Tale Sixteen A Story of Stage Life
Soul
“But whither went his soul, let such relate
Who search the secrets of the future state;
Divines can say but what themselves believe;
Strong proofs they have, but not demonstrative;
For, were all plain, then all sides must agree,
And faith itself be lost in certainty;
To live uprightly, then, is sure the best,
To save ourselves, and not damn the rest.”
“Tired of the stage? Yes, I am tired, but what am I to do?”
“Don’t you know anything but to sing and dance and act?”
“Yes and no.”
“Why not seek other employment?”
“Simply because I am too energetic; life on the stage is hard work; some day I suppose I shall break down entirely, then—and then,” she repeated dreamily, “I don’t know where it will all end.”
“I am interested,” said the man, as he toyed with the wine glass, which he had just drained in company with the girl.
They were seated in what is known as the “cafe” of one of the theaters of the city wherein humanity is represented in the audience by bald men and ribald youths; and on the stage by feminine apararies, whose make up consisted principally of blonde wigs and carmine; some were women of good figures; some whose figures were in evidence on account of the assistance the arts of man had rendered nature; some had charms which even the faded eyes, paint and powder could not hide.
Each performer had a part to play, which was outlined on the program; if some were playing a role which was not on the regular line of her profession, no one seemed to care.
A large placard, which hung behind the scenes warning the members of the company from receiving any attentions from any spectator, did not have the effect which its strict wording would imply. The writer is of the opinion that the police inspector is the only person who is sure the sign existed; it being there for his benefit, one cannot think strange if he did see it and report to the chief that the laws of the state and city were being complied with.
The cafe was always well filled between acts, especially during the thirty minutes intermission which was allowed the performers about midway of the evening’s entertainment. If I say this time was alloted to give the performers a breathing spell, I fear that the sympathy that was felt in each heart for the poor overworked chorus girls, would be felt more in behalf of the much wanted bar boy, as the numerous parties wrapped on the tables in their haste to be served first with the liquid refreshments, which were dealt out to the men and women with the same free hand.
The girl who did the speaking in the opening of this story, was one of the first to appear through the stage entrance to the large room, where classes met in a motley crew. She had caught the gleam of the small brown eyes of the man in the front box, and as she passed off the stage, she plainly heard him say, “Go down to the wine room.”
“Go on and tell me,” he nodded, as the girl said, “Manhattan,” to the inquiring look of the waiter, who had rushed to the table at a signal from the man.
“No,” she said doggedly, “I don’t want to talk; bring me a package of cigarettes, Otto,” she said, as the waiter moved away.
“It’s no use; what do you want to know for?” Then the lines around her mouth became hard, while she tapped the heel of her dancing slippers on the floor. She may have been pretty; she may have been good and pure at some time, but the deep laid wrinkles, the flaring nostrils and bleared eyes told of the long days of hardships and nights of dissipation.
“Oh, no matter,” said the man, with a shrug of his shoulders. “I just thought you might have known better days; I have, and thought we might talk of other times, besides,” said the man leisurely, “I used to be in the profession.”
“What line, specialty or legit.?” asked the girl, with a show of interest.
“Oh, most anything, heavies principally, though.”
“Why did you leave it?”
“Went to the bad,” said the man, nonchalantly.
The man’s remarks had the desired effect; a feeling of closer fellowship began to develop and that, coupled with the warming up process which the second cocktail afforded, caused the woman’s tongue to run glibly.
“Oh, I don’t mind,” she said, between inhalations of cigarette smoke, “but you see a girl don’t like to break open and tell some stranger all she knows about herself.”
“Go on,” said the man, confidently, “I am very much interested. But first,” he added, “how much time have you? For if you are in danger of being interrupted, we had best make an appointment to meet later.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said the girl in a hard, bantering tone; “you see we girls are allowed the privilege of entertaining friends, in fact, salary cuts such a small figure in this joint, that it is absolutely necessary for us to get some money on the side.”
“But I hope you don’t expect to get any money from me for just talking with you; of course I will buy drinks, lunch or anything you like, but there is where I draw the line. You see I am only a curiosity seeker.”
“In that case,” said the girl, “I must leave you, for if I am not on the stage at the call, the manager will have a kick coming.”
“How do you appease his wrath when you stay away, that is to say, when you are getting the money?”
“Oh, that’s different,” said the girl, rising. “I always cut it with him.”
“Oh, I see,” said the man, musingly. “How much does it take to satisfy him?”
“Oh, I guess I can fix him for a dollar.”
“Then here, I’ll give you the dollar, now we will go into a private wine room and have a good hour’s chat.”
