The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, September 26, 1897, Page 22

12 [E] THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 26, 1897. THE JOYS OF AN At one period of my career, when over-f work had made it imposs for me to attend to my ordinary occupation, and | travel and change of scene wereabsolutely | necessary to me, I combined business with pleasure in a way which shocked some of my acquaintances, but proved highly satisfactory to myself. I learned of a certain little theatrical company which was going out to gather in the shekels from some out-of-the-way corners of our State—which corners, though unvisited by “rezular’ companies, yield, sometimes, quite a generous harvest to the less pre- tentious “barn-stormer,” and—not w out some misgivings it is true—I joined Such fun as I had,during that winter | with those “strolling vlave Much | previous experience in amateur theatri- cals—in which I had been a “suining | light”” since school exhibition days—made the position easier for me than it might | ze otherwise have been, and as our s manager (who was also our busir manager) was a really good actor who had fallen upon evil days, I profited much by Lis instruction, though I ofttimes | rebelled, in secret, at the manner in which it was given. | Qur company was small, including only two ladies and three gentlemen, who were modestly described on our flaming hand- | bills as an “Immense Aggregation of Met- ropolitan Talent,”” and oubling” \\'as: necessarily the rule among us. I was lead- inz lady and also did soubretie business s ¥ the various melanchoi lc«s wrecks of pianos and « we hired, as our orchestr: attowns. rmance | red a I was very modest about m 1n the latter line, though I number of times by our slangy that they were “out of sight. insisted that the instrum torture 2 & musi- ded rounded with curtains, and no one in our audiences ever had an opportur of beno!ding me when engaged in following more or less melod ously the tuneful wanderings of singers. Perhaps the fact that I was generally in a very decided state of deshabille on these occasions—my dressing for my next ap- pearance being usually interrupted by a baliad or a comic song, which the sta manager thonght best to introduce “give them good measurc’’ as he said —tot our o bhad something to do with my self-eft ment. My costume—which general sisted of a longz and very shabby cloak, covering me from neck to heels—was not becoming mn e of bmun and, all entertainm My profe fairandam ional “sister” was a plump, ish woman, no longer i | of her fellow-actors ’()““ | the o in her first yoath, but pouessed of a won- derful skill in *make-up,” and she was a perfect treasure as “'general utilizy.” Sbe bad been *“behind the lights,’’ as she ex- pressed it, ever since her childhcod, and nothing daunted her. The worst *‘breaks” and “breaks” will occur in all companies at iimes—were remedied with a readiness and ski'l which were simply astonishing, and her equable temper under the most trying circum- stances often made me ashamed of my “spittire’’ disposition. Moreover, the storming of the manager when things went wrong never disturbed ber smiling repose of manner. the fact that he happened to be her hus- band and she was usad to Lis idiosyncra- sies had something to do with her Juno- | like calm when the lightnings of his wrath were flashing about our cowering heads. Be that as it may it is certain that she never attempted to guiet, conso'e or argue with him under any circumstances. If he found a town improperly billed, hotels unsatisfactory, halls unsuitable, aressing- rooms unendurable or totally lacking, or any of the thousand and one aggravations incident to sucu a trip as ours, confront- ing bim and driving bim wild, his placid | spouse would either read a novel or in- dulge in a refreshing nap, as eircum- stances directed, until the storm was over : | and the white-winged dove of peace once more perched upon our banners. was like the oft-mentioned ’" who had her hair arrangzed in 3 ssell style, could be both ‘very, very good,” or de- cidedly “norrid,” as he choze. He played “leads,” of course, and his running com- ments (carefully inaudible to those in front) on my acting, the rendering of my lines and kindred tuings used to torment me dreadfully before I became used to his ways. Inever saw him ‘-phased” but once, and that was when, an impassioned specch one evening, his false mustache fell off in full view of the lience. As it fell dangerously near one as our footlights he was forcea to stoop and pick it up, and the wild applause which greeted the performance absolutely | overcame him and he blushed schoolboy as he retreated behind n Our *juvenile” before mentioned was a long and