bank. You can’t hate *him for that. can you?" Ines shrugs ticket booth,” sayi body and—and I e s she see do my hair swell “You'd be Exhibit And al would be glving you the double O they filed by. And you'd hear the or- chestra playing, and by stretching your neck around you could see the Dpictures, all free graiis for nothin But after you'd seen the same feature vy r six nights, and heard the same tunes for a month, and got the cut-up wink from a thousand frisky mal every night, don't you think, Ines, you'd get sort of fed up on it an?™ Tnés comes as near pouting as her placid disposition will let her and I ca Ruess that she looks on me as a crepe hanger. ybe I like it all time,” she insiats. I can tell, though, that she's sure. And while she's wabbling I slides out into the hall phones for Unele Nels to oome around. ‘“‘Stop on your ‘way and tuck under your arm a box of fancy chocolates Yor Ines, ys L ‘'You'll have to talk soothing to her, 1 give you the cold e: been offered a sit-down paiace and she’s wearing ‘high. “Such a girl!"” I can hear the old boy" groan, But when he shows up at the board- ing house he has a cargo of candy and humility and there’s a pleading look in his_skim-milk blue eye: A gquaint old this Uncle Nels. With not b in & er chin is round, pink and white face and the thin gray- ish hair he looks lom.lh(llg. like a ‘wrinkled baby who needs a s He ve. sazes (riendly 2t Ines and . “‘Yust like your mother, says he, “when we com together long ago. We had hard time; for while, but we stick together. Then ts married and lives on farm and family. Always hard work for he get sick and die. You re- Ines nods, but goes on munching chocolates. “You was 10, 12 years old then,"says TUncle Nels, rubbing his chin reminis. ‘and bymeby that stepmother She you . 1 don't come ‘When they hear I make letters to beg. No. . But you don’t ask Like your mother. She ‘What would she think of me if 1 didn’t do something for her girl? Anyway, I'm_gettin' old man now. I don’t like to be 30 much, and if T talk with fl!ll"ll.fl 1 geot In troyble. you come, eh? Inez may have been touched, but| 3'0;1.“! ’Mtr ‘“.I- ll: Wlhat she seems m Interested In is peeling the tinfoil oft a fancy bonbon. But finally she Jooks up and asks: ‘Could Trilby May come, too?" “Oh, come, Ines, be fair!” I breaks In. you are,’ 8 n #You can't expect to saddle me on your fUncle Neis as well. That would be a ®it_thick.” “I no go, then,” says Inez decided. **Sure,” says Uncle Nels. *“I like to fhave you both come. Plenty room.” **x e fAND after a half hour debate I had to compromise. I'd go for a ‘while, but not as a grafting friend. J'd have to be free to take any job 3 found and I'd want to pay at least @s much board as I did here. “Then it gets ttled. eh?” asks £Lncle Nels. “I dunno,” says Ines. “Can T have d to ix my hair and—and every- hing?" “Gosh, Ines' ou get that way so sudden? ‘with a lady's maid Y “Oh, well.” says Uncle Nel ging his shoulders. “Why not? sion’t cost so much, I guess.” “And _ breakfast before I s Ines. says Uncle Nels. K an I gasps. “How_do You shrug- set T think I come.” “I should think you would.” says #A personal mald and breakfast in Yed! ) Say, Ines, what are you quali- . fying for—a movie star?” Ines ducks her chin and rolls her =yes. “You know that stuck-up M Norsden who bosses us so much when we work by Druot’s in Duluth?” she msks. “I write her about everything.” Yes, there's a lot that's quite hu- man about Ines, after all. Same with Barry Platt, only he may ex- press it different. For you know while this was going on Barry was up in Utica hovering around while a sick aunt decided whether to get well or not. And that next night. when I was back at Miss Wellby" «ollecting some odds and ends that JInes has forgotten to mo drifts in. “Then Aunt Luella must have made| & quick recovery?" says I. Barry shakes head. “I was sl- most too Iate.” says he. ‘“Perhaps it '<4was just as well. We hadn't been on ! | the bast of term: and she wouldn’t have been cheered up at seeing me.” “Oh, you can't tell.” say: were weren't you?" ‘Absolutely,” says Barry. pose that's why she left erty to the Old Ladies he fund she didn't write to her every week! this up her sleeve all the whilk The will was dated nearly three y: ago. I remember now. That “PVE BEEN LISTENING TO YOU, AND LOOKIN JUST FOUND OUT, TRILBY MAY, IT°S YOU I'M CRAZY ABOUT, AFTER ALL” blonde from Richmond who'was visit- ing next door, and Auntie was wild about it. Oh, well! Now I've simply got to get going. trunk,” says 1. their stuff by second-story work. You gotta make yourself a pest, Barry boy, and let ‘'em know you're a comer. YToad up with manuscripts and hang around Times Square; that would be my_program. “If I thought m ood, perhaps 1 mig] 'm not sure “Haven't it wasn't so rotten? 