“What! and let all these sure things around here go? I guess not! Don’t you see that old guy over there making eyes at me now? He’s a regular here and always ready money, too.”
“Have another drink,” said the man, as he took a cigarette from the package which the girl held in her hand.
“All right, I’ll have one more, then bid you good night. I’ll see you again,” she said reassuringly.
The man was wise. When the boy brought the drinks, he produced a roll of tens and twenties, which would cause the eyes of most people to dilate with greed.
Tossing a bill on the table, he carelessly placed the roll in his waistcoat pocket, and when the waiter returned with the change, he generously insisted on his taking a dollar for the drinks.
“Now it is my time to buy,” said the girl, before the boy had left the table.
“Bring me a whisky sour, and what is yours,” she said merrily as she leaned over and placed one hand on the man’s knee.
“I will take a small bottle of beer,” said the man, slowly.
“Oh, come now, old brown eyes, take something better; some kind of a mixed drink.”
“No, please let me have beer; you see I am thirsty. I have drank nothing but whisky all day.”
After this speech the man placed his elbows on the table and almost fell asleep.
“Come, cheer up, dearie!” said the girl with a slap on the man’s back.
“Yesh, I’m all right,” said the man, “only you see, I’m so tired let’s go into a wine room where people won’t see us.”
“All right,” said the girl, “but first let’s have this drink that’s coming, then we can tell our waiter where to find us.”
The girl had forgotten the “old guy,” and seemed only to remember the visions which floated through the air in the forms of tens and twenties. She would look at the man hopefully, then her eyes would fall on the vest pocket on the side furthest from her.
“How old are you?” asked the man, as he laid his arm along the back of her chair and gazed steadily into her face, after they had been enclosed in the wine room.
“No matter, you don’t care,” she returned, coyly.
“Yes, but I do. You see, I want you to tell me everything. How old are you; where were you born; when did you come to Chicago, all?” said the man, earnestly.
“I am twenty-four,” she muttered, and she probed the bottom of the glass with a toothpick for the cherry, which so persistently rolls around in a cocktail.
“You look it,” said he, frankly.
Tears sprang into the girl’s eyes, as she said, “My God, man, if you had gone through what I have, you would look old, too.”
“Now come, I did not mean that to hurt, but I am blunt and to the point; if I have hurt you, forgive me,” said the man.
“Oh, that’s nothing,” said the girl, “only, you see, I guess I am wrong someway tonight. I don’t like to swear, and feel too mean to cry.”
“You seem worried or sad.”
“No, I am—am—nothing,” said the girl, dreamily.
“Oh, I guess you are a great deal,” said he, as he passed his hand down the woman’s bare arm, with a soft caress, from her shoulder to the hand that hung listlessly at her side. In spite of the man’s maudlin condition, his touch was soft and gentle; the stroke seemed to soothe the mind of the girl; tears sprang into her eyes as the man took her hand and patted it in a kindly manner; hope seemed to take root in her breast and the man, throwing off all assumption of intoxication, looked her squarely in the eyes and said: “Come, now, I know you have a story. The thrill which your soft hand sends through me tells me that you have known better things, that you have graced a throne more becoming to womanly instincts, with which your nature is so bountifully supplied.”
“Don’t, oh please don’t talk like that,” cried the girl, “it—it—makes me so sad.”
“Have you ever told your story,” asked the man, paying no attention to the now sobbing girl.
“N—o—, but—I have wanted to, oh so much, for some time I shall die, and while I have sinned much, I want some one to know that I was reared right, and that even after I had fallen from the great white throne of purity I had some good thoughts, but I have always been afraid to tell any one especially since—” here the creature broke down entirely, moaning and writhing in bitter agony.
“Since when?” asked the man, gently, as she seemed to get her grief partially under control.
“Oh, since I have gotten so low.”
“Come, now, you’re not so bad off, and besides you are going to tell me the truth, and I am going to believe you, for a woman never gets too low, even in her own estimation, to tell the truth when she refers to a beautiful past.”
“Oh, yes, if it were all as you say, but then I think I will tell you,” said the girl, bravely.
