CROSS LOTS TO FAME.

Dunstan Times, Issue 2587, 5 June 1911, Page 2

CROSS LOTS TO FAME.

(By Charles Belmont Davis.)

Philip Hyde and James Werden had just finished dinner, and, as usual, Hyde hod constituted himself a violent opposition. , . , “My dear Jimmy, ho protested, “tho idea of making such a prediction as that is simply absurd! \ou might as well try to tell me what becomes of aged chorus girls 1” Werden smiled indulgently at his excited friend across the table. “I can do that, too.” “Well,” Hyde demanded, “what does become of them P” “They either become lady ushers or demonstrators of popular songs in music publishers’ parlors, or marry widowers with large, families, and live happily ever after, in Brooklyn or the Bronx. Hyde’s hard-pressed lips wavered into a smile. “Terrible fates —all of them —and in nine cases out of ten just because they never had an opportunity to show how good they were. If “Rubbish!” Werden interrupted. “There’s no greater fetish in the world than that old one about opportunity on the stage. You can no more keep down a good actor than you can keep down a great general or a great financier, or a trained flea. The stage is no different from any other profession. It’s just a case ofTiard work and hustle —and history will show that I’m right. Most of the so-called actresses you and 1 know lie in bed all day and wonder why the great opportunity doesn’t come around, made up a fairy prince, and hand them a phenomenal hit on a golden platter. The girl who is really ambitious takes mighty good care to get herself ready for the big opportunity—and then forces the opportunity.

Hyde slowly shook his head, pushed himself back in his chair, and spoke with much deliberation. ‘‘l will bet you the finest dinner that money can buy that we can go to any musical show you mention and I will show you a chorus girl that can outsing, outdance, is better looking, and can read lines more intelligently than the leading soubrette. The trouble is that when the chance does come it is not given to the chorus girl who deserves it, but to the friend of a broker who has money in the show.” . . "Let me get this thing straight, Werden laughed. “You bet me a dinner that financial backing on the stage is more effective to promotion than natural talent and hard work, and you propose to prove it before spring. “loertainly do,” Hyde said. It s only a question of where we begin. Have you seen the new show at tho Herald Square?”

From their Beats on the front row, the two young* men watched the curtain rise on the first act of “The Alsatians.” The inevitable chorus of happy villagers was followed by a very charming number sung and danced with much spirit by the jolly innkeeper and his six pretty daughters. During the last chorus of the song Werden turned to Hyde, “1 presume, he said, “we need look no farther for the superlative chorus girl than the second daughter from the left end. “A wonder I” Hyde whispered. “Do you notice the effects she gets by only suggesting the steps ? Just look how easily she moves and how prettily she uses her hands. And I’ll bet she s the original hard-working, hard-luck story, and will be doing just what she is doing now until she retires from old right,” said Werden. “Let’s find out first if she is that kind of a girl, and if she is I* 11 back her for getting ahead of any chorus girl or show gnFF that you can name witli all the money in New York behind her.’ “Do you know the girl next her? ’ Hyde asked, “the one on the end?” Werden nodded. “I think so. Her name is Jeanne Something, isn’t it?” “Jeanne Dare —nice sort of girl. I think I’ll send her a note and ask her to ask the superlative one to have supper with us at my place. There is alalways some cold meat and something to drink in the refrigerator, and she is much more liable to talk there than she would in a restaurant.”

When' the performance was over, Werden anti Hyde met Miss Dare at the stage door and were presented to the superlative chorus girl. He stage name was Opal De Mille, and she had a rather piquant face crowned with a mass of yellow curls, a trim, lithe figure, and small, pretty hands and foot. She wore a gray felt hat unadorned, a short tweed skirt, and over her shirt-waist a heavy white sweater.

When supper was over the four young feoplo gathered about the fire. Opal )e Mille curled her little figure in the depths of a great armchair, and with half-closed eyes stared steadfastly at the burning logs. Miss Dare was on the other side or the hearth, her dainty patent-leather slippers resting on the brass fender/ Werden and Hyde sat tailor-fashion between tho two girls, and for som(j minutee there was no sound save the ticking of tho tall clock in the corner and the crackling of the blazing pine knots on the hearth. It was Werden who broke the silence. “Opal is a very odd name,” ho said, still looking into the fire. “May I. ask if that is your real name?” Miss Do Mille smiled, settled further back into the deep leather chair, and rested her chin in the palm of her small white hand'.

