The Sorrows of a Show Girl | Page 3

poker hand every time. The only reason he ain't a heiress is because his
conscience jumps up and gives him a kick in the face. This party in the
play influences people's minds. He thinks of something, and people
miles away think of the same thing. All the same wireless. Take it from
me, there's a whole lot to it at that. I was out with a kind friend the
other evening whose general disposition is to try and make Frank
Daniels look like a spendthrift, so I knew it would be beer for mine
unless I made a great mental effort, so all the way up the street in the
taxicab I just held thumbs and concentrated my mind--I saw more new
style hats, too--and said to myself, 'For Heaven's sake, order wine,'
'Please loosen up and order wine.' All to myself, you understand, never
once out loud, for though I am in the business I don't seek the
reputation as a working girl.
"Well I hope I may never look a lobster in the face again. No, I am not
speaking of this party. But I hope I may never look a lobster in the face
again if he didn't swell all up, prance into the eat hut and say careless
like over his shoulder to the waiter, 'A bottle of that Brut.' Just like that.

I tried the concentration gag on him for a pearl ring he had on, thinking
I had him under the gypsy curse, but there was a person who had the
nerve to call herself a lady who had been saying things about me sitting
at another table with a Harry who had led me to believe that I was his
own little Star of Hope, and I just couldn't get my mind centered.
"Honest to goodness, I don't know what I'll do unless I find work. My
suite of apartments is reduced now to one hall room and a closet, and
the Dennett & Child's circuit is beginning to look like K. & E. booking.
The only thing I can think of for me to do is to get engaged and hock
the betrothal ring for a meal ticket.
"Me for roller skates. Here I've been hunting a job until I wore out two
pair of these Sorosis things and not a bush shakes. Can't even sign a
contract for a Friday night amateur contest. By gum, I'd take a job
barking for a snake race. I had an offer to go into vaudeville. What do
you know about that? The act hasn't any time yet, but it will get time as
soon as it makes good, and to make good all its needs is a trial
performance, and the backer thinks he knows where he can get a trial
performance, and to get ready for the trial performance will require
about five weeks' rehearsal at nix per week. Do you think a stunt like
that is worthy of my attention? Adversity does sure land on the poor
chorus doll with both feet at every stage of the game.
"I was reading in the paper the other day that some old pappy guy out
in Chi was making a noisy fuss that the chorus ladies stay up too late
nights. I wish somebody would show him to me, that's all I ask, just
show him to me. I suppose old Pink Whiskers was a chorus man once
himself and has got all the dope on the subject. So we stay up late, do
we? I suppose he will be wanting us to read helpful books instead of
making up, next. To my mind, of course I may be wrong, but to my
mind the staying up late nights ain't half as bad as getting up in the
morning. Of course, I don't know who or what this old wop is that
made this crack, but if he thinks we spend most of our time in sinful
idleness he'd better copper his bet. All we do is rehearse all morning,
matinee all afternoon, performance all evening and travel all night. The
rest of the time we have to ourselves, and he thinks we frivol. Why, he

ain't wise to half the privations they force on us. Would you believe it?
I have gone forty weeks without never even catching a glimpse of
Broadway, and once went for ten without even a cheese sandwich to
bring gladness to my heart. Can you beat that? And then he goes and
turns loose a rebel yell because when we do get a little time to
ourselves we stay up late nights. Oh, Mellen's Food! When does he
want us to stay up? Mornings? Some wise boy once said, 'Early to bed,
early to rise, but you don't meet