“My parents were natives of the New England states. When I was four years old they removed from our eastern home to a small town in McLean county, Illinois. My father was a Baptist minister, and I was taught all the principles of the true Christian and, believe me, I enjoyed the Sunday-schools, prayer-meetings and all the devotional exercises. Music always charmed me and when the question arose as to whether or not an organ should be placed in the church, I think it was due to my influence over my father that one was installed there, for he opposed it at first. The most looked for event of the year was Christmas time, for it was the custom to have a Christmas tree at the church, at which time the music would excel all other occasions. Once the local paper of our town offered a fine, large doll (lifelike in every particular) as a prize to the girl over nine years and under twelve years of age, who would write the best Christmas story, the stories to be published several weeks before Christmas. The names of the writers were to be kept secret, while the patrons of the papers sent in votes denoting their choice; the doll was given Christmas eve. I think as I now look back over a career that is not spotless, that the moment when the great wax figure with the big blue eyes and masses of soft, fluffy hair, the kid body of which was clothed in the finest array imaginable, was placed in my arms, was the happiest moment of all my life. I knew I had sent in a story, but never dreamed of being the winner; my heart was full, my life complete. I had no longings or dreads; my childish competitors took their defeat like little women; the next week my parents assisted me in giving my first party and the invitations were issued only to those dear little friends, who had competed for the prize; we called it a christening party, for we named the dollie.
“Tired, aren’t you?” said the girl.
“No—go on!”
“I cannot understand how all this stuff about my dolls, etc., will interest you.”
“But you have not always played with dolls,” said the man as he elevated his brows.
“I am sorry to say I have not. The next important event of my life was the death of my father, which caused my first real sadness. I was fourteen then; how well I remember the night after we buried all that was left of our dear protector. I dressed for bed, then, as was my custom, went to say good-night to papa and mamma; my prayers were always said at my father’s knee; that night from force of habit I went from the door of my room and walked straightway to my father’s chair and was just bowing my head as I prepared to kneel, when the vacant chair caught my eye. Oh, sir! I can’t tell you how desolate, how dreary I felt when I fully realized that the blessed privilege of snuggling into his lap and putting my arms around his neck and having a good talk with him was gone forever; my father always trusted me as a good friend and companion, confiding in me and often advising with me on different topics pertaining to his sermons, so that even at this tender age I was well advanced in mental training; he never told me no if I asked him if I should read a certain book, or go any place, or do anything; if my act did not meet his approval he never indulged in a long lecture about disobedient and headstrong children, but would take me gently into his arms and say, ‘Now, let’s see, we will talk it over,’ and before I left him I would know and understand why my contemplated step was wrong and no amount of persuasion would induce me to go contrary to his wishes. Not only would he cause me to see things his way on these occasions, but he would insert some request, some little point he wanted me to look up in the Bible or history for him, so that my mind became so full of interest in doing these things that my own ideas were submerged. I was told once by a girl friend who was hurt at some little indiscretion on my part that I need not be so smart, my father was not always a preacher, while I, in the full confidence of religion and clerical importance, naturally supposed that he had been and replied to her sharply that ‘I knew better.’
“‘Well, I know better, too,’ she retorted, ‘for my papa knew him when he was a bad, wicked man, so there, now!’
“I was so hurt and humiliated that I burst into tears, and made no reply but went home and running into my father’s arms, I cried and sobbed until I was sure I should die; it was a long time before I could calm myself sufficiently to answer questions which my father and mother poured in upon me. Finally I told them the circumstances; I noted the pallor which spread over papa’s face, but mistook it. I thought he was angry.
“In about thirty days from that time my father was called to go to the country, some sixteen miles, to officiate at the funeral of an old member of his flock. The day was bitter cold; the wind howled, while the snow went swirling and drifting everywhere. It was necessary for him to drive; he arrived home late that night, chilled and benumbed from the cold and exposure; in three days pneumonia had added poor papa to its long list of victims.
“A parson’s salary is not a source of large bank accounts, and by the time all the expenses which were incurred by the illness and death of my father were paid we were without means; then the regulation donation party was inaugurated and by that means we were put in possession of a sufficient amount of the necessities of life to exist on for several months, and to help, the official board met and passed a resolution that they would not engage a regular pastor for the remainder of the winter, so mamma and I could ‘just as well’ live in the parsonage right along until further notice. Christmas passed that year with as much sadness in it for me as there had been joy and pleasure in the preceding ones; cold, dreary winter days did nothing to enhance the value of our lives; then came spring, ushered in by the songs of birds and the breath of roses. The official board met again and a new pastor was called to take the place of him who had been the light of my life. The members of the church were not thoughtless by any means, for they, in their goodness, provided for us; in a certain town in Eastern Indiana there is a Baptist hospital; it was through the generous and kindly directed influence of my father’s flock that my mother was offered the position of matron of this institution. We took up our abode there and it was there that my real life began.
“When I was fifteen years old I tried my hand at writing again, but not for a doll this time; I was successful enough to have a story received by a popular magazine, for which they paid me fifty dollars. This brought me not a little notoriety and I was asked to join a literary club and practically taken into the arms of the social leaders of the town. If I say I was good looking, I do so only because others declared such to be the case. I seemed to be a favorite; I was much wanted at the different social functions for I had learned to play and sing. It was little wonder that when a young man came into the city and arranged with the Ladies’ Club to produce an opera, solely with local talent, that my name was mentioned as being the one for the leading part. The part required youth, grace, modesty and vigor, a combination which the director told me was not easily found.