“No,” she said, “that’s not my real name, nor a bit like it. When I went on the stage I christened myself Opal because it’s an odd name, as you say, and because an opal is tho stone of misfortune —and a Fourteenth Street crystal gazer once told rno that I was the child of misfortune. I am the original hard-luck story of the theatrical profession, and, believe me, that is some hard luck.. My dashing and devilish manner on the stage I put on as I do my rouge and my plack silk stockings, but as a matter of fact I am a plain working girl with a decrepit grandfather and a foolish, pleasure-loving mother. I also have a perfectly healthy stepfather, who darts away from a job as if it were the shadow of a rattlesnake or as if he were in the way of an eighteenhour express making up lost time. I am the sole support, chambermaid, waitress cook, and rnn-maker for this splendid family. I hate New York as I do the Merry Christmas season, and, believe me, compared to it and rny happy life with decrepit grandfather, laughterloving mother, and father, who never goes oiit except to buy the evening paper, trooping on the road, with all its stuffy cars and mean, dirty hotels and filthy dressing-rooms, is like the ruby-and-diamond grotto of a fairy pantomime.”

Miss De Mille sighed wearily and continued •

“The only real satisfaction I have is in remembering the fact that our family once had a little money and the most of it was spent on private detectives who were sent after me every time I ran away from homo. Even at that early period they saw in me a possible asset.”

“How old were you,” Hyde naked, “that 18, when you began to run away P*’ Miflg Do Mill© raised her eyohrowa reflectively and smiled. “About fourteen, ft became n habit with -me, and after a while they got discouraged and let me continue my art. Besides, it became harder to find me. I used to go with regular comic opera

troupes at first, and then, after two years, my spell of hard luck began. I was stranded in Chicago, and one of the girls and I signed on tor a sister act. The agent gave ns our fare to a town called Taylorville, and when we got there we found it was a tent show, and we and another woman and live men were thp show. We had no money, so we stayed—had to. Besides our sister act Cora passed around among the audience with chewing-gum and 1 played the piano for the men to sing to. 1 was a snake charmer, too, and also an animal trainer. , . , , “Really,” Werden said, with much apparent solicitude, “what kind of animals?” , ~ , , Opal yawned as if thoroughly bored at the recollection of her experience. ‘‘Carnivorous animals —lions.”

Hyd e suddenly turned his eyes from the fire to the funny little figure in the big chair. “Lions!” he repeated. “Well, there was really only one lion, and he was very, very old, and he had no teeth and was mangy. Still he had a tail and a mane and cold roar like a regular lion. The third woman in the show used to make him perform, and before she went away she taught me the act and how to manage him. It was a useful experience. Now, il I meet a lion or any wild animal on Fifth Avenue, 1 know just what to do. However, to continue th e story of my life, that summer Cora and I drifted back to Boston and we signed up there for a circuit wf trolley park shows. And when the parks closed we got back to New York and I went home of my own accord that time. I was still all for art, and as I wanted the managers to discover that I was a second Maude Adams before the season was out I went into the chorus at the Hippodrome with five or six hundred other girls. Id always heard actors talk of a New York engagement as if it was Heaven. Well, I got mine, twice a day as a mermaid, and at that 1 would rather bo diving around the Hippodrome tank than sitting or rather working around the flat uptown. We artists are so emotional. “And then?” Werden asked. Opal shniggl'd her shoulders. “Then,” she repeated, “then the chorus, sometimes the Casino, sometimes tho Lyric, just now it happens to be the Herald Square, but it s always tlu* Bft me —the chorus, tho chorus, ulwavs the chorus; singing the same woids with thirty or forty other girls and dancing the same stops and never a lino, never a bit, nothing to show that you’re better than anybody else.” The girl slid from the deep chair to the floor and sat staring into the fire, her elbows resting on her knees, with her chin buried in her hands, “You think, then,” Werden asked “that tho clever, hard-working girl without money and without that kind of influence has no chance against the one that lias?” , . Opal turned her head slightly and smiled “None whatever —I know. When we first wont on the road to try out this show I asked for Miss Luthum’s understudy, and tho stage-manager said he d promised it to Angela Arnold, but I ought get up in it anyhow. We had an "understudy rehearsal the other da>v Arnold’s performance was a joke, am they all said I was pretty good, an 1 vet the next night when they thought Miss Latham might not be able to go on, who did they semi for? Mo? Not much. It was Arnold, because she s got hacking.” , M Half an hour later, when the young women were putting on their wraps, Werden and Hyde were left alone m the sitting-room. , , . . .... “Well, Philip,” Warden said, “the war is on. It seems as if one Angela Arnold was your fate and I am backing the downtrodden Opal Do Mille.” “All right. Miss Arnold, as I r member her, is a very coldly beautiful lady, but don’t forget you can t back Opal Do Mille with money. Werden knitted his brows ns if vx anxious thought. “That s fair, ho said, “but I can plot and scheme, and advise my principal, can t I? “Sure, you can scheme and plot ami advise, but Opal Do Mille doesn t look a,s if she needed much advice. And don’t forgot that 1 can scheme and counter-plot and do all the backing I want.”