1 _know, Trilby ys he. “You've been porflclz bully about it. And there’s one I had almost fin- ished that I thought you'd really like. I lick it into shape and you? I could get through in & couple of days. “All righ says I. 'll brace my- 1f for the ordeal. Come around and 00t, when you're ready. staring. “Oh, you had says I ‘Well, we're no common boarding-house persons any longe! Ines and 1. I should say nct. We're carriage trade, charge account people. says 1. May,” sa: *“Around ‘hen told him how Ines worked Uncle Nels and what grand living in. “Especially Ines,” 1 added. ‘All she wants is breakfast in bed, a personal malid, two kinds of dessert at dinner, and some form of entertainment eyery evening. Bhe's going to get it, Yoo, Well, why so late with the congratu- lations? What's the fdéa’ of “the droopy jaw? - “Oh, nothing muc! says Barry. “Only 1 suppose I've no chance with her now—just a scrubby newspaper And’T had rather thought, you know. that sometime I'd be in a po- sition to—but, that's “NOT A CHANCE,” SA’ lately, you know, much ou out the only relative she had, as of me, and getting sore if I Had too. rs was about the time I was fussing a little AT INEZ, AND I'VE hading he agrees to read it to us, BARR ~ tip hounds. No lobster palace food for me, nor tribute to bootleggers. But regal raiment? Yes. A costume for every day in the week. I mean to array myself as a successful young dramatist and try setting past the office boys. That's how I dope it out. If you can impress the boy on the gate you've taken tne hardest hurdle. Am I right ‘Sounds reasonable,” done up in the tissue pa] says Barry, pinking up. “Just for Miss Ines. Allow me. . n! Orchids, no less. Now, what you say, Ines?" She confines herself to the usual adjective, though. “Swell!” says she, letting the lavender silk cord run through her fingers. “Cost a lot, don't they?” asks Uncle Nels. “Tut, tut!” says 1. “Tha tion one doesn't ask, you know “Huh!" says he. “These young fel- lers!"” But just as Barry was getting red in the ears I shifted the subject by asking if he’d brought around the inew play. He had. They always do, I find. And with a little gentle ur, It's only a one-act comedy piece, all about how a plutess from Detroit, Mich.,, comes down to dinner with mum-mah at Grand Royal Switzerland and discovers that the head waiter is none other than the romantic Prince Alex who had been %o helpful when she was making a bluff at doing Red Cross reconstruc- jtion work in Vienna two years be- fore. It seems they had danced to- gether and taken walks in the moon- light and swapped mushy conversa- tion. And here he was in a bob- tailed soup-and-fish bowing thank- aues- [ all off, thanks to | ful over a fifty-franc note that moth- 'l’r“mi:’:t"' “I'M NOT GOING TO CAST MY~ SELF AMONG THE TIP HOUNDS. NO LOBSTER PALACE FOOD FOR ME, NOR TRIBUTE TO BOOTLEGGERS. Aunt Luella. 1—I'd Ii to see Inez, though, just once more.” “She’ll be on view.” says 1. “Better give us a ring, and lug around the new piece. We'll make her play dog, too, and if it doesn’t put her to sleep you can send it to some of the Barry- mores.” * x % & Hl‘. was feeling low when I left, however, and his heels dragged as he started for his second-floor back to burn the midnight kilowatt and hammer his rented typewriter. Tha the way with Barry Platt. He's either real chirky, with his head up among the pink clouds, or else he's strug- gling with the blue willles and com- ing off second best. So 1 wasn’t quite prepared for what crashed in on us three or four nights Iater, all gussied up in a sporty black and white checked suit and with a crook handled bamboo stick hung on his arm. It's hardly the same Earry Platt. For h shaken the slump out of his shoulders, there’s a confident flicker in his blue eyes, and he has that winning smile of his set on a hair trigger. “Look who we have in our midst, Ines,” says 1. “The young crown prince of Oklahoma is my guess. ‘What's yours?” chuckles. “Some outfit, grinning. “It's a knockout,” says of the oily rich could dress the part noisier. But what's the answer? Have the Shuberts given you an ad- vance or something?" Barry denies it. “Auntle’s life in- surance,” says he. “I thought it might thousand or so. But say, it was ‘Whaddye know about that? Of I haven't cashed In on it yet, but I shall within a few weeks. And then—oh, boy!" “Just the high spots, eh?” says I. “Going to burn a streak along the Prodigal you? A en?" asks Barry, “No scion primrose path and make the Son look like a piker, a green and gold suite at th sador, I suppose?’ “Not s chance,” says Barry. "l'u.-. not going to cast myself amor She looks him over approving and | fi vice was satisfactory and trusts that| BUT REGAL RAIMENT! YES!” er had slipped him for a table over- looking the terrace. But the thing doesn't develop the way those plots usually do. Barry hi given it a new twist. The De- troit plutess is just as strong for her dark-eyed prince as ever; stronger, in fact, for now she decides that she has a look-in, where before she was only a passing fancy. And she gets out the net without putting mother At first, too, Prince Alex is rig! there with the come-back. Then he notes that his American Also he is somewhat staggered by the size of the dinner order the pair reel off for him to write down, in- cluding everything from thick soup to double portions of patisserie and three kinds of fromage. And the frothy line of chatter the young lady gives off, as well as the way she rolls her r's and flats her a's, makes him cringe. So when she comes back after the feather fan she has care- fully planted under the table, and tries to date him up for a Romeo act later on, he hunches his slim shoul- ders and shakes his head. He tells her that as a prince he was a good | In deal of a washout, but that as a head’ waiter he’s getting on fine and if she doesn’t mind he'll stick to it. As & stab he says he hopes the ser- mam’selle has been adequately nour- ished. *x %% 'OURSE, it's kind of thin, high- brow stuff; but some of the lines could. All Inez could work up, though, was a yawn. She didn't merely go through the motions be- hind her hand. Inez has né. subtle tricks like that. When she yawns she makes a thorough job of it. You not only get a glimpse of most of her nlwlnrl-‘.kbut :ou t:" the ennuf scaping e when they ou= the air-brakes on & Pullman. And she lets that loose right in the middle of one of Barry's X 1t was a blow, all right. You By SEWELL FORD ys I, an she unwraps | { charmer has been taking on weight: | P There is a hint of mother's doubls | ¢h are quite snappy, and here and there| ‘“Lis! lone 1 suggests. you could get & laugh. At least, 1 “It is,” he goes on. P AWRENCE Barrett and’ Ed- win Forrest were not the only great sators whose names were taken by dramatic clubs in little old Washington. There was John McCullough, too! Thinking back to the 30s, when the John Mc- Cullough Club was gay and youns, many well-remembered faces and some of them beloved, come before me as I write. These fair and smil- ing faces that are with me have a softening haze about them, yet they are distinct. They smile at me and thoge smiles ar bright as memory can paint them. One merry ohap seems to be saying: “Put me in the 14 o °1 hey T b and so many changes hav the town, d the fellows that are tl 80 busy making ends and fr ttlnf o little problems that seem awful big to them, that I know they haven't thought of me for years. Remember me to them, Old Top, and tell them that I say hello!” at my writing table. ce. There is no 'Don’t you remember those picnics we used to go on when you and J—and you know t:e other names—would make a fire in the ‘woods, boil coffee and eat the sand- iches and pickles and preserves that been put up or us at home? And 1] of us used to sit under the at by the side of emed to us or and more fearsome than the canon of the Colorado, and talk of what ‘we hoped to do when we should go into the wide, wide world? We had doubt that th to conquer it; we seemed rather to b sorry that we wer. think we tried to 0 no s though eally had And the ! 