§ 126 Speaking, as It Were, With Frankness
Since an actor of distinction told me this story I take it that it may be repeated here without serious offence to the profession which he adorns and dignifies.
The proprietor of a small hotel of a small New England town was hunched behind the clerk’s desk of his establishment when the door opened and there strode in a typical heavy man of a traveling repertoire company. The newcomer wore a mangy fur overcoat and a soiled white waistcoat and, as if to make up for his lack of baggage, bore himself with an air of jaunty assurance. He advanced to the clerk’s desk and waited there as though expecting the innkeeper to rise and in accordance with the ritual, swing the register about for him and hand him a pen newly dipped in ink. If that was what the Thespian expected he was disappointed.
The prospective guest was not to be daunted by the lack of the customary evidences of hospitality and welcome. In his deepest and most impressive stage voice he said:
“I take it, my good man, that you are the Boniface of this hostelry.”
“Wall, I’m runnin’ this here tavern, ef so be that’s whut you mean.”
“Exactly so. It is even as I suspected. And what are your lowest terms for members of my profession?”
“Which?”
“I say, what are your lowest terms for actors?”
“Liars, loafers and dead-beats!”