Werden nodded his assent. "But, Philip, my boy,” he said, “you haven t got the raw material to work with. You can’t teach the best trench doll over made a trick she wasn t If the wheels inside say ‘Mama, you can’t make her say 'Papa* to save >our life, believe me,” “You can put fine clothes on her and make her big eyes roll,” Hyde protested, “and that is what the public wants. Just look at—” Hut at this point Hyde’s argument was interrupted by the return of the two young women, and, as Werden bad said, the battle was on. It was be who took Miss Do Mille to her home, very far west on Forty-third Street, For some moments they stood on the deserted moonlit street, before the high, narrow tenement house. “I want to have a really serious talk with you some time,” ho said. “Whore can 1 see you —here,?” The girl looked at him with frank curiosity and then glanced over his shoulder up at the narrow brick tenement, with its network of ugly fireescapes. “Good-night,” nho said. “Why, I suppose it will bo all right lor you to conic to set; mo here ” “When?” he asked—“to-morrow? “Yes,” she said, “to-morrow would bo as well as any other day—that is, if you really want to see me. Shall we say about four o’clock?” A window on the second story of tho tenement was suddenly ,raised, and a woman put her head far out and peered down at the couple on the sidewalk. “Is that you, Opal?” she called. “Oh. 1 didn’t see you hud a gentleman friend —excuse me, sir. Don’t hurry, Opal dear. Have your talk out.” Hut the woman’s head remained at the window. “I’m coming,” Opal called to her, and she turned to Werden. “You must forgive mother’s curiosity, but the sight of a taxicab fascinates her. You’d better get it away from here or she’ll wake up the neighbors to have a look at it, or she may get pneumonia or something. Good-night. You’re such a nice person—why, you didn’t even try to kiss me when we were in the cab. To-morrow —don’t forget.” The next afternoon Werden came on foot, picking bis way through scattered groups of numberless small children, who overflowed tho sidewalk and carried their games into the running Gutters and to tho dirty street. Inside the tenement a gas-jet burned dimly in the narrow, gaudily papered hallway, and lighted him on his way up tho winding staircase. The air was cold ami damp and rank with the smell of boiling cabbage, and it seemed as if from every doorway up to tho vary top of tho high building there came the confused shrieks uf crying babies. A winning, bungry(ooking cat followed Werden up the creaking stairs, and when ho had reached tin; first landing, with a sudden sharp cry tho starved animal darted ahead of him and hounded up the stairs as if to give the lodgers warning of the coming of the well-dressod stranger. It was too dark to read the names on the doors, and so Werden called aloud; “Ho Miss De Mille!” On the same landing where ho stood a floor opened, and the girl came out with both hands stretched before her by way of friendly greeting. She led him into her apurt-

nii’ii 1, past the bedrooms and kitchen and into the sitting-room at the end of the narrow hallway. In one corner the grandfather sat in a rocking-chair dozing in the glow of tht j late afternoon sunshine that filtered weakly through the heavily starched lace-cur-tains. Mr L)e Mille, the stepfather, regarded the young man with irank, worldly suspicion, hut the greeting ot Mrs lie Mille was effusive in the extreme. Had Werden been her own son returning laden with honors and wealth she could have been no more gracious in her hospitality. The formal introductions once over, her husband led the doddering grandfather from the room, and then Mrs I)e Mille excused herself on the plea that she must bake the hot biscuits which she had prepared with her own hands for his tea. At last Opal and her visitor were left alone in the little sitting-room, the vulgarity of its every garish detail forcing itself even through the dusk of the lading sunlight. “I wish I had an open fire like yours to sit by,” she said; “but I’m afraid tlipe stove is the best 1 can offer you. Draw up your chair and be sociable. That was a wonderful night we had — sitting about the fire—and just talking.” The Do Mille stove was a very ornamental affair, and, although there was no fire at the time, Opal and Werden drew their chairs close to it. The girl rested her feet on the nickel rod about the base, tilted, back her chair, and clasped her hands behind her head. “What was it that you wanted to talk about?” she asked. “You,” Werden said. Opal continued to stare up at the smoke-begrimed coiling. ‘‘All right. It’s easier now that you see about how things arc here at home.” “For one reason or another,” Werden went on —“the reason doesn’t really make much difference —1 want to see you succeed in your profession. There is no doubt at all as to your deserving promotion—the only question is how to get it, and how to get it quickly.” For a few moments there was silence, while Opal shifted her gaze from the ceiling to her well-worn shoes on the stove-railing. “There .are several ways,” she said, speaking with much deliberation. “As I was saying last night about Angela Arnold, money and influence go further than anything else, but personally it has never seemed worth the price that that girl pays, for instance. The great trouble is the lack of c.hanco to show what you can do. Some chorus girls I know have framed up acts for vaudeville and afterward have gone hack into musical comedy as loading soubrettes. They didn’t sing or dance any better, but they had the chance to show how good they were. But it’s very hard to break into vaudeville. A new way is to go to England and make a success there —a lot of performers were absolutely unknown over here until they were a hit in London.” “But that costs money,” Werden suggested.