1 jot |of the black oak and tiny pa nothing about but the plain old table at which 1 am at work, a row of ragged books treasured in their tat- ters. and the walls of my room with such little souvenirs a man is apt to hang upon a wall—poor little me- mentoes which to anybody else—to everybody else—are only junk Let us run over the names of some ©of the actors in the John McCullough Club. There were Jim Kearney, Ei ¢|fle Darling, George Erdman, Clar- ence Wa Lillian Edmonston, Edith Edmonston, ercy Haswell Susie Bowie, Belle Adams, D Towers, George Crump, Frank Far- rish and David Cunningham, and per- l:n‘c ‘ol‘hor ".Th.l wllll come back to s I p s story along. Yes, Will Lackay Trodden and Hub Smith also we afMliated with the m, let us not forget Egan. The major gen- erally served at director and the meeting place of the club was on E street between 9th and 10th. I do not recall what part of the square roans g‘o mo'n.l‘n‘t’ D(l:lhcl 1' in, and at men- “Well, no great wh! lon o! . Charles Egan the Ram- “Too much mgy.n'fl and too|bler is too busy thinking about his ing, if you want my honest|daughter Maud to care very much no_ greatiabout the particular location of the You do|m 18 almost see him go no"v For he has a go eal of the sensi- tive artistic temperament, and a joit like that gets to him hard. 8till. he stares across at In it might have been =1 bug pardon,” T haven't been boring v “I no like readin’ much, in that flat-footed way o “That's all, hey? Then maybs Uncle Nels and 1 go to movi second show." says Uncle | mistal says h *” rousing “Sure!" indulg- Nels, up tlrom the cat nap he's been ng in. And inside of three minutes they were on their way, leaving Barry his chin down and his precious tossed on the floor. t must be pretty punk.” he groa ides, you're reader, Barry. b s the Ram- had a walkover too much competi- 1 had a letter from Jim—I beg your ardon for such fnmmlrllri!)rom ames Kearney a few days ago. He and his wife, who was Anita Rothe, born in _ Alexandria but adopted by ‘Washington, Uving in New York when they a not traveling. Jim ::ll. ‘m: l{lwfillhl‘l.:‘l:r that he often ns into ckaye, Tim Murphy, Billy Ryan, Hans Roberts, Will D?;Ilyy (Billy Dupont), Eddie ja Shannon, Anita Hendrie and others in New York. Remember me to them Jim. next time you meet ' that I'm still writin’ pleces No expression, no pep. Y, you ever got the chance to read that to a2 manager you'd either put him to sleep or have him pushing the button for the bouncer. And some of thos snappy lines would get across if tl | weren't mumbled. ere, let me tal & whirl at it.” lh?l Just No man thero; there w tion. With that I picked up the n. Vhy, say i 'hat does sound like something, after all. How —where did you learn the trick, Tril to be a child 'Well, that was o trained me, at the and at thirteen or form at Grange Hall 1 Not ‘Cutfew’ or an: fter the Rambler fell to thinking of the people in the John McCullough Club he closed his desk at the office and made a little pilgrimage. It was one of those little pligrimages ~—solemn little pilgrimages—which do us g He went to Glenwood ceme- tery and after straying among a thou- sand graves sat down on the grass under a big black oak whose shade fell upon this tomb: Darling. John A. Darling, March 3 - Mareh 51005 eudor Hossand snd Faiher Jemima Burlace Darling, January 25, 1 Mareh 15, 1911 Hie Devoted Wite. Efle ngwell, January 15. 1861- March 31, 1915. Their Eiacet Daughter. There is another line of carving on the granite stombsto It was the last put there, is close the sod and a screen over the scription must tell Fred lies there, that he was the eldest child and that he died in 1917. ‘The Rambler did not brush the grass away. * *x % % T course, a fellow’s thoughts when he stands by the graves of old friends are nobody else’s business, my Why couldn’t you. now?” this a - business proposition, Barry,” says I, “or just talk?’ “Twenty per cent commission,” says “‘on anything you lan “Might be worth while chasing around the theatrical district then.” says 1. “That is, if you can produce something b es clever chat—some- thing with a punch to it. You know.’ Barry shakes his head gloomy. Sraasghsd o) ough - |1etters. but the in t sippy logue of yours |y rves a good stiff plot to hang it Sure you can dope it out. You're you know. All working a thing you know you'll egular stuff. I'm_backing you winner, anyway. Why not make ke much to chirk Barry He says he will. He admits that he’s had a couple of ideas knocklos around in his loft that seemed go! to him, but he hadn’t quite had th n k1 He would, though, it T em over and tell him exactly what I - ing my fingers with one hand reaching “Trust LY0 A B around for & Romeo clinch with the Sy o in my dectsions, Barry. ‘1|25 SR, A% Tn't sopoisoncus, 3 o A nous, don't set up for dramatic cheese ||t:u. sitting in the gloaming and being cuddied ol “.u'n. 5 br&kl don’t remem- [ o wa ‘Homn.n“flby May,” says he, “I mean every word You're the girl 1 want.’ of it. “T've always felt,” says I. “that my only chance was to be picked in the dark, when my green eyes and carroty