gawky youth who put up posters and fetched and carried generally. Being a relative of the manager and very much in awe of him, he naturally came in for ihe lion’s share of that personage’s criti- cism, but being as good-tempered as he was awkward le seemed to thrive on it, and was a second edition of Mark Tapley as far as “jollity” under adverse circum- stances was concerned. The middle-aged individual who played | our villains and old men also pat up the cartains, took care of the ‘‘properties,’”’ Perhaps | in that he| in the midst of | AMATEUR BARN-STORMER, SINCE REFORMED [ he tin-screened candies which officiated | tended door until the mostof the audience was in and it was considered prudent to leta *“native” take charge, danced jigs | and clogs now and then and did “‘female impersonations” in a way that made him a vrime favorite everywhere Wwe went. Takzn altogether we formed quite an efficient company, and as we drifted about we became very good friends. It was a hard life in many ways, but it was a gypsy-like kind of ex stence, which I founa delightful at the time. We traveled by car, by stage and by private convey- ance, through rain and sunshine; some- times we played to good houses; some- times to poorones, Olten, after the cur- tain fell, instead of going to bed we had | to pack up in a hurry to catch a night | train; we were waked up at all hours to suit the convenience of railroad officials, stage-drivers and stable-keepers, and 1L acquired the accomplishment of dropping to sleep whenever opportunity offered as readily and soundly as did ever the Little Corporal himself. We found many disagreeables on our tgavels, but we didn’'. fret over them— at least no one but the manager did. There were draughty halis to play in, dressing-rooms whicih were manufactured out of +heets and blankets and lighted by inefficient candles. There were stages where our side and back entrances were made of lengths of calico suspended from cords stretched across the building, and one night Mrs. C—, who was standing in one of these im- provised retreats hastily changing her dress for .her next appearance (the one dressing-room being at that moment ten- anted by the ‘female impersonator’’), | happened to step upon the lower edge of the “*wing.” There was a snap, and down came the whole thing, giving to the de- lighted audience a tableau vivant which was certainly the “hit” of the evening. | What made it the funnier was tnat Mrs. C—, whose head was enveloped in the folds | of the dress that she was putting on, was entirely unconscious of her sudden and undesirable prominence until the garment slipped down to her shoulders and her as- | | tonished eyes beheld the laughing faces like a | the | before her. *Repose of mauner” was| lacking as she caught up her belongings and retired to some less public place to complete her interrupted toilet, Sometimes we played in the dining- rcoms of hotels, in towns too small to boast | the ordinary country “‘grand opera-kouse,’” and, in such cases, our scenery was left to | the imagingation. In such towns, bow- ever, “shows’ were so rarely seen thata dollar apiece was readily paid by most of the inbabitants for the privileze of be- bolding us under such circumstances. Ordinarily we played only one or two | casion. 1 | ¥ The false mus‘t&(he i .somehmes Neévy fa %‘ Ise concluded that we should be obliged fo “make hay” whether the “sun shone” or not. We played in that town eight nights—changing the bill every night— which was something of an achievement | considering the limited repertoire with which we started out. Our property boxes contained several copies of more or less ancient farces, and by having these read aloud to us, by the manager, until we, as he caid, “got the story of them’’ and the chief *'situations,”” we managed 1o get through with them without betraying to our audiences (which were cheeringly large by reason of the deluge which brought all outside work 1o a standstill) what an audacious ‘‘fake” the whole thing was. Mrs. C— “came out strong'’ on this oc- She had been'a dancer in her nights in a piace, but once we were made | youth, and though now a trifle heavy, prisoners by a steady downpour of ten days, ana as hotel bills flourish short-breathed and .indisposed to exert | ) like | berself actively, she managed to do sey- | mushrooms under such conditions we 1 eral of her old “turns’ in a manner which | r uecessful bavh Foter mus abfe 1o Sy, me cl;:la,n\ecmk\l" 17 & 100eh17g MANHEY" k ket 7 na 'me f;rs]s—cene Pase &y from real Jife! The actor feller'is an object of tevestin smay| Couriley Towns. | brought her the commendation of even | her upcommendatory husband. Our prop- erty and _utility man, and the juvenile, blacked up