Opal no Med. “Yas, a lot of it.” Again there was silence, and then the girl chuckled and looked at Werden. “There’s tho Prager route. Don’t you remember how somebody from llaminerstein’s wandered into Prager’s Dime Museum one day and saw the Princess Rajah do her dance and engaged her for Broadway, and how she ami her serpent became the talk of the town?”

. “Fine,” said Werden, “why not?” “1 ought to he able to handle serpents all right,” Opal laughed, “after my training with the tent show.”

“You don’t have to work with serpents,” Werden said; “do anything you like. They have all kinds of acts in their stage performances. I know a newspaper man who is a great friend of IVager’s manager, and he can surely get you a trial engagement there some Monday afternoon—that is, if you don’t ask for any money. Then I’ll bring Ogden llritt, the manager, who is a pretty good friend of mine, down there to see you—l’ll take him to lunch at Luchow’s, you know, right next door to I’rager's, and 1 can get him to drop in afterward —by accident, as it were. You know he’s putting on a new musical show next month.”

Opal smiled. “Do you really mean it?” she asked; “it would be a funny idea.”

“Have you a good dress?” Werden askcdi

Opal shook her head. “No. Certainly nothing that would do for a vaudeville turn.”

“That’s a pity. I’d like to buy you one, hut that would he against The rules.” “You couldn’t buy mo a dress if you wanted to,” Opal threw hack at him. “Hut what do you mean by the rules?” she demanded suddenly. “What is this game ?”

“Flense don’t get angry,” ho said. “The game is to make you a success through your ability. If we can’t do it that way, then we’ll buy it. If you’re sure you have no dress that would do, can’t you borrow one?”

Opal suddenly took her feet from the stove and sat up very straight in her ''hair. “I’ll toll you what 1 can do. I’ll borrow my spangled dress from the theatre, the one I wear in tho second, act. I’ll toll them that I’m going to hj« photographed. I’ll got the dress and the big black hat and the silk stockings and everything, and I’ll bet you now they never saw anything like it at Hrager’s before. 1 know a couple of dandy songs, too. Do you really think you can get Hritt to drop in?” “Of course I can, hut he niusn’t suspect where you come from. The idea of finding a genius at Prager’s would appeal to him more than anything else. It’s a human failing with everyone to want to discover something. Will you do it?’

Opal jumped to her feet, and took several rapid turns up and down the length of the little sitting-room. Suddenly she stopped and faced her visitor.

“Do itl Of course I’ll do it. I (ell you, Mr W erdeu, there’s going to bo a new light twinkling on the Great White Way, and, believe me, it’s coming by way of Fourteenth Street. If —” She took a long breath, stuck her hands deep in the pockets of her sweater and looked down at Werden. “If—that is, if you help me.”

The next day Worden took his friend of Ihe newspaper into the scheme, and they found but little difficulty in arranging for Opal’s appearance without pay at I’ragcr’s the following Monthly, She was to appear three times during the afternoon, and if she was satisfactory, three times at night, and possibly for the remainder of the week, hater Werden dropped in at the office of his friend Hritt, and, on the guarantee of a new discovery in German conking, the manager promised to lunch with him at Ludlow’s on the fateful Monday.