hair wouldn't besuch a handicap.” ““They’re all right, take it from me, says Barry. “Only a real nice boy would say that, says ot or but I feel fluttery may be indigestion, stage fright.” That doesn’t block him off, though, an intense young person when he really gets started. Here he is squees- THEN for & whila we sat there at the open window, looking south over New York's roofscal And sy, when it's all lighted up it isn’t such a poor picture, is it? Standing up slim and graceful off at the left were the gray spires of St. Patrick’s, al- most' black against the desp blue of To_the ri uare, with the L ““Then you will?”’ says Barry, tighten- Ing_up on the side hold. ‘“You— Tl “fay, let’s not ahead of our sig- 1 breaks in. ‘You're such a fast worker, Barry, when you get in high gear that you leave me breathless. Ease on the & moment and let’s next lap safe and sane. Youv’ made s pretty quick shift, you know. and perhaps you're just running wild down racic. the ti “No, I'm not, Trilby May ‘g know exactly what I'm doing and what I want. It's you, and if you'll ’M'N énrry says I “No, g A bing you as if you were a life raft. I'm floating around nice and comfortable just at present and may not care to be tescued for some time yet. When I do 8| —well, if you're nearby and handy, I might think it ov h I say!" protests Barry. “Why ‘otl muzh‘ to start w.r:h could find & minister tomeFrow. en we could take Am nice 1 furnished apartment somewhere and— remarks. But Barry had been looking with: out "h“n" “What a poor nut I am! e. 1 that make yeu dissy to lool X Grown it Tor & wodtess. Bat vers i little u?a-r the hai: By complicated, Barry, b I'v been ing you two together, al- bt most every time we've met, and I— well, I guess I've sort of got you mixed, or combined. I've been lis-} tening to you and looking at Ines, and Fve just found out, Trildy May, ;I!.M" it's you Im crasy about, after !corner of it. world was wating for us | ¥ a1 |4 . | place, fingwell—Tea Parties Point—Maj. Egan and ter Maud—The Profes: Amateuxs. but the Rambler will tell you hi They ran like this: “What good, kind people they were. 1 can see the old gray horse jogging along with the loose-jointed buggy and bringing Mr. Darling home trom office in the city? That was not so long ago—only thirty or forty years. Yes, the old house is still standing down on Pop- lar point, so called because tall pop- lar trees grew there at the river's edge, hut thinga are chan The flats have been filled as high as the tides came, and the garden where the pink and yellow roses and the lilac grew is no more. Bolling Field ia close by and planes soar and circle above the home. Yes, Fred, to me you seem to be standing by the up- right piano with an oil lamp on one We lived far out from the gas lamps in those days and such electric lights as there were shed their brightness around 7th street and the Avenue. Fred. you are singing songs from the new opera, ‘The Mi- kado.’ They are curious melodies, aren’t they? 1 can't quite make up my mind whether they are as good as the songs of ‘Pinafore!’ Those young men, Gilbert and Sullivan, seem to be getting on in the worl red, sing ‘Down in a Coal Mine. nderneaht the Ground,’ or ‘Rocked n the Cradle of the Deep,’ or ‘Old A little girl is playing the accompaniments—Jessie. The wind is ging in the branches ches of sifting through the leaves, fleck bler had spoken Yes, I remember Pencote woods and he would have said, l:olc picnics in And do you remember how the little car that ran from the Conduit road near Sycamore Island to Bethesda brok edown, just as cars do now? That was the only up-to-date thing that little car could do. The Darlings were an English fam- ily. John the- father, was born in Chatham, and his father was Willy; rling, officer in the British navy, and he carried the title Sir William Darling because of distinguished serv- ice. Of course, friends, you know t nearly everybody claims dukes such things as ancestors, but 1 am giving you facts now. It really was l “Sir” Willlam Darling. Mrs. Darling was born in Cornwall and generations in that church are of as early date as the crossing of William and his Nor- mans. Mrs. Darling’s father's name was Burlace, but in the old annals of Cornwall the name appears as Bor- lase. One of the family had the name changed under an act of parliament to “Burlace,” but to follow that thread would lead us too far afleld. Mrs. Darling was a sweet-faced, gentle woman, who believed that little chil- dren were the