“‘The Little Tycoon’ was the title of the production. My part was a singing part and it required much training and long practice. I strove to please the young man who had the affair in charge and worked many hours after the other performers had gone home. The young man, Leon La Dew, was also greatly interested in my success and he spent hour upon hour with me that I might attain the proficiency which I aspired to reach.
“The entertainment was a success from every standpoint, so much so, that hundreds were turned away and by request it was repeated on the following night; after the last performance, I hurried home with my mother, as I had upon all occasions of rehearsal during the preparations for the event. Next day the papers were full of praise for the participants, many of them getting what we now call a ‘special.’ An interview with Mr. La Dew held a conspicuous place on the first page. He lauded all the people who had so ably assisted, and the interview closed by saying, ‘Mr. La Dew informs the press that much of the success of the performance was due to the excellent work of Miss Althea Noble, in fact, Mr. La Dew assures us that should Miss Noble aspire to the stage as a profession, she, without a doubt, has a great future before her.’
“How my heart throbbed, how my blood surged. I was not stage struck, I actually abhorred the thought of it, but I had been praised by Mr. La Dew. I wept with joy; he had been so kind, so sweet and tender, never scolding or fretting when we girls made blunders, he had just that even, patient temperament which will conquer all things, and he was rather handsome, too. Not strikingly so, but so much so, that if he suddenly came into a room crowded with people, no matter how unassuming he might appear, everyone would see him. Then for me there was a familiar look and attraction in his manner. I felt as if I had known him always. I once expressed my feelings about him to mamma, and she explained that the feeling was born of a memory, Mr. La Dew being the first man I had associated with in any manner since my father’s death. I accepted her explanations for the time, but before Mr. La Dew was gone from the town three days, I knew I was in love. On the fifth day, after he had gone, I ran to my mother, uttering screams of delight, all brought about by reason of a letter which I pushed into her hands as she gazed at me in an amazed way. The letter was from him. It said, ‘I have arranged to put on “The Little Tycoon” here (a near-by town), but am unable to fill the part which you so ably took in your home town; I showed the ladies here the press notices, whereupon they insisted on my asking you to help us out here, hence this letter. Now, if you can be prevailed upon to come, please advise me by wire. You will, of course, be liberally compensated.
“‘Yours respectfully,
“‘Leon La Dew.’
“I insisted so hard that my mother finally said in a relenting tone, ‘of course, we could use the money.’
“I went several days before the performance. I was to assist Mr. La Dew in drilling some of the characters; I was housed in the home of one of the best families in the city and the lady of the house was all a mother could be. I was protected in every way and Leon was so good, so kind and gentle.
“On the afternoon of the performance, we were very, very busy at the theater, everything in a turmoil, so I told my hostess that after the last full-dress rehearsal she could run on home and dress and that I would stay and assist in getting everything in shape for the evening. At six o’clock I tapped on the door of the managers’ office and told Mr. La Dew that I would run out, get some supper and return, so that I could be there to help some of the young ladies with their ‘make-up.’
“‘No,’ said he, ‘I have sent out and within ten minutes our suppers will be here; I cannot leave and there is no use in your going out, Miss Noble.’
“We waited but a short time until the boy arrived with our suppers.
“If I sang better that night, if the roses seemed sweeter and the music more dreamy, if I at times imagined that the flitting forms on the stage were angels and that I, too, held a harp and chanted the songs of the seraphs, it was all because Leon had told me of his love. I did not act that night, I just lived my part in the ecstacy of my new found joy. When I went home, Leon went with me. We told my mother all; our whole life’s plans were changed. We quickly arranged for Leon and me to marry. Mother was to leave her position and we were all to travel in the same line, in which Leon had established himself. I disliked the business, but with the assurance that he would save our earnings and enter into some business in the future that would be more to my liking, I consented. Oh, the joy, the happiness of true love. It now seemed that all the world was bright and cheery. We had no time to lose, as Leon had engagements to fill. After our plans were completed Leon said to me, ‘Althea, dearest, I want to have a talk with you, there is something I want to tell you.’
“What is it, Leon?” said I, as my heart stopped with a throb.
“He, perceiving my agitation, took my face in his two dear hands, and kissed my brow.
“‘Oh, it is not much, darling, only I must tell you. I know your love for me will make things all right.’