On Sunday evening Hyde and Werden met for a quiet dinner. ‘‘Well,” said Hyde, when they were comfortably seated, “how are you getting on with the hard working, virtuous chorus lady? I went to ‘The Alsatians’ with a party last night and I wtts glad to see that- she was still (here m the chorus. I thought she might ho playing leading soprano or tho sonhrette part.” Werden smiled grimly. ‘And how is Mis Angela Arnold? I haven’t noticed her name on any electric signs across Broadway ns yet, although I did see in tho papers that she lost a pet Pomeranian on Forty-fifth Street, and

“Pure rubber suits for banting. Tho headline on the advertisement reads; ‘Testimonial from the most perfectlyformed woman on the stage/ Pretty fair idea, eh? On Wednesday every car on every surface road will have Angela’s testimonial to the ‘anatomically and aesthetically correct corset. Thursday we go back to the elevated and the subways with a neat orange card on which Angela boosts an antiobese capsule. There’s variety for you, and yet all are logical devices for the perfect form. I’ve got a deal on now w’ith a chemist who wants to advertise a lozenge which will account for her velvety voice. Angela and I are also considering offers from a lace collar w’ith invisible supporters, and yet as stiff as a six-barred fence; we also have in reserve a one-piece suit of lingerie made from a Venzuelan pampas —sanitary as Jaeger’s and dainty and lacy as anything from the Rue de la Paix. “There’s a different photograph of Angola goes with each testimonial, and Miss Arnold’s name ahvays appears n very large black letters. I can’t say Angela w r as very strong on chirography, so I got a fancy penman to get me up a signature about the way Catherine de Medici would have written it —full of personality and character.”

Werden shook his head and smiled. “It’s a pity you couldn’t put some of this energy into your fathers woollen business. I)o you find Miss Arnold a pleasant fellow worker?” Hyde pursed his lips, and for a moment gazed down at his plate. ‘‘Pretty fair,” he said. ‘‘She was all right when she was buying the clothes and harness to get ready for the photographs. Incidentally, it costs a lot of money to make a nice-looking girl with a moderate figure the most beautifullyformed woman in the world.” ‘‘What’s the trouble, then?” Werden laughed. “Well, she shies sometimes at the stunts I want her to do. They’ve got some kind of a sea monster down at the aquarium, and I wanted her to fall into the tank and be rescued by a good-looking attendant, hut she was afraid —sain the sea monster might bite her. Then I thought it would be funny if during the matinee she would walk out of the stage door with that short spangled dress on she wears in the second act and stroll over to the crowd about the Herald’s racing bulletin. When they put up the winner of a race I wanted to her to give a yell of pleasure and faint or dance or something and toll the reporters she had won a small fortune.

“But she objected?” “Absolutely; said she’d ho arrested, and refused to go to the station house for anything except speeding in a private automobile with two men on the box. That’s where I objected. I wish they’d have an aviation meet somewhere in the neighborhood. I’d make her go up if they broke her beautiful neck. I’ve a great idea for a flying costume —sort of a cross between an automobile ninke-ifp and a Chnntacler effect. How are you prospering with Miss De Mille?’ ’ “Oh, fairly,” Werden said; “she’ll be out of the chorus pretty soon. Look out for her when she starts.”

Hyde smiled and shook his hood. “You’ve got a hard game, not being able to spend any money, and Opal not being over-pretty and not having the most beautiful figure in the world. You can’t photograph ginger, can you? And 1 don’t know what she could advertise except rubber heels, or a fast express. Too bad. I hear Britt’s got a part in his new show that would just suit her, too. The part is called ‘Nitouche, a chunteuse.’ Why don’t Opal try for it?”

“Thank you for the tip,” Worden said; “perhaps she will.” Hyde smiled grimly. “She has a lino chance. I know of two great suiihrettes who have applied already, and both of them are backed by men who have good money in the show. Britt doesn’t make up his companies—he leaves that to his creditors.”

“I’m afraid the white lights of Broadway have made you a little cynical.” “Not at all. They’ve simply showed me the theatrical game as it is renllv played. Anyhow, don’t forget to look out for the opening of my car-advertis-ing campaign on Tuesday. It ought to give you one good laugh.” “it will. Because before Tuesday Opal Do Mille will have signed for that part of ‘Nitoucho’ you were telling me about, and incidentally you will owo mo a dinner.”

At one o’clock on Monday afternoon Werden called at Britt’s office and carried him off to try the new dish he had discovered at Ludlow's restaurant. Not knowing just what he had discovered, Worden ordered the pinto with the longest and most unpronouncable name on the menu, and, as in the case with most dishes in German restaurants, it turned out to ho n veal cutlet disguised by a brown sauce and many strange spices. However, it served the purpose of keeping Britt interested until near the hour for Opal’s turn,on the stage of the dime museum. They had sat over their coffee arid cigars for some time when the manager said suddenly : , “1 tell you what I’d like to do run into Pragor’s museum tor a few minutes. 1 haven’t been there since 1 was a kid. Would you mind?”