kings and queens of earth, and the Rambler here takes the apace to write the praises of the tea, | the biscuit and the marmalade which Effie’s mother always brought forth in the dining room or the parlor of the old frame house down on Poplar point. Long, long resident in America, these &ood people could no more think of getting on without tea and marmalade than they could think of laying off their good, clear. very English pro- nunelation and enunciation. - Effie’s mellow, low-pitched voice and her English accent were two of her graces on the stage. The family came to America after the civil war, went back to England nd returned to the United States about 1874. They settled at Good then a_tiny ‘settlement, where the Eastern branch and T. B. road intersects Hamilton road, now Ala- bama avenue. Good Hope was the T'm not grab- [nameé of a tract belonging to the Addison family and which very prob- ably had been taken out of the tract calied Chichester. Out of the tract called Good Hope, Nicholas Young, progenitor of the Washington Young family of Gisborough bought a tract which _he called Nonesuch. From Good Hope the Darlings moved to Powr point, a part of the Barry farnf carved out of the tract “Saint Elisgbeth” and though it was a remote it is astonishing, and yet it is not astonishing, how many young men from Washington journeyed there when Effie, Kate and Jessie be- gan to up. Great demands were made upon the home supply of tea, biscuit and marmalade t6 feed the horde of youths that trekked from the oity ‘and the homes south and east of the Eastern branch. The ris played and sang, Fred had a voice and sang comic and se: timental songs excellently, and the! was rustic bench in the garden under a big old willow tree close by the river shore and among the roses. The theater made its call. It was a beautiful life. One traveled far ode in parior cars, stopped o mmmue much e = FFIE DARLING—Her Life as an Amateur in the Capital and Her Later Stage Career. Her Marriage to the Playwright Myron Lef- and Singing at Poplar His Charming Daugh- sional Careers of Local sidered twenty-five cents quite a sum of money and when he had that amount in his clothes he had an urgent sense that it was his duty to come to the oity and give Washin, ton a vermilion hue. 1 wonder if some of you weazened and mummified old fogies can understand the appeal that the stage made to boys and girls of ardent and romantic tempers and ambitions to be rich and famous? Probably not. Well, Effie wanted to be an actress and she became an ex- cellent one. 1 do not remember how she started, but back in the 80s she became a member of the John Me- Cullough Dramatis Club. The custom of the club was to take each new play over to the St. Elizabeth Opera House. At the Ramblers hand is a letter out of which he takes what follows: * % % ¥ u\lA.\lY of the inmates of the hos- AL pitul were admitted and the at- tention and appreciation were re- markable. Among the plays produced were “Mr. and Mrs. Peter Whits “The Irish Lion,” and “Faint Heart er Won Fair Lady.” We also had songs, recitations and specialties and we played for the G. A. R. and the| 0dd Fellows. Those occasions were| for benefits arranged by William H. Baker (not Edwin) who started many, of us on our mad career. Baker isly now in II‘};Q Soldlers’ Home at Sa tonishing. H are ai heard what became of the Edmon- ston sisters. Susie Bowle never went professional stage. Effie Dar- ling was quite successful and died in having passed out while ted in a chab 'ercy Haswell wi blonde girl at that time and recited “The Postage Stamp,” with such feel- ing that most eyes were moist. Her the young King in She was with Roland he Augustin Daly Com| y, and hi starred and had her own compani She was in Washington last year and played the mother in_ “Bab,” with Helen Hay also a Washington girl. George Crump had a wonderful bass voice. Reed, W. EFFIE DARLING. \ | thought he never had it cultivated. It was musical and powerful. Hejwas i Vinnie, who afterward became very jprominent in" the theatrical world. yHe also sang the Mikado in a com- superb. He went into minstrelsy and died out In the west of tudercu throat. By the way. Bob Dobbins did the Umbrella Bearer in that and made {auite a good comedy bit of it. Lillian Lawrence was the Yum Yum and Alice Browster the Nanki Pooh, the first woman to play the part. Tim Frawley vou know all about and also Georg. Erdman. Clarence Waters has notl passed out, He merely passed into *“Clarence