“‘Well, Leon, tell me;’ as anxious as I was to hear his round full tones, I trembled with fear. I never knew why I felt that way.
“‘I must tell you,’ he continued, ‘something of my past life.’
“‘Oh, never mind, Leon, I know you are nothing but a dear, good boy, and I will not believe anything else of you.’
“‘No, Althea, it is not that, for believe me, I love you too much to have caused you pain by spoiling your life by my own association if I thought I were not worthy, but there is a blot on the abstract of my life and before it is too late, I must tell you all.’
“I begged of him to keep the secret, but no, he was too honest.
“‘My mother was like you, Althea, a sweet, innocent girl; the man who is my father I have never known, but he, like myself, was theatrically inclined; he came to the town which was my mother’s home and much the same as in our case, my mother took the leading role in the production which he was playing; he became infatuated with her, they were quietly married, but he soon became tired, deserted her, and there was a life with all the glory and sweetness taken out of it. My mother died from disgrace, when I was eight; she held me in her arms and told me the story, then giving me a locket, which contained my father’s picture, ’take this,’ said she, ’and when you are a man, find him if you can; be gentle with him and tell him I died thinking of him.’
“‘And have you the locket, Leon?’ I cried eagerly.
“‘Yes, here it is.’
“I regained consciousness, surrounded by friends; all I could see as I slowly opened my eyes, was a little gold locket. The picture which it contained was that of my father.
“No amount of coaxing or force would cause me to tell what the cause of the shock was; as soon as I revived sufficiently to talk, I asked for Leon. When he came I signified a desire to be left alone with him and told him all, then the dear, generous brother, that he was, insisted on taking my mother into the secret. That is where I blundered. In order to spare my poor mother the pain and anguish which I knew the news would bring, I objected. Leon and I argued the matter, he contending that he could at least go on with our plans in regard to the show business; he could at least assist me on to fame, but no, I would not agree with him. He finally left me in as much misery as he himself was surrounded with. I have seen him twice since then, once, soon after I came to Chicago and adopted the stage, for I was compelled to seek employment. My fainting spell which occurred while all alone with Leon was food and drink for the ‘I told you so’s’ of the little town where I had sprung into popularity in spite of the fact that some of the more conservative residents insisted on saying that ‘nobody really knows what she is.’
“I left mamma there; when I arrived here I applied to one of the most fashionable play houses in the city. They were in need of chorus girls; my voice was tried and I was told to go to the costumer’s for my wardrobe; that worthy gentleman handed me a large paper box, saying, with a sardonic grin, ‘if they are too tight be careful about stooping in them, for they might split and we are short on outfits right now.’
“They. I wondered for a moment what he meant; tears sprang to my eyes when I unfolded the silken tights, which the box contained. I proceeded to take each article from the box, tights, fancy hose, girdle, etc., hardly enough clothes to make a respectable suit of underwear, still I was to appear under the glare of strong lights, before hundreds of pleasure-seeking people in this scanty array. I thought of my mother, then Leon, and with a shudder of indignation I thought of my father as I had seen him the last time. I cried some, then with the feeling that it was not all my fault, I managed to get into the abbreviated garments and reported to the stage manager for full-dress rehearsal.
“‘Zound!’ I heard the musical director say, ‘where did you pick that one up?’
“‘Oh, from the country,’ replied the manager.
“A giggle ran along the rows of girls at this sally.
“I took naturally to the work, and at the end of the rehearsal was told by the director to ‘come on’ for that evening’s performance, ‘but mind, my little scared dear, make up some.’ I failed to understand him, for if the clothes which I wore were supposed to fit a good figure, I felt that I filled the bill, for the costume was very snugly fitted; at last it dawned upon me that it was my face, so I asked some of the older girls to make me up. I was sent from one to another, until one girl, who seemed to be a little new, told me to go to Dollie Squires. ‘She can do it and if she does, the director is sure to be pleased, for she is Prof’s pet, and she knows what will please him.’
“Of course it was my desire to make the best appearance possible, it was simply a matter of business, so I trusted all to Dollie. When I went on in the first scene, the titter which fluttered around the stage almost spoiled the act. Little did I dream that it was I who was the innocent cause of all the sensation among the performers, until after the curtain had been drawn.
“I had seen Leon in the audience. I was most miserable lest he should recognize me; my fear was changed to hurt, however, when the musical director ran pell mell all over the stage until he found me.
“‘Who made you up?” said he.
“I told him. He raved, he tore, and stormed; his language was so bitter and I was so hurt that I was unable to go on any more that night. Next day he came to me in a more quiet manner and explained that he had intended to ‘feature’ me and that my make up had so horrified him that he really lost his temper. It took days for me to see clearly that Dollie put up the job on me, because she was jealous, but such was the case, and I could thank her for one thing, that being that Leon had failed to penetrate the disguise which she had placed upon me.