with burnt cork and did some Ethiopian sketches which were well re. ceived, and I recalled some poetical selec- tions in which I nad shone asa school- girl and “elocuted’’ them with great fire and melodramatic intensity. Besides this I gave a “‘reading” oneeyen- ing from an old scrapbook which Mr. C— unearthed somewhere and made a great 'sensation” by it too. Mr. C—’s instruc- tions to me on the occasion of my, blos- soming out in my new roles were some- thing worth remembering and passing - along to others ambitious of success in those lines. “Give It to them strong!" he sa: “Be just has hunnatural has possible. (His nativity became slways more unmistaka- ble the more in earnest he was.) ‘10wl hand tear hand rol! hup your heyes; the more hof har niliot you hact like the more hartistic they will call you.” One of the funniest things about being a barnstormer is the intense curiosity which one seems to inspire when off the boards. If the general public were only half as anxious to see the members of a traveling company on the stage as they are to stare at those inoffensive individuals while peacefully and unobtrusively pursuing the even tenor of their everyday way, the pockets of the profession throughout the country would be better filled than they are now. In every town we were stared at and followed after as if we had been strange and wonderful animals escaped from some menagerie. Not alone did the wide eyes and open mouths of children and youihs confront us at every turn, but grown men and women gazed at us surreptitiously throngh convenient windows and door- ways, and commented upon our personal appearance, garments and general de- meanor as {reely as if the blessings of ears had been denied us. The general indiffer- ence shown as to our feelings under such circumstances was as comical as il wasat times vexing. OQur trip lasted until well into the spring, and was successful enough to bring us ali back to San Francisco with bills all paid, our trunks in our possession and a little money in our pockets. I parted with my kindly companions with a feeling of sincere good ‘will toward each and all of them. The trip had done me an Immense | amount of good, improving my health, making me familiar with the byways of our beautiful State and increasing my | knowledge of human nature, and to this day I look back with pleasure upon the tirne when I locked my writing-desk and turning my face resolutely away from en- | treating friends and ‘‘the conventionali- ties” forsook the beaten paths of life anl { went “barn-storming.” Tpsing $bs e diffisolfies CrarA DovGruas. Tiny Venie Still a Baby but Yet an 1f any one can show more absurdly hum me s than anythin, the litt 0 curiosity which performs within the fot nightly, I want a Not walls of the Alcazar, week of fasting before viewing it. that the song which littie Bessie W sings is especial in 1tseif, cr that there is anything new or mirth-provoking in the airs and motions of the Bowery, but it is chiefly incongruity aided by the un- mistakable cleverness of the child tb. sends the audience into uproarious laugh- ter. There is no doubt that the most effective thing in a play is its child characters. | That is caused by its contrast and because it is startling. But, oh, at the age of 4, if the lit eyes are awake to view the sights of the theater, why should they | not ‘or justa vrief space, gaze upon the '; outward glamour which is lost so scon | and never regained. I betook myself down through the | mazes of things dark and incomprehensi- | ble and into the dressing-room. Ii was Actress and the players straggled in, whist- nd joking. pirit was stealing over me- world does not make a show liness. It is dark mostly of much f | save where tue lighis stream out from the | swinging doors of some resort and bring with them the sounds of jestan ! laughter, which do not break but crush the silence of the heart. Inside the door two deep biue eyes and a round, rosy, roguish face looked up at me from the shelter of a tightly tied bon- net and an overwhelming coat. The un- ruly locks of light nair straggled out from | beneath the bonnet at tbe 1op, two little feet came impatiently into view at the bottom now and then. *‘How is Baby Venie?" The wee little actress who has won the hearts of the public as little Chan Toy in st Born,” and also cauased so much laughter with her ‘“‘tough” song, | eyed me gravely und acknowledged her perfection of health, and then advanced | graciously, hoiding out her hand. *“Have some?” she queried. The sausage and crackers did not par- ticularly appeal 1o me: but the baby smile she gave me did, and 1accepted | that and felt better for it. “D-don’t you want any?’ she asked in ber funny, stammering way, leaning | against my knee and peering seriously up under my hat into my face. *Iil be a long time before the play isout. You'd better have sime gum, then,” she per- sisted. *Take a small piece, Everybody says that,” And the little lady spoke with a deal of scorn for the volite social fib. She is yet straightforward, Her baby soul prompts her little heart speeches and her baby stomach prompts her to put a whole slice of sausage into the rosy mouth and foilow st with a cracker and considerit not neces- sary to apologize. She was pulling off ber bonnet and coat and was nigh to being choked by the full- ness of her mouth. “What are you going to do?” | She deliberately pulled at her littie dress before she made answer. “‘Get made up,”’ she saia with a comical mimicry of her elders. *“Must go on | pretty soon.”” Her pretty bare arms and neck and shoulders shone in the glaring light of the gleaming incandescent-, She shook the | tangled- hair persistently out of its right- ful place, and laughed glesfully when they warned her that she'a be late. She danced up and down in her chair, a real bit of humapity amid all the sham. Across the room little Nina Cook paint- ed her thin, childish face and shook out her carls languidly and gravely, and | dressed half-heartedly, because she was tired. “Two performances a day is too much for the children,” some one said. “Are you tired, Venie?” the older child asked the younger. “Tired?’ she said wonderingly, as though she coubted the meaning of the word. Then she laughed, shaking her bead. “I'm too little,” she answered. An! and indeed she was. Rightfully the wideawake eyes should have been | shut tight, and the chattering lips bave been smiling only at the childish dreams. For my partIlove to see the children. Their arilessness and beauty is more ap- pealicg than the more mature emotions which we live through our separate selves day by day. But there is but one child- hood for each of us—but one short time when we ean live for the joy of the hour, with no weight of responsibility upon To rob a life of that time is to rob itof the only sweetness it wili ever know; is to incumber it from the cradle to the grave with the heaviness of necessity, comes soon enough, Gud knows, and stays long enough when nature alone has ts way. And 1t is not, I take it, a case for any society, whether it be for the pre- vention of cruelty to children or animals, and they might as well be consol aated as far as any distinction in methods of work- ing goes. Probably it oughtnot toke pre- vented at all, lor there is a way that each must go and a life that must pe lived in this vast scheme of things, and yet— Well, we do not see the whole of it would raise gur voice against tLe rising of the sun and the changing of the tides, Can bid the cyclone change its way and the lightning cease, ana what comes of it? “Tney laugh too much,” complained the little singer, putting her head to one side and. shaking it resignedly. *“Then I have to stop because they cun’t hear me, can they? And Idon’t like to stand stil! and do nothing. It keepsme too long.” Verily the unspoiled cleverness of this child is refreshing. She doesn’t see that the laughter is the result of her success. It merely annoys her because she nas to wait, ©I like to sing,” she said. *I 'don't know why. Just because I do, I guess. Mamma said I might stop and teil the peovle that they weren’t the only shirts in the laundry because they had to be done up; but, then, maybe they'd think 1 was fresh, and Idon’t want them to."” “Why not?” “Because fresh kids aren’t nice,” she answered, as demurely as though she were saying, “‘Prunes, prisms and pota- v.oes.: - - ! - - I paused at the door of the theater to see her come on. It was funny. Ididn't blamse the audience for sitting on the edges of their seats and laughing; but the pretty baby figure was so aistorted in the ridicu'ous costume and the pretty man- ners were so completely changed that— well, I think I'd racher love than laugh. And yet when I wen: out in spite of mor- alizing my pulises were beating in rhythm with the tune, and 1 was humming ab- surdly— “Oh, I am just a reg'lar sport, And a tough Muldoon am 1.” And there wasn’t much trouble in the world just then—not very much; and I thought of tbatcrowded house of laugh- ing human beings. Bless hersweet nature, which is as yet as pure and unspoiled as the blo soms that the dew shines on. L=t ber sing, and sing herseif into all of our hearts, for we need, all of us, to laugh more. Murier Bainy. which | i ' That Are Now Being PAVEMENT BUILT ON A STEEL ARCH. The Latest Novel- ties in Road Building | Tried. Bince the establishmens of the Office of | w. Road Inquiry at Washington, under Gen- eral Roy Stone, investigations