Everything seemed to be working better for bis scheme than bo could have wished, so Worden smiled discreetly and graciously accepted Britt’s suggestion. They left the restaurant, and a tew minutes later Werdon had paid tor their dime admission tickets and they entered the historical house ot freaks and cheap vaudeville. They passer! through the long, narrow hallway, lined with penny slot-ma-chines and broad trick mirrors, and many inhospitable signs warning them against pickpockets. At the end there was a red baize-covered platform, where a juggler in ill fitting dress-suit was practising spinning a row of plates on a table. Just lieyond this there was a larger platform in a space formed by the intersection of a second hall-way. On the stage was a lightly built cage, and within its narrow confines a long, sleek leopard paced ceaselessly up and down. At the sight of the newcomers lug cat snarled, swished its tail Against the bars, and moved its velvetpadded feet more rapidly over the wooden floor of the cage. Ihe animal had long since finished its hourly performance, and the crowd was following the showman tip the quaking wooden stairs to the curio-hall on the floor ahve. Except for the juggler and the woman trainer of the leopard, Werden and Britt were quite alone. The trainer was a middle-aged woman with bleached hair and a great deal of make-up on her face. She was dressed in a sort of Zouave costume with a heavily quilted

loft a hap of jewels in a taxicab. Philip, ! jacket and on her leps she wor e thick it doesn’t scorn to me that you are j riding-boots. She was seated on the showing a great deal of imagination in edge of the platform, reading an eve - your press work.” img newspaper but as \\orden and ' -‘Not vet,” Hyde admitted cheerfully, j Britt stopped before the capo die Luo “Those trivial losses are just to get the j aside the paper and smiled pleasantlj at public used to her name. You will j the young men. ~ „ ... probably detect my subtle work a little j il \ icious-lookmg iru e, U fater on. In a month the name of , posted. Angela Arnold will be as well known to j But for that as the public as that of Lydia Pinkham j the name of the leopard-tamer only or Dr Munyon. On Tuesday next every shook her head m dissent and car on every elevated and subway train ; again, first at Britt and then . will have a testimonial signed by An- pet. s) i Wer go la Arnold —in large black letters on a “What protection have jou. "‘iheliotrope background.” . j den asked Worden sniffed. “What’s it a testimonial for?”

The woman picked up a heavy whip that lay at her aide and then pulled a revolver from the folds of the sasli about her waist. . ~ . “There are only blanks m it, sue said, “but that is enough for most animals. Besides, what would lie the use of real cartridges?—l might as well be killed by Cato as kill him. >°u see Cato is all I have. He’s my friend and mv pet and my meal-ticket, all in one. Eh Cato?” and, turning toward the cage, snapped her whip agaipst the steel ba ßritt looked at the leopard and shrugged his shoulders. I>ot tor mine,” he said, and turned away. . The woman picked up her evening paper “Still, we must live, she said, and went on with her reading. The two men climbed a short flight ot stairs to a second box-office, where they bought their seats for the stage performance. It was an absurdly small theatre, with one balcony and a single box on either side of the proscenium arch. A few straggling lamps lighted the dm© auditorium, and a meagre row of unprotected footlights shone brazenly into the face of the actor on the stage. ,l!he little room was hot and stuffy andi m smelling and for an orchestra there Ss onfv a tinkling piano very' m «ch o«“of tuns. Whs,, BrHt and took their seats in the little box a black-face artist was shouting a cnoi - Ron tr but the audience that nearly filled’ the theatre was, to all appearances, wholly indifferent, and there was no applause when the actor left the stace P The audience seemed to be SR the theatre as a resting-place rather than as a source of amusement. This performer was followed y * naiitch P dancer. Her costume consisted in fleshings covered Wltl, ti^ an> ’ Nations gauze, hut her suggest!'e Station caused little more interest in the andi once than did the songs of her prodecessor. Such clothes ajjtho woman wore were fra.ved and soiled, scenery of the stage was torn and filt y 'TritfshM in bis scat, and Worden feared he would leave hefoie it came to Opal’s turn. , “Sort of tragic,” Britt whispered.

Werden nodded and leaned over the edge of the box as is greatly interested in the nautcli dancer. ‘‘Rather, hut I 'like it. It’s all ( so different down hero “finished her P^rf^nmnee S th piano *pl aver °pounded"out a few loud Chords and the dance was over. A small boy appeared from the wing and put up a large card on an easel which stood near the proscenium arch. The card read: ‘‘Alice I)e \ oe, singer. It was the name which Opal had chosen for her appearance at Prager’s, and Werden leaned hack with a feeling of supreme relief— she was to ia\o her chance to sing before Butt it sue failed, Werden had at least fulfilled hr part of the contract and he was quite sure that she would not fail- It her second appearance that afternoon, and the man at the piano knew the music and how it was to he played. When he had finished the introduction. Opal came nut from the wings, smiling pleasantly at the audience H'ere was something so different in the gul p 1‘ pea ranee from that of the performers who had been on the stage before hei that the whole audience seemed to suddenly awaken from its lethargy, and a few even went so far as to mildly applaud. The piquant, smiling face of the girl- the confident, easy grace with which she walked down the stage to the footlights; the beautiful black spangled dress and the lug plumed hat formed a most extraordinary contrast to the dingy scenery and all that_ had gone before. Britt pulled his chair to the edge of the box and stared up curiously at the face of the girl on the stum- Then lie turned to Werden.