“Then there was a ceaseless round of rehearsals; during the day and in the evening after a general mix up of legs, bare arms, slippers and tights, in the main dressing-room, the call boy would summon us to appear in the first act. The music, the lights and the favors which men heaped upon me did much to keep the excitement at a fever heat. How well I remember the first pay day, I paid my little bills with the importance of a king of Wall street. Flowers filled my room each day, and if I became a favorite it was simply because I worked with a desire to please. One day the musical director stopped me as I was going out of the theater; we had quite a talk, all in an undertone and all in regard to my work. He was simply advising me; as I started away, Dollie Squires stepped from behind a wing.
“‘It’s a wonder you wouldn’t talk to that country girl all day,’ she said to the Prof.
“I was too intensely exercised at the remark to reply; I went to my room and related the incident to Bertha Walls, my room-mate. She laughed loud and long.
“‘That is good,’ she finally said, as she struggled for breath.
“‘Why?’ said I.
“‘Because, you see, she is jealous and I am glad of it. Go in, little country girl, and show her a thing or two.’
“‘Nothing to be gained by that,’ said I.
“‘Yes there is, she is as mean as the old scratch, not a girl likes her, and if she doesn’t make you trouble, I’ll lose my guess.’
“‘How can she make me trouble?’
“‘Easy enough. If she wants you put out of the company, out you go. You see, she is a pet of the Prof’s, and if he kicks on your work, Althy, your time is up.’
“‘But she won’t do that, will she?’
“’Sure she will; she has put lots of girls out of business in this house.’
“Next night as I left the stage door a hand was laid on my arm, and, looking up, I saw Leon. I was glad, yet sorry to see him.
“‘Althea,’ said he, ‘I bring you bad news.’
“‘What can it be?’ I asked.
“‘Your mother is very ill.’
“I questioned him closely and learned that my mother had been sick abed for ten days. He had set out to find me, and if possible, persuade me to return home, but I could not do that, much as I wished to, for I was now a bread-winner and the support of an afflicted mother. My argument won, and he finally left me; it was not long until I needed him, for the second day after that I received notice that my contract would be canceled at the end of the week.
“What was I to do? I told some of the girls, and one of them, a little brunette, said to me, ‘Well, I am leaving the company this week, anyway, and I don’t mind telling you where your trouble started.’
“‘Tell me please,’ said I.
“‘Dollie Squires, of course.’
“‘But I have never harmed Dollie; tell me some way that I can become reinstated.’
“‘Go to the musical director, he is the power behind the throne.’
“I went. That night I went to lunch with him after the performance. Next day, Dollie, on small pretext, assailed me in an unmerciful manner; she heaped abuse upon my head. I said nothing when she had finished, but had the regulation cry; when I came out I came with teeth set hard, what was the use? My condition was not to be considered. My poor mother was a deceived and ruined woman, my father whom I had worshiped as a divinity, was a bigamist and a seducer. The blight was on me. My mother was ill; it was due to my father’s misstep that I was placed where I now was. I must now feed, clothe, and house the woman whose life he had ruined.
“Professor Riggles was ugly, red-faced and slouchy in his habits, but he told me his wife objected to his dressing better, and besides, he was so wrapped up in his music that he cared little, in fact, there was not much in this world to make him happy. I was touched by his pitiful story. I asked him how Dollie happened to have such an influence over him; he laughed and said she was a willful, headstrong girl.
“The fact that I could hurt her never entered my head until I was dressing for the first call after she had abused me so, when I overheard a conversation between two of the girls.
“‘I wish she would,’ said one, ‘it would be just good enough for her, and if Althy would try she could make herself so solid with old Rig. that he would throw that smarty Squires out.’
“That was enough, I had nothing to lose.
“Just before the overture, Prof. Riggles came on the stage and left a note with the call boy for me. It said, ‘Meet me at the — Hotel, twelve tonight.’
“I was curious to know why it should take him so long to go the short distance (for we always got out at 10:45). I watched and when he left, Dollie was with him. I saw them get into a carriage and drive rapidly south; I began to dream and wonder what it all meant, then like ‘a good little girl’ I went to the appointed place and waited; he came at twelve; we had a dinner, some wine, and then—” the girl snapped the stub of a cigarette across the small room, during the pause.
“After Prof, had gone from the room next morning I found a door key on the floor, which, as I afterwards learned, had fallen from his pocket. That night I was placed in a more prominent part in the piece. I was kindly received; my old admirers were joined by numerous new ones; after the show Prof. Riggles came to me and said, ‘my girl, you did fine.’
