The Sorrows of a Show Girl Part 4

I am learning how to skate. Yes, I fell for it. Fell for it is good.

'Course I did. All over the ice. You see it was this way. I was up to a tea one of the girls gave in honor of the judge getting a divorce from his wife--we call it a tea because there wasn't any there. We were all sitting around panning those who were not among those present, until at last one of the girls who didn't dare leave till the party broke up suggested that we go down to the park and take a skate. The hostess was real nice. She suggested that it wasn't necessary to beat it clear down there to get a skate, as she had some in the house, and if we drank that up the Dutchman on the corner knew she was good for any amount within reason. But we didn't mean what she meant, so we departed. Going down I became perhaps a little too excited over the coming event and went to some length to inform the a.s.sembled skirts that when it came to cutting ice I, not seeking to boast, but I was there, forte, and such pastimes as writing names or doing Dutch rolls I considered rudimentary in the skating number and only performed by the immature.

"I may have overestimated my ability some, for I had never been on skates before in my life, but I'm no piker and I follow that old principle of willing to try anything once, so when it came time I let the boy put the skates on without a murmur, and was a.s.sisted to the ice by about six or eight eager hands. Say, I looked out at the gang gliding about, gave the signal to let go the ropes and took the fatal step.

Curtain. Say, I went round so fast both skates clinched in my marcel wave. Would you believe it, there wasn't hardly any one in sight when I started falling, but before I got through the police had to move the crowd on. The only thing I could do gracefully was to throw a faint. I turned one loose until somebody tried to force a gla.s.s between my teeth and then I came to, but it was only water, so I had a relapse. Then a nice gent kicked in with a flask and I came to. Maybe you think those artful kidders didn't hand it to me. Anybody but a lady would have lost her temper and cursed them. But I told them where to get off, and don't you forget it, but I used no language that would have led people to think I was anything but what I should be. After that I managed to skate around a little, but let me tell you, that night I got down on the floor to take my shoes off all right, but it took Estelle--that's my maid--and a derrick to get me up again. Say, it's getting late and I must be going. You know Mabel is now a bride again, and her little husband has been staying down at the club instead of loitering about the flat, so the other night when he knocked on the door to get in, Mabel said, 'Is that you, Charles?' And now she can't get him out of the house nights.

You see, her husband's name is Arthur. So long."

Sabrina now falls in love with a press agent with the hectic chatter. He proposes and is accepted, and Sabrina shows her love and devotion by going his bail when he is arrested for permitting his jealousy to get the better of him in a restaurant.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Who's the guy that said "Love laughs at locksmiths?" Just show him to muh. I'll show him where he got in wrong. It's enough to get a perfect lady's goat. My Wilbur tried it the night he got pinched, and all he got was a clout on the k.n.o.b from the desk sergeant and a languishing number in a prison, and I don't dare to go within a mile of the drum.

The way I caper from one tribulation to another would make a sick woman out of far stronger than me. Yes, I have at last found a man that loves me for myself alone. He's a press agent, and he hands it out so sincere that I know he must mean part of it. He's going to buy me an engagement ring as soon as he gets his expense account. He's with a Broadway musical comedy, and though he has run some of the girls' pictures, he has not made the slightest advance toward any of them.

He's been coming to see me for nearly a month. My heart went out to him the minute he said he had a stand in with three city editors.

Us actresses never get over our theatrical training. He's a quiet party, and instead of hanging about the Knickerbocker bar with the rest of the agents, he stays in the office and pounds out copy. He gave me a beautiful silk parasol that I know didn't cost him less than four pairs of seats. And all this before he asked me for my hand in marriage.

Honest, I'll never forget the night he proposed as long as I live. Not that I never was proposed to before, and some of them would have had me starred, but the romantic surroundings and all that kind of thing. It was this way: Me and him were the guests at a beefsteak party, and after the fourth drink he commenced to show me marked attention, and when we got out of the cab in front of my hotel he offered to help me upstairs, though I generally have a bellboy for that purpose, and when we had got up in my apartment and Estelle had gone to give the bellhop a quarter and the pitcher, he popped the question, and such beautiful language, I remembered it the next morning and wrote it down.

He held my shrinking little hand in his and said, "Say, Kid, you've made an awful good showing with me. Believe it, I could plant your stuff all the rest of my life, and while I ain't much of a litho myself, still I can get away with it and am the man who invented red on yellow. I can't pay for many electric signs for you, but still if you'll plant your heart in my cut-trunk I'll guarantee there won't be any excess and I'm making money enough to O.K. most of your extras.

"Listen, Party, we'll split my salary fifty-fifty every Sat.u.r.day night.

I got good backing in the bank, and I want you to be my little star. You angel!"

Wasn't that sweet? That word angel aroused my suspicions for the nonce, for angels are the ones who generally get lanced, but he handed it out so fervent that I knew he would make good on some of the points, so from force of habit I said, "Bring out your contract."