“What do vou make of it?” he gasped. “She’s lovely, isn’t she? 1 never saw anything more graceful, and such wonderful poise. It must be a bet, Werden shook his head, “ton can search mo,” he said. Unseen by Britt, Werden smiled broadly. It seemed as if success was in bis grasp. 11 Brut liked Opal be was bound to like her songs, because she was really an artist; hut”it was the contrast, the surprise of finding her in such surroundings, that he had counted on and that bad really won the day. , Opal smiled at the man at the piano and nodded that she was ready. The musician struck a chord and waited. Then he looked up at the girl, who was still smiling, but her eyes wore fixed, staring up at the ceiling just over the balcony. She had the appearance ot one who is listening very intently. Once more the piano player struck the chord, this time with greater force, but still Opal <1 id not seem to hear him. A girl in the balcony snickered audibly. Britt leaned far out of the box, his- eves fixed on the girl’s. “What’s the matter,” Werden whispered, “is she scared?” Britt shook bis bead. “No, it’s not that. 1 can’t make it out.” Opal’s eyes turned toward the box, hut she apparently did not see Worden. There was a shnllling of feet among the audience, and the musician again struck the chord and called out: “Go on! Why don’t you go on?”

Tim shuffling of feet grew louder, but above this tliere suddenly arose the savage snarls of Madame Noraldi’s leopard in the cage outside. There was the contused roar of many voices, and then a woman’s cry for help rang out in every corner of the big building, went echoing along the narrow corridors, and seemed to pierce thy gloom of the little theatre like a brilliant Hash of lightning. For a few moments the audience sat motionless, staring terrified at the empty stage. Britt was the first to move, and, without waiting for his overcoat or hat, In* ran from the box, calling for Werdon to follow him. Outside the solid crowd blocked their way. Hot from the landing where the box-office stood they could see all Unit was taking place below them.

Madame Nornldi was lying face upward in the centre of the cage, and above her, the claws of liis forefeet stuck deep in the heavily quilted jacket, Cato stood. With hared teeth and sleepy eyes he slowly turned his head from .side to side, glaring malignantly at the silent, terrified crowd. So sure was be of bis prey tbnt lie seemcil to enjoy the delay, before he delivered the last stroke. Once he even stuck out his tongue, licked his lips and yawned from apparent ennui, '('he blow with which ho had felled Madame Noraldi had left an ugly red hruise across her forehead, hut otherwise she seemed as yet uninjured. Afraid to move, she lay as one dead with her eyes closed. “For (bid’s sake,” sin l whispered, “has no one got n gun?” “Shut up,” said a voice from (lie far end of the cage, and (hen Britt

and Worden, from llieir point of vantage, caught a glimpse of Opal’s spangfed dross behind the platform. They saw her slowly raise her arm and then quickly put it through the bars and pull out the heavy whip which had been dropped by the woman trainer. Still crouching below the edge of the platform, she crawled on her hands and knees to the door of the cage. Then she stood up and walked slowly up the steps. “Don’t you go in there,” 'the manager shouted from the outskirts of the crowd. “Don’t you be a fool.”*

Opal did not turn, but kept her eyes fixed on the leopard, which was glowering and snarling at the intrusion of the newcomer.

“Don’t worry,” she said, and she carefully put her hand on the lock of the cage door. “I’m something of a trainer myself.”

Cautiously she opened the door and closed it behind her. The leopard at her approach slowly raised his feet from Madame Noraldi’s body and backed away from Opal, but his eyes were still on hers.

A moment more and the injured trainer was on her feet and had pulled out her revolver. The two women slowly backed toward the door. The manager pushed bis way through the terrified crowd and stood with his hand on the cage door. “Don’t fire that gun,” Opal whispered; “don’t fire it, I tell you.” , Her big blue eyes were staring into the yellow eyes of the crouching leopard. In one hand she hold the heavy whip over her head and with the other she pushed the older woman toward the door of the cage. The crowd stood motionless and so silent that one could easily hear the rumble of the traffic from the distant street. With its forefeet stretched stiff before it, its curved neck bowed so low that its bead almost rested on its short legs, the leopard watched the two women backing from him. For the moment the frail little blonde thing in the spangled dress, but knowing no fear, seemed to have confused him greatly. Once even the eyes of the brute shifted to the mute crowd, but an instant more and they had returned to the big blue eyes, which were getting farther and farther from his reach.