“Dollie Squires never spoke to me after that; she told some of the girls that she ‘would put me to sleep.’ When the time came for me to leave, I simply asked the Prof. if he could assist me to a place; he told me that the leading lady was suffering from a cold and that I was to rehearse for the understudy’s part in the piece as I might be called at any time.
“When the director made the announcement on the stage that I would be called to play the leading role and the entire company should stay for two rehearsals, Dollie ‘went up in the air.’ She flew into a rage, then into hysterics, for she was supposed to be the next girl up.
“She left the theater in a rage; the next day at noon, I received a note from Prof. Riggles, telling me to come to a certain number on the south side. I went and was let into a handsomely furnished flat, by a colored maid. I found the Prof. in bed with a bullet hole in his arm. He explained to me how he had been held up the night before. It was a week before he could attend to his duties, meantime, I continued to take the leading role each day, not because I loved him, but from a point of appreciation I took many of the flowers which I received the night previous and arranged them in his room. One day I asked him where his wife was.
“‘Oh, over on the west side,’ he said.
“‘But had you not better go home?’
“‘No, not until the measly arm gets good. You see, Althy, I am in New York now, working on a new piece.’
“Presents of every form and description poured in upon me; I was wined and dined; poor little simpering fool, I thought it was life. Men insisted on paying my bills; I received money as tokens of kindness.
“So great was the line of my gifts, that on each pay-day I was able to send my mother all my salary. Silk from the skin out, my head adorned with the most exquisite Parisian creations, and some blithering idiot always at my heels. Is it any wonder my head was turned?
“When the Prof. recovered he told me that the apartment in which I had visited him was to be my home; my breath almost failed me, but the arrangements were quickly made, then there was a long series of late dinners in my flat; no home had more luxuries; I received many callers. It was not until this had been going on for three months that I was awakened, then I got a letter from Dollie. She was living in a house in a disreputable part of the city; she told me it was she who had shot the Prof., ‘and if you knew,’ she said, ‘that old Rig. gets from five to fifty dollars from every one he introduces to you, you would make him divide. You need not think he gets all he spends on you from his salary.’
“Of course I did not believe it. She closed by saying that the home I now occupied had once been her own, and of course, I, in time, must give up to some one else, ‘for you will grow tired of being his dog, and you had as well come where I am.’
“I asked Prof. about it all and he persuaded me to believe that she was only indulging in sour grapes. A few days later I managed to win favor in the eyes of the colored girl by giving her a bright red skirt that an admirer from Milwaukee had insisted on buying for me; the next day I clinched the compact by presenting her with a heavy gold chain, which had also been placed at my disposal by some country bumpkin. Then as I handed her a glass of wine, I said, ‘Alice, what was the girl’s name who was here just before I was, I mean the one who shot Prof?’
“‘Oh, honey, doan you know?’
“I have forgotten the last name. Dollie somebody, wasn’t it?’
“‘Yes, honey, dat jes it, Dollie Squires,’ she said as she smacked her wine laden lips. Then she told me the whole story. I heard her through, went to my room, took a key from my dresser drawer and tried it in the front door. That night I gave the Professor the key and told him everything I knew. He grew pale and quivered like an aspen leaf. I would have killed him if I had been armed.
“The season closed; I visited my mother, took her up into the mountains and resolved to tell her all, but while there she improved so rapidly and seemed so happy at my success as a singer, that my heart failed me. I could not take away the little sweetness that remained in her life; it only spurred me on to greater deeds, when day by day I saw her eyes grow brighter, her cheeks take on a healthy glow, her voice become more cheery, I actually could not end it all.
“When the season opened I left her and came back, back to the theater with its rows of light and entrancing music, back to the dinners and flowers and back to the flat and Riggles, for my mother I could do all. I was soon relieved of that responsibility, for mother died suddenly one day. I went home and for fear that her spirit might learn what I knew in regard to my father, I took all that remained and the casket containing the same, and buried it beside the only man she had loved. It was a cold, dreary day; snow, which was half rain when it struck the streets, was sifting heavily through the air. I arrived from the scene of death over the Burlington route; when I reached the Union Station it was eight o’clock, the atmosphere seemed tuned to my oppressed frame of mind; I thought to walk part way up town. I had gone but a short distance when I met a little girl about seven years old; she stopped me to beg. I looked her over, and there, under the flickering light, I saw a pinched face, so poor and thin that the drawn mouth only added pity to the expression of the big, blue eyes; the little calico frock which the wind whipped tightly around her skinny form looked as though it would fall to pieces with each gust. The pale forehead was made more ghostly by the large blue veins that were plainly seen, while the one poor little plait of hair seemed to add loneliness to the big, white ears, that I could see through.