have been made by the Government into the merits | of many kindsof puvements and into vari- ous questions connected with th» subject. There are three fundamental ideas now. adays in nearly all lines of coustruction— | interested 1n the question of how to build These | good streets. lightness, strength and durability. same ideas are being applied to street con- | struction in the use of a novel com- bination of steel and concrete for the foundation. There are over twelve miles of such pavements now laid in Chicago. The great problem with all street paye- ments is how to avoid the depressions and ruts from traffic, or caving in through | a peculiar manner. They hive come to be | now being used in the new ferry building slits being abont one-half an inch apart. K ‘This leaves the sheet of steel cut into long | strips of half an inch wide, but connected together every three inchesor so. Then | toe sheet1s grasped by the same machine | on two opposite sides and pulied apart, or “‘expanded,” so-that all the openings ap- pear in diamona shape. Tae sheet then | looks like a light. wire grating. It isnow ! ready for use in the street. The earth of the street is then graded into shape and covered witha bed of sand. On this sand is laid the sheet of expanded steel. Over the steel is then laid a layer | of concrete. The concrete is tamped into the meshes of the metal, forming a per- fect bond. This makes a foundation that will never give way. Upon it can be laid asphalt, bituminous rock, basalt blocks, wood blocks, brick or any kind of surface pavement desired, the permaneiicy of the entire pavement depending only upon the character of the top work. ‘This manner of repairing a hole in the street with the expanded steel is the same way that it is used to form the floor of a vuilding or for a support for the roof, in- stead of using heavy metal or wooden girders. This expanded-steel system is at the foot of Market street, and will re- pay a visit of inspection from anybody CHARLFS FREEMAN JOHNSON, Special Agent of Road Inquiry. Ambulance Ghasers. There are about half a dozen men in this city who making a living in rather v, % This shows how the holes are punched in the sheet of steel. % This shows how the sheet looks when ex- panded from the ends. washouts of sewers. cisco streets demonstrate this. They are caused by the instability and giving way of the foandstion underneath the surface pavement, All street pavements are laid on some kind of foundation, whether it be sand, brick, stone, wood, concrete or other material. The chief quality sought in a foundation isthat of binding together in a solid immovable m; rendering im- possible any depressions in the surface. The latest method of applying the nove! steel and concrete construction seems to have solved the diflicalty. It seems wonderiul that a thin sheet of steel could be so treated as to have the strength of a heavy beam many times its weight. Yet such is the fact. By this method of laying a .thin, light sneet of sisel across & street imbadded in concrete a solid immovable crown or bridge is formed over the entire street. On this crown the upper pavement is laid. If the latter work 1s properly done there, never can be a depression or rut in the sur- face. The method of preparing the steel is as follows: A sheet of No. 16 stee! (which is a light thin sheet) is slit perpendiculariy in short slits, say three inciies long. the slits ranning in a straight line clear down the sheet, each new slit commenolng about half an inch from the point where the preced ng slit ended, and the lines of the The holes in Golden | known as “ambuiance chasers, Gate avenue, Market and other San Fran- | or more of them can be found on the and one scene of almost every aceident. The occupation of the ‘“‘ambulance chaser” is rather a new one, although the | methods he uses have been used to gain the same ends tor years back. The “‘am- bulance chaser’ is in the employ of some \ lawyer who makes a specialty of handling | dainage suits, | When an accident of any sort happens the “ambulance chaser” is right to the front in the crowd which gathers. He | gets the name and address of the person who is injured, or if the victim is so badly injured that he cannot give his name and address the lawyer’s agent fol- lows the ambulance to the dispensary, where he usually finds a way to learn what he wishes. Inafew days he calls on the person who was injured and explains to him what a good case he has it he will sue for damaves. If the injured person has not sufficient means to prosecute the suit, or shows a disinclination to do so, the ‘‘chaser” gets in his fine work and offers to find an attorney who will take the case and carry it through to comple- tion for a percentage of the amount gained as damages. All this at no cost to the plaintiff, for if the smt is lost, the lawyer gets no pay. The smooth “chaser’’ usually succeeds in getting the case on these terms.