It was during the rehearsals of "L'Article 47" that I enjoyed one single
hearty laugh,--a statement that goes far to show my distressed state of
mind,--for generally speaking that is an unusual day which does not
bring along with its worry, work, and pain some bubble of healing
laughter. It was a joke of Mr. Le Moyne's own special brand that found
favour in my eyes and a place in my memory. Any one who has ever served
under Mr. Daly can recall the astounding list of rules printed in fine
type all over the backs of his contracts. The rules touching on
_forfeits_ seemed endless: "For being late," "For a stage wait," "For
lack of courtesy," "For gossiping," "For wounding a companion's
feelings"--each had its separate forfeiture. "For addressing the manager
on business outside of his office," I remember, was considered worth one
dollar for a first offence and more for a second. Most of these rules
ended with, "Or discharge at the option of the manager." But it was well
known that the mortal offence was the breaking that rule whose very
first forfeit was five dollars, "Or discharge at the option of," etc.,
that rule forbidding the giving to outsiders of any stage information
whatever; touching the plays in rehearsal, their names, scenes, length,
strength, or story; and to all these many rules on the backs of our
contracts we assented and subscribed our amused or amazed selves.
When the new French play "L'Article 47" was announced, the title aroused
any amount of curiosity. A reporter after a matinee one day followed me
up the avenue, trying hard to get me to explain its meaning; but I was
anxious not to be "discharged at the option of the manager," and
declined to explain. Many of the company received notes asking the
meaning of the title. At Mr. Le Moyne's house there boarded a walking
interrogation-point of a woman. She wished to know what "L'Article 47"
meant; she would know. She tried Mr. Harkins; Mr. Harkins said he didn't
know. She tossed her head and tried Mr. Crisp; Mr. Crisp patiently and
elaborately explained just why he could not give any information. She
implied that he did not know a lady when he saw one, and fell upon Mr.
Le Moyne, tired, hungry, suavely sardonic. "_He_ was," she assured him,
"a gentleman of the old school. _He_ would know how to receive a lady's
request and honour it." And Le Moyne rose to the occasion. A large
benevolence sat upon his brow, as assuring her that, though he ran the
risk of discharge for her fair sake, yet should she have her will. He
asked if she had ever seen a Daly contract. The bridling, simpering
idiot replied, "She had seen several, and such numbers of silly rules
she had never seen before, and--"
"That's it," blandly broke in Le Moyne, "there's the explanation of the
whole thing--see? 'L' Article 47' is a five-act dramatization of the
47th rule of Daly's contract."
"Did you ever?" gasped the woman.
"No," said Le Moyne, reaching for bread, "I never did; but Daly's up to
anything, and he'd discharge me like a shot if he should ever hear of
this."
It was almost impossible to get Mr. Daly to laugh at an actor's joke; he
was too generally at war with them, and he was too often the object of
the jest. But he did laugh once at one of the solemn frauds perpetrated
on me by this same Le Moyne.
On the one hundred and twenty-fifth performance of "Divorce" I had
"stuck dead," as the saying is. Not a word could I find of my speech. I
was cold--hot--cold again. I clutched Mrs. Gilbert's hand. I whispered
frantically: "What is it? Oh! what is the word?" But horror on horror,
in my fall I had dragged her down with me. She, too, was
bewildered--lost. "I don't know," she murmured. There we were, all at
sea. After an awful wait I walked over and asked Captain Lynde (Louis
James) to come on, and the scene continued from that point. I was
angry--shamed. I had never stuck in all my life before, not even in my
little girl days. Mr. Daly was, of course, in front. He came rushing
back to inquire, to scold. Every one joked me about my probable
five-dollar forfeit. Well, next night came, and at that exact line I did
it again. Of course that was an expression of worn-out nerves; but it
was humiliating in the extreme. Mr. Daly, it happened, was attending an
opening elsewhere, and did not witness my second fall from grace. Then
came Le Moyne to me--big and grave and kind, his plump face with the
shiny spots on the cheek-bones fairly exuding sympathetic commiseration.
He led me aside, he lowered his voice, he addressed me gently:--
[Illustration: _W.J. Le Moyne_]
"You stuck again, didn't you, Clara? Too bad! too bad! and of course you
apprehend trouble with Daly? I'm awfully sorry. Ten dollars is such a
haul on one week's salary. But see here, I've got an idea that will help
you out, if you care to listen to it."
I looked hard at him, but the wretch had a front of brass; his
benevolence was touching. I said eagerly: "Yes, I do care indeed to
listen. What is the idea?"
He beamed with affectionate interest, as he said impressively, "Well,
now you know that a bad 'stick' generally costs five dollars in this
theatre?"
"Yes," I groaned.
"And you stuck awfully last night?"
"Yes," I admitted.
"Then to-night you go and repeat the offence. But here is where I see
hope for you. Daly is not here; he does not know yet what you have done.
Watch then for his coming. This play is so long he will be here before
it's over. Go to his private office at once. Get ahead of every one
else; do you understand? Approach him affably and frankly. Tell him
yourself that you have unfortunately stuck again, and then offer him
_the two 'sticks' for eight dollars_. If he's a gentleman and not a Jew,
he'll accept your proposal."
Just what remarks I made to my sympathetic friend Le Moyne at the end of
that speech I cannot now recall. If any one else can, I can only say I
was not a church member then, and let it pass at that. But when I opened
my envelope next salary day and saw my full week's earnings there, I
went to Mr. Daly's office and told him of my two "sticks" and of Le
Moyne's proposed offer, and for once he laughed at an actor's joke.
_CHAPTER XXII