Tales from Bohemia Part 9

"There was one young fellow awfully infatuated with me," she said, "who used to write me the sweetest letters. I kept them long after he stopped caring for me, until he was married; then I destroyed them. I found one short one, though, in an old handbag some years after, and, just for a joke I mailed it to his wife at his old address. I don't suppose it ever reached her, though, or he would have acknowledged it, for the sake of old times. I wonder whatever became of Jack Craddock. People used to say he had a bright future--I say, tell that messenger-boy to come here! I'm going to put five on Tenny for this next race. And you'll lend me the five, won't you?"

VI. -- THE NEW SIDE PARTNER

A chance in life is like worldly greatness--to which, indeed, it is commonly a requisite preliminary. Some are born with it, some achieve it, and some have it thrust upon them.

There is a youth who has had it thrust upon him. What he will do with it remains to be seen. Know the story, which is true in every detail save in two proper names:

The midnight train from New York, which crawls out of the Jersey City ferry station at 12:25, is usually doleful, especially in the ordinary cars. One who cannot sleep easily therein has a weary two or three hours' time to Philadelphia. Almost any equally wakeful companion is then a source of joy.

A girl of medium size, wearing a veil, and being rather carelessly attired in dark clothes which fitted a charming figure, walked jauntily up the aisle, saw that no seat was entirely vacant, and therefore, after a hasty glance at me, sat down beside me.

Had not the two very young men in the seat behind us drunk too much wine that night in New York, the girl and I might never have exchanged a word. But the conversation of the youths was such as to cause between us the intercommunication of smiles, and eventually of speeches.

Then casual observations about the fulness of the car, the time of the train, and our respective destinations,--mine being Philadelphia, hers being Baltimore, led to the revelation that she was a constant traveller, because she was an actress. She had been a soubrette in musical farce, but lately she had belonged to a variety and burlesque company. She had gone upon the stage when she was thirteen, and she was now twenty.

"What kind of an act do you do?" I asked, in the language of the variety "profession."

"Oh, I can do almost anything," she said, in a tone of a self-possessed, careless, and vivacious woman. "I sing well enough, and I can dance anything, a skirt dance, a clog, a Mexican fandango, a Carmencita kind of step, anything at all. I don't know when I ever learned to dance. I didn't learn, it just came to me; but the best thing I do is whistling.

I'm not afraid of any man in the business when it's a case of whistling.

There's no fake about my whistle; it's the real thing. I can whistle any sort of music that goes."

"Your company appears in Baltimore this week?"

"Oh, no! I've left the company. You see, I've been off for six weeks on account of illness, and now I'm going over to Baltimore to my father's funeral. He is to be buried to-morrow. See, here's the telegram. I've been having hard lines lately. I've not had any sleep for three days, and I won't get to Baltimore till daylight. I want to start back to New York to-morrow night, if I can raise the stuff. I had just enough money to get a ticket to Baltimore, and now I'm dead broke."

Then she laughed and got me to untie her veil. When it was removed, I saw a frank young face with an abundance of soft brown hair. About the light blue eyes were the marks of fatigue, and the colour of the cheeks further confirmed her account of loss of sleep.

Her feet pattered softly upon the floor of the car.

"I'm doing a single shuffle," she said, in explanation of the movement of her feet. "If you could do one too, we might do a double."

"Do you do your act alone on the stage?" I asked, "or are you one of a team?"

"We're a team. My side partner's a man. It pays better that way. We get $40 a week and transportation. I used to get only $12 except when I stood around and posed, then I got $35 and had to pay my own railroad fare. You can bet I have a good figure, when I get $35 for that alone!

I handle the money of the team and I divide it even between us. I don't believe in the man getting nine-tenths of the stuff, do you? Besides, I'm older than my partner is. I put him in the business."

"How was that?"

"Oh, I picked him up on the street in New York. I saw that he had a good voice and was a bright kid, so I took him for my partner."

"But tell me how it came about."

She was quite willing to do so. And the rumbling of the wheels, the rush of the train over the night-swathed plains of New Jersey, accompanied her voice. All the other pa.s.sengers were sleeping. To the following effect was her narrative:

At evening a crowd of boys had gathered at the corner of Broadway and a down-town street. One of them--ragged, unkempt, but handsome--was singing and dancing for the diversion of the others. That way came the variety actress, then out of an engagement. She stopped, heard the boy sing, and saw him dance. She pushed through the crowd to him.

"How did you learn to dance?" she asked.

"Didn't ever learn," he said, with impudent sullenness.

"Who taught you to sing?"

"None o' yer business."

"But who did teach you?"

"n.o.body."

"What's your name?"

"None of your business."

"Will you come along with me into the restaurant over there?"

"No."

But presently he was induced to go, although he continued to answer her questions in the savage, distrustful manner of his cla.s.s. They went into a cheap eating-house and saloon, through the "Ladies' Entrance," and while they sat at a table there, she learned by means of resolute and patient questions that the boy earned his living by blacking shoes now and then, and that he did not know who his parents were, as he had been "put" with a family whose ill-usage he had fled from to live in the street. He began to melt under her manifestations of interest in him, and with pretended reluctance he gave his promise to wash his face and hands and to call upon her that evening at the theatrical boarding-house on Twenty-seventh Street where she was living. Then she left him.

When he called, she took him to her room and induced him to allow her to comb his hair. A deal of persuasion was necessary to this. Then she took him out and bought him a cheap suit of clothes on the Bowery. A half-hour later he was standing with her in the wings at Miner's Variety Theatre. A man and woman were doing a song and dance upon the stage.

"Watch that man," the actress said to the boy of the streets. "I want you to do that sort of an act with me one of these days."

When he had thus received his first lesson, she led him back to the theatrical boarding-house, and in her room he showed her what ability he had picked up as a singer and dancer. She secured a room for him in the house, and she had the precaution to lock him in lest he should take fright at his novel change of surroundings and flee in the night. When she released him on the next morning she found him docile and cheerful.

She escorted him into the big dining-room to breakfast.

"Who's your friend, Lil?" asked a certain actor whose name is known from Portland to Portland.

"He's my new side partner," she said, looking at the boy, who was not in the least abashed at the bold gaze of the negligently dressed soubrettes and the chaffing comedians who sat at the tables.

Everybody laughed. "What can he do?" was the general question.

"Get out there and show them, young one," she said, pointing to the centre of the dining-room.

The boy obeyed without timidity. When he had sung and danced, there was hilarious applause.

"Good for the kid," said the well-known actor. "What are you going to do with him, Lil?"

"I'm going to try to get an engagement for us together in Rose St.

Clair's Burlesque Company."

"I'll help you," said the actor. "I know Rose. I'll go and see her right away, and you come there with the kid about 11 o'clock."

When the girl and her protege arrived at the boarding-house of the fat manageress they found that the actor had so far kept his promise as to have inveigled her into a condition of alcoholic amiability. She asked them what they could do. Each one sang and danced, and the girl, who also whistled, outlined to the manageress her idea of an "act" in which the two should appear. There was a hitch when the question of salary arose. The girl fixed upon $40. Rose thought that amount was too large.

Lil adhered to her terms, and was about to leave without having made an agreement, when the manageress called her back, and a contract for a three weeks' engagement was signed at once.