“‘Where do you live?’ was my first remark.
“‘Oh, ma’m, I—I—don’t want to tell you, it isn’t a bit nice place, but you see, we can’t help it; mamma, she is sick and papa don’t have work all the time, and grandma, she is sick and papa he has to go stay at her house three nights a week, and that leaves mamma and me awful lonesome sometimes, but mamma told me to-day that she guessed she’d die before long, then I would go and live with grandma, then I could see papa every day. But, please, ma’m, I don’t want mamma to die; I don’t want to live with grandma, and I des know if mamma had somethin’ to eat she wouldn’t die, either.’
“I went with the child. I thanked God for having found her. Such a wretched place to live; four dingy rooms on an alley, a poor, miserable cook stove, made all the heat the apartment had. A grimy, smoking kerosene lamp in the hands of the child, led me to a coop of a bedroom and there, amid a pile of soiled and torn rubbish that had at some time been entitled to the name bed clothing, lay a half starved, pain-racked wretch, called woman, in filth too great for a beast, in pain too intense for a strong man to bear, burning with fever and shivering with chills, and at the same time moaning, tossing and suffering only as a neglected soul and body can suffer.
“I spoke to her; she tried to sit up in bed, but fell back with a wild stare which told that it would require but little excitement to bring an end to all her suffering. I went out and bought everything I could think of; I can even now feel a tinge of happiness, as I think of how I ordered the best imported delicacies; I bought coal, a new lamp, and sent a doctor. That night, when I arrived at my elaborately furnished apartments, I sat in my satin house robe and slippers and as my maid brushed my hair I compared my surroundings with those I had visited earlier in the evening, and became happy.
“At midnight the Prof. came; I had concluded I would not tell him of my experience of the evening; it was none of his business and now that mamma was gone, I had no one to care for and I could spend some of my salary in helping some poor soul.
“Next day I called on my patient, as I called her, again; this time I superintended and assisted in placing a new mattress and clean linen and blankets on the bed, then, after calling the janitor’s wife, and having her put a new gown on the woman, I left. I could not return that evening as I had notified the manager that I would be on for my part and the Prof. was going home with me after the theater, so I planned to go the next night after the performance, for he told me that he had been away from home two consecutive nights, and he ‘must show up’ at home that night. He bade me good-night, when I got into the carriage. My driver started out in the usual way for home, but owing to pre-arranged plans, turned west as soon as we were out of sight of the theater. I was soon in the sickroom and was delighted to see a great improvement; I carried my arms full of flowers and when the bedside was reached, the poor woman said, ‘Oh, these dear roses; that reminds me of when my husband used to have steady work at the theater, he nearly always brought home flowers that some of the ladies would give him, for he could not well afford to buy them, and me sick. Oh, you don’t know, Miss, what a burden I have been to him.’
“‘Did you say your husband was at some time employed at a theater,’ I asked, with bright visions of what a star might be able to do to get him a place.
“‘Yes, more than two years ago.’
“‘Tell him to come to me at the — theater tomorrow, and I will see if I cannot get him a place.’
“‘Oh, then—’
“The words were stopped by the sound of a key in the lock and the little girl running toward the door, shouting, ‘Oh, it’s papa, I know, for he said he’d come home to-night.’
“How my heart bounded to think I could say some encouraging word to that husband and father; my lips were shaped ready to speak my thoughts when the child came into the room aglow and excited, trying to tell what a good lady had done. I suppose I should have fainted when I looked up and saw the Prof., but I didn’t. I arose and extended my hand, saying to the little girl as I drew her to me with my left arm, ‘and this is your papa,’ well, I am glad, so glad that I waited until you came, Mr. Rig; ‘Riggles,’ he stammered, as it slowly dawned upon him that I did not mean to disclose the truth.
“I arranged to meet him the next day and assist him in procuring a position. We met; I told him a few things; the fourth day after, I went to his home in my own carriage, took his wife and child to my erstwhile flat, explained to them that he had secured the position and could afford them a better home.
“That was the last ride I ever took in my own private carriage. I sold my horses, carriage, all my jewelry and many fine gowns, placed the proceeds where Mrs. Riggles could draw a fixed sum weekly, then I sailed for Europe. But a star in America is not always a star in a foreign country. I stuck it out three years and then returned.
“Riggles? Oh, well, his wife died, he took up with Dollie Squires again, and a double suicide in a Clark street resort put an end to his career along with Dollie’s.
“The little girl? She grew up sweet like her mother; she is in a convent now, be out soon, then my work is done.”