Opal seemed to know instinctively when they were near the end of the cage. “Now!” she called, and Madame Noraldi doubled up like a jack-knife and threw herself backward through the open door. The cry of the leopard rang out as the long gray body hurtled itself through the air. At the same moment Opal threw herself to the floor of the cage and the animal crashed impotently against the steel bars. The low door had been snapped close, but now it was ajar again. Even before it was on its feet the leopard had swung its heavy paw and torn the girl’s right arm from the shoulder to the elbow. Above the cries of the crowd, the curses of the manager, and the vicious snarls of the brute, the lock of the steel door was once more heard to snap tight, and the little body in the spangled dress rolled slowly down the platform steps and curled up in a heap on the floor below. It was late that evening when Britt with a taxicab looking like Santa Claus’ sleigh arrived at the hospital. He knew, however, that he would be welcome, for long before he had learned by telephone that Opal’s wounds had been cauterised and that she would probably be quite well again within a fortnight. He found her in a little white bed in a little white room which was filled with flowers. Everywhere he looked there seemed to be a bunch of roses or violets, and on a table at the foot of the bed there was a little potted plant which carried with it the love and good wishes of Madame Noraldi. Werden was reading aloud the accounts of the rescue from the evening papers and Mrs De Mille was busy with Opal’s supper. When Britt had deposited his numerous gifts he drew his chair near the bed between Opal and Werden. “What I want to have explained,” he said, “is why Jimmie here should have called you Opal just after you fell out of the cage when just before that you had appeared on the stage as Alice Do Voe, Also, how did it happen that he knew you and did not mention the fact to me?”

From the depths of her pillow Opal smiled as cheerfully as she could. “It was a frame up,” she said. “You were brought there to admire my art, but just as 1 was about to charm you Cato decided to break loose. And do you know that the Nornldi woman told me this morning that she had trained animals for twenty years and hud never been scratched.”

“It was thoughtless,” Britt laughed. “No,” Opal sighed; “it was just my hard luck. T can’t boat it, I guess. I think it was a pretty good scheme that we fixed up, too.” She turned her face away from her visitors, and when she spoke again her voice was very unsteady. “Goodnight, Mr Britt,” she said; “thank you for coining.” The manager jumped to his feet. “Good-night; can I do anything for you uptown?” Opal mumbled some words in the pillow, and Britt looked at Werden, smiled and .shook his head. “What did .she say 1 could do?” he asked.

Opal turned on her pillow and looked up at him with misty eyes. “Nitouche,” she mumbled, “Nitouche.” Britt looked at Worden. “What does she mean?” he asked.

“Nitouche, 1 think,” Werden explained, “is a small part in your now play.” “Sure,” Britt said. “As a matter of fact, I’ve promised that part to four other girls, hut I’ll give Opal a contract.”

He went over to a table, and with a pencil scribbled his promise on the back of an old envelope, .signed it, and then came over to the bed and pressed it into the girl’s hand. “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll put it under my pillow to bring mo pleasant reams and help me to get well again, food-night.” Once more she turned er face toward the wall and Britt and A’erden tiptoed quietly from the room. On his way downtown the next morning the first tiling that Jimmie Werden mticed as he took hi.s seat in an elevated train was a very conspicuous advertisement on a hcliotrone-colored card. There was the picture of a woman and the advertisement was headed: “Testimonial from tlie most beautifully formed woman on the stage.” Underneath the testimonial to the best rubber suit for hauling appeared in large black letters the name of Angela Arnold. When he hail read the advertisement three times, Werden hid hi.s face behind his morning newspaper, and the man in the next seat wondered what his neighbor could possibly have found in tin* day’s news to make him chuckle all the way from Thirtv-fourth Street to the Battery.

The Association of Medical Mon -it Magdeburg, in fJermnny, a combination of all the physicians of that city, has made Sunday a day of rest for doctors. It has ix'cn arranged that one doctor in ten remains on duly on Sunday, and that his name and address and telephone number are eomimiicaied to the other nine doctors whom he represents on that particular day. If a patient should summon any of these nine doctors, the patient is immediately informed that the substitute for the day is (he tenth one, who is doing duty. In tin's way cadi physician in Magdeburg will work only one Sunday in everv ten.