Bellair” and is now re- hearsing in a new Shubert production, and you may see him before long. Dave Towers' big start was with Nell Burgess as an actor. He became his manager and was most successful with “The County Fair He after ward starred Dan Daly and also Fay Templeton. He opened Glen Echo and managed the first artificial ice plant in Washington. Poor Dave has also passed out.” The Rambler has an old memoran- dum which shows that the John MoCullough Club went to Bay Ridge when that resort was opened. The ldate is not shown, but I belleve it was 18 ‘The club played one week in the theater that had been built s part of the equipment of the place. Mra Lewis, mother of Annie Lewis, went along as chaperon. Playing with the club then were Effie Darling, Annie Lewis. Jim Kearney, Will Lacl ‘Tim Murphy and Effie Darling's sister Kate. the way it was Annie Lewis “Babe” Lewis, who became the wif of Dave Tower. Effie's first professional engage- ment was with Giles Shine and Lavenia Shannon in “Lady Audrey's Becret,” at the National Theater in 1886. Some time after that Effie went into light opera and joined a troup singing the Mikado. I think it was Giles Shine's Mikado Com- pany. Effie’s brother fred was also with the troupe. Effie played Katisha and Fred was Pish Tush. Another old Washington boy in that company was Billy Ryan, who at one time ran the famous Ryan's Inn on 12th street next to Hogan's oyster house. Part of the Raleigh covers the site. An. other member of that troupe was Bessie McElwain. and she and Billy were married and have a son, Jack Ryan, who was the original little Aulis in “Quo Vadis™ Billy was in some of the Hoyt plays. and was in Guas Hill's “Bringing Up Father.” His boy Jack has been in vaudevill udvu;z:udh!hnu. From ":lh.“ ccmpanies - and stock ‘with so many traveling es. ! pany put out by Giles Shine, and was|g rlof dipping. The: le, | of Zurich, THE RAMBLER WRITES OF JOHN McCULLOUGH CLUB AND BEAUTIFUL WASHINGTON ACTRESS r Theater In San Francisco? Well. ther built a new one after the fire and and Effie, as the leading lady the ~Alcazar Stock Company opened it. She played most of Les Carter's roles and made pronounce successes in the “Heart of Maryland and “Zaza She became the wife Myron wrote most of the plays in V\hitl'| Chauncey Olcott succeeded. He died EI Chicago in 1914, the year before # Me passed away. One son, Ernest leMngwell of Washington, survives them. A news dispatch came to The Si Thursday morning, April 1, 1815, an- nouncing the death of Effie Darling With that telegram as a working :v-h.ll: l“rlvorl‘cl e‘fl'r?te the following cl rint e iy pi n The Star that ‘Mrs. Effie Leflingwell (Effie Darl- ing), an actress whose home was in Washington and who played here on many occasions, died on the stage at 8t. Louis last night, while playing & Long Way to Tipperary.” He: body will be brought to this city for burial. Funeral arrangements ha\« not been completed. Death was due to heart disease. “Mrs. Leffingwell was born in Lo don, Eng., but had made her home 11\ this city for many years. Abour twenty years ago she was married Myron Lefingwell, an actor. The we ding was performed here. Her hus- band died a year ago. Mrs. Lefling well began her stage career as # member of the John McCullough and hlhul'r.:nee HBarrett Dramatic club which were active in Washi u lhqAMrly 80s. e fter her marriage Mrs. Leffingwe! left the stage for a few Sears ba later returned to it. S Ington with the Columbia Sto pany for ore season. She pl many @roductions on the regular stage and also acted for motion pic- 1 1 tures. She was fifty years of age. A son, Ernest Lefiingwell, two sisters. Mrs. Byron Turner and Mrs. John D Sutton, and three brothers, Harry, Ai- nd Gordon Darling, all of this rvive Mrs. LeMngwell. Fol- her debut on the stage she spent a large part of her life in trav- eling, but returned to her home here for part of each year." e's funeral was Monday, April 5 1915, and The Star carried a brief a couns. Rev. J. M. McKee, long a friend of the family, offered up a prayer and spoke feelingly of her whom he had know since she was little girl. The pallbearers were Wil- liam and Rowland Darling, G. Edwi Rowland and Ralph Turner, nephews of Effie: Byron Turner. her brother- in-law, and Fulton Karr. The Rambler meant to tell you something of the travels of Jim Kear- rey and the plays that he and his wife have brightened, but the whistie has blown and it is against the rules :‘f the Ramblers' Union to work over- me. How Base Balls Are Made. GE.