And with those tender words and the pitcher the bellhop had brought back we plighted our troth.

What do you know about that? I don't believe I ever before was as much in love as I am now. Why, I ain't been to see any other show but his for two weeks. Of course, I have been engaged before and handed out this eye-glistening-with-adoration gag before, but it was done only to vary the monotony of my former theatrical career and increase my income.

What! Sure I get an allowance from the fellows I'm engaged to. It's only fair. Ain't I got a trooso to buy? Te, he!

If I'd saved all the money I have been given to purchase troosos with I would have a bunch that would make Gladys Vanderbilt's layout look like a gingham wrapper. Sure, ain't it worth money to those wops to have the pure love of a good, true girl? Gee, don't make me laugh like a baby.

I was betrothed to six at one time, and the diamond rings I wore made the prima bite her finger-nails with jealousy. Oh, I had a great graft.

I had a birthday in every week stand. System? Well, I should hope so, dear.

We'd work it this way: Alla McSweeney and I were chumming together, and naturally Monday night after the show we would meet some folks. We would have a real nice time, and along about fourth highball time after the show Wednesday night Alla would whisper real confidential into one of the fellows' ear that I was going to be twenty-one Friday and "we girls"

are planning to give her a little surprise, and did he want to come in on it.

Every time the Johns would fall, except in Milwaukee, and n.o.body ever got anything out of that town anyway. Then Alla would whisper that the company was going to present me with a loving cup because I was such a good fellow, and if they wanted to chip in now was their chance, and anything was acceptable from $5 up, and to bring his friends.

Alla would tout it up something fierce, I being totally unconscious to what was coming off.

Friday night would come around and Alla would borrow the loving cup from the property man that the tenor used in the drinking number, put it under her shawl and caper over to the appointed cafe.

I would be the center of a bunch of merry cut-ups all wanting to blow out the candles on my birthday cake.

After the wine got to flowing freely and the crowd all jolly Alla would drag out the prop and make a nice little speech on behalf of the company.

Me--you know I would be that fl.u.s.tered that I didn't know what to do, and when Alla would say that other people beside the members of the company had a.s.sisted I would be so gratified that I could scarce keep back the tears.

All the clucks that hadn't chipped in would feel so bad because they weren't included in my outburst of grat.i.tude that nine times out of ten they would sneak out and try to break into a jewelry store.

Then Sat.u.r.day Alla and I would do the great divide.

Take it from me, when I came in off the road that season I had a roll of the evergreen that looked like a bundle of hall carpet.

But now that I am an heiress I do not have to adopt those subterfuges in order to get the daily Java. But I couldn't work those stunts on my Wilbur; he's too wise, and being in the business he's hep to all that kind of work.

He's a good, nice, honest fellow, as press agents go, and I think I can safely trust him with my innocent heart.

If he don't--well, you know me. If he don't think he run up against the business end of a cyclone it will be because I got throat trouble and can't talk.

Honest, my fair young brow is commencing to get wrinkled trying to dope out whether I want to become a bride or lead the free and easy life of a bachelor girl.

Of course, if I get married and don't like it divorces are easy enough to get, and then being a widow saves a girl a whole lot of embarra.s.sment, for she don't have to pretend to not understand some of the innuendoes that are now and then sprung during the modern conversations.

But, on the other hand, Wilbur isn't there with a very big fresh air fund, and by perseverance I might cop out a Pittsburg millionaire and become famous.

Marriage is worse than a lottery; it's a strong second for the show business. You never can tell.

Wilbur sure does treat me nice--he's promised that I shall be a flower girl at the Friar Festival when it comes off in May. Ain't that nice of him?

Gee, but that's going to be the grand doings.

Are you going to the ball?

Say, the round of festivities I am pulling off lately would make a person think I was a society bud.

Oh, come closer, listen. A certain party wants me to go out in vaudeville. What do you know about that? Can you see me doing two-a-day and getting in a contest with Eva Tanguay or Vesta Victoria or the Russell Brothers. I would go in a minute, though I promised mother when I quit burlesque that I would never again wear tights.

When I was in the business if I couldn't get a job on my voice all I had to do was to flash a photo taken as Captain of the High Jinks Cadets, and then--in a minute.

Flo. Ziegfield made me all kinds of offers to go in the "Soul Kiss," but the blondes were all full, and you can see me in a brindle wig?

I am willing to sacrifice nearly anything for Art, but when it comes to leaving nineteen dollars' worth of puffs in a dressing room where you can't pick your company, not for little Sabrina.

I used to have trouble enough with my number eighteen and lip stick and the bunch of near-lady kleptomaniacs that the manager made a great mistake taking on the road in the last show I was with.

Well, to get back to vaudeville, I don't know whether to do a single turn or put on a big act with a dancing scene or a prizefight in it.