—St, Louis Republic. {and then was compelled to retire to hosplial with some chronic illness. MET AFTER MANY YEARS Remarkable Story of Separation and Reunion in Real Life. MRS ARA DALMER SRS T r—— The death at Guinda in Yolo County of Peter Rhoads, a veteran of both the Mexican and Civil wars, has brought to light a remarkable and pathetic romance such as'is seldom found eisewhere than in the pages of fiction. Fifty-one years ago Rhoads went to the army, leaving behind a young wife. During* his absence a soldier of the same company in which Rhoads had enlisted returned and reported that Rhoads bad been killed. Mrs. Rhoaas immediately went to live with her family in another State, and with them removed from place to place until she married again several years subsequently. At the end of the war Rhoads re- turned oniy to find that his wife Lad disappeared, and a report was current in the community that she had died. For forty-six years neither of the two wasaware that the other was living. years ago they fcund each other in Capay Canyon in this county. Each had been remarried in the interim and each had beer bereaved a second time. But for some reacon which they have chosen to keep to themselves they did notagain live together. So that Rhoads passed away in his own home, only as near neighbor to the woman who in reality had never ceased to be his wife. Mrs. Rhoads was the chief mourner at the oid man’s bier. 3 The deceased was a soldier as a mere boy, leaving home first to join the American forces in the Black Hawk war. In 1846 he enlisted for the Mexican War, and. in 1861 was one of the Lincotn volunteers against the Confederacy. He had his wounds and his war xllnesses, but nothing so saddened and notbmz could make him suffer so much as the romances of his affection. He married in Texas before the outbreak of jthe war with Mexico, and only left his wife to take up arms because the impulse of patriotism was irresistible. He fought through all the long campaizn with faith that he would return and find bher waiting for him. The grief of her dicappearance he endured only because he had learned how to suffer. The neignbors said that she had moved away to her family in Iilinois, and that she bad been gone but a short time when she was taken ill and died. It was two or three years before Rhoads married again, but after becoming the father of two sons he lost his second wife. That took place at about the time of the firing on Sumter. Rhoads, once more stricken with grief, took advantage of the op- portunity to divert his mind by again enlisting, He served until the battle of Shiloh He way Five honorably discharged and returned to bis former home at St. Joseph, Mo. There he might have lived and died without ever knowing that his first wife was still living but for the fact that a former resident of the Missouri county in which Riioads made his hom: drifted out to California and becamea postmaster at Guinda, While acting in this capacity he was amazed to discover among the frequent callers at the office a woman whom he soon 1dentified as the former Mrs. Rhoads. Upon making inquiry he learned that she was living with a daughter, the same who had been born to her not long after Rhoads’ departure for the Mexican Wnr but of whose exisience Rhoads had never been made aware. : Postmaster Biack at once apprised the daughter, who is Mrs, F. S Arnold of Capay, of ber father’s probable existence in Missouri. . Mrs. Arnold advertised in the Missouri papers, and was gladdened within a short time by ward of his exact where- abouts. Rhoaas was easily induced to start for Califernia. He arrived in Capay on the 10th of September, five years ago. The meeting of theold couple, who in all the years of se i to cherish loving memories of each other, was too’_suanga nb;;‘g::‘b::?. nleo:e:i::::fd tion. What passed between them they have never revealed. The public knows onp that within a few days Rhoads was installed in a vermanent home not far from th’s;. occupied by Mrs, Arnold, They had decided not 1o reunite. by legal bonds: Th:r they had ever been married was known only to members of the family, Pm; Black and a few vrusted friends. They passed as two old fri 5 Aip Rboads filed a homestead claim in the take zood care of it. Butsome time in July trying to check it he was almost fatall strength until he died. Two sops of Rhoads b; The original Mrs. Rhol 2nds, ' B valley two years ago, and endeavored to a fire broke out in the underbrush,and in y suffocated. From that lime ke gradually lmt