\‘ERAI.LY speaking, the eenters of base balls are made of pure para rubber, the sxception being the cork-center ball. The idea of the rub- ber center is, of course, to give the ball resiliency. If a base ball were made without this center piece it would be “dead.” It would mot have the desired bounding qualities. Th- center pieces are generally made to order for the base ball factories. ‘The next step in the manufacture cf 2 ball is the winding on of pure wool . yarn. Toere was a time when the ¥ ‘was wound around the rubber center hand, but socn it became necessary 1o devise a machine that would do this work. It was found, during the time t yarn was wound by hand, that the m coming to work at 9 o'clock in the morning was turning out better balls at 10 o'clock than at 3 in the afternoon Winding by hand was a tedious job, and toward the last-mentioned hour the worker began to show signs of fatigue. with the result that the yarn was not wound around the center tight enough Many balls were returned to the factory because they did not exkibit sufficlent resiliency. A machine for winding was, therefore. verfected. Now ail base balls are wound by mechanical power, and much bet: work is turned out than was possibl. under the old order. Tke yarn is wound around the para under heavy tensi almost to a breaking point. Con quently when sufficient varn has been put on_the ball, it is very strong and solid. In the days-of handmaking many balls were soggy and soft because uniform tension could not be main- tained by the person winding. There are three layers of woolen varn over the para. For about anm inch in thickness three-ply yarn of a blue color is used, and over this is wound a thix layer of white, two-ply varn. The blu yarn is again brought into use, but i only of one-ply. Sometl:ing must be done to cover ik wool varn in order that it may not un- wind. The ball must be solid, so that when it comes in contact with a bat the threads will not break or move out of place. It has been found that camels hair stretched yarn is the best for cov- ering the ball after the wool has been put on and the ball ha desired size. This hair is put on we:! in o e ios o mbaor | SR aomict opera by d I onnl Dewit | e e e T e Et Rame Church, and many of the stones | father of the Dewitt sisters, Josie and |the same time solidifying it. Onl3 Only a thin layer of the camel’s hair is used, enough to insure the wool yarn's rig position. Upon the completion of the rying process a very fine layer of spe- cially made cement is applied by means the ball is ready for the cover. Most balls are covered with alum tan horsehide, the best material, it ix claimed, which has been found to with- stand the “hammering” that a base bal! ts. ‘This is cut into its proper shape y means of pin dies, which also punch small holes around the edge of the hide to be used in the sewing. The ball is then sent to men who do the sewing. which is the one part of the manufacturs of a ball which must be accomplished by hand. Machines have been tried, but not one of them has proved equal to the task. The men who sew on the cover must possess great skill, and absolute accuracy is essential. A sewer at his best cannot do more than from two to three dozen balls a day. With the cover sewed on, the finish- ng-up process comes next. Naturally, Just after the sewing been com- pleted, the seams are rather rough. A scod base ball, one will notice, is smooth over tite entire surface, including the seams. A pitcher would not, if he had to use a ball with rough seams, be able to do his best since a bulge in the ball would affect his ¥control.” Also the roughness would make his fingers sore from continual rubbing. Therefore, to obviate this the ball is put in a roll- ing machins ich he rough seam over. to the king room, where they are 'wrapped in tissue paper. They are then sealed in iteboard boxes, and are ready for shipment. —— Disappearance of Lakes. wBE'l'H'!R the globe on which we dwell is gradually drying up or not is a question that has been much debated. Recent discoveries in central Asis have been regarded by some us favoring an affirmative answer, but others have replied that the ob- served phenomena are simply periodic changes. One authority champions the afirmative view on the ground that a great numver of KEuropean lakes have certamly disappeared within th t 250 years. The canton for example, had 149 lakes and only u that & to has affected the lakes of Germany and Russia. ’