first,” he added, “how much time have you? For if you are in danger of
being interrupted, we had best make an appointment to meet later.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said the girl in a hard, bantering tone; “you see we
girls are allowed the privilege of entertaining friends, in fact, salary
cuts such a small figure in this joint, that it is absolutely necessary
for us to get some money on the side.”
“But I hope you don’t expect to get any money from me for just talking
with you; of course I will buy drinks, lunch or anything you like, but
there is where I draw the line. You see I am only a curiosity seeker.”
“In that case,” said the girl, “I must leave you, for if I am not on the
stage at the call, the manager will have a kick coming.”
“How do you appease his wrath when you stay away, that is to say, when
you are getting the money?”
“Oh, that’s different,” said the girl, rising. “I always cut it with him.”
“Oh, I see,” said the man, musingly. “How much does it take to satisfy
him?”
“Oh, I guess I can fix him for a dollar.”
“Then here, I’ll give you the dollar, now we will go into a private wine
room and have a good hour’s chat.”
“What! and let all these sure things around here go? I guess not! Don’t
you see that old guy over there making eyes at me now? He’s a regular
here and always ready money, too.”
“Have another drink,” said the man, as he took a cigarette from the
package which the girl held in her hand.
“All right, I’ll have one more, then bid you good night. I’ll see you
again,” she said reassuringly.
The man was wise. When the boy brought the drinks, he produced a roll of
tens and twenties, which would cause the eyes of most people to dilate
with greed.
Tossing a bill on the table, he carelessly placed the roll in his
waistcoat pocket, and when the waiter returned with the change, he
generously insisted on his taking a dollar for the drinks.
“Now it is my time to buy,” said the girl, before the boy had left the
table.
“Bring me a whisky sour, and what is yours,” she said merrily as she
leaned over and placed one hand on the man’s knee.
“I will take a small bottle of beer,” said the man, slowly.
“Oh, come now, old brown eyes, take something better; some kind of a
mixed drink.”
“No, please let me have beer; you see I am thirsty. I have drank nothing
but whisky all day.”
After this speech the man placed his elbows on the table and almost fell
asleep.
“Come, cheer up, dearie!” said the girl with a slap on the man’s back.
“Yesh, I’m all right,” said the man, “only you see, I’m so tired let’s
go into a wine room where people won’t see us.”
“All right,” said the girl, “but first let’s have this drink that’s
coming, then we can tell our waiter where to find us.”
The girl had forgotten the “old guy,” and seemed only to remember the
visions which floated through the air in the forms of tens and twenties.
She would look at the man hopefully, then her eyes would fall on the vest
pocket on the side furthest from her.
“How old are you?” asked the man, as he laid his arm along the back of
her chair and gazed steadily into her face, after they had been enclosed
in the wine room.
“No matter, you don’t care,” she returned, coyly.
“Yes, but I do. You see, I want you to tell me everything. How old are
you; where were you born; when did you come to Chicago, all?” said the
man, earnestly.
“I am twenty-four,” she muttered, and she probed the bottom of the glass
with a toothpick for the cherry, which so persistently rolls around in a
cocktail.
“You look it,” said he, frankly.
Tears sprang into the girl’s eyes, as she said, “My God, man, if you had
gone through what I have, you would look old, too.”
“Now come, I did not mean that to hurt, but I am blunt and to the point;
if I have hurt you, forgive me,” said the man.
“Oh, that’s nothing,” said the girl, “only, you see, I guess I am wrong
someway tonight. I don’t like to swear, and feel too mean to cry.”
“You seem worried or sad.”
“No, I am—am—nothing,” said the girl, dreamily.
“Oh, I guess you are a great deal,” said he, as he passed his hand down
the woman’s bare arm, with a soft caress, from her shoulder to the
hand that hung listlessly at her side. In spite of the man’s maudlin
condition, his touch was soft and gentle; the stroke seemed to soothe the
mind of the girl; tears sprang into her eyes as the man took her hand and
patted it in a kindly manner; hope seemed to take root in her breast and
the man, throwing off all assumption of intoxication, looked her squarely
in the eyes and said: “Come, now, I know you have a story. The thrill
which your soft hand sends through me tells me that you have known better
things, that you have graced a throne more becoming to womanly instincts,
with which your nature is so bountifully supplied.”
“Don’t, oh please don’t talk like that,” cried the girl, “it—it—makes me
so sad.”
“Have you ever told your story,” asked the man, paying no attention to
the now sobbing girl.
“N—o—, but—I have wanted to, oh so much, for some time I shall die, and
while I have sinned much, I want some one to know that I was reared
right, and that even after I had fallen from the great white throne of
purity I had some good thoughts, but I have always been afraid to tell
any one especially since⸺” here the creature broke down entirely, moaning
and writhing in bitter agony.
“Since when?” asked the man, gently, as she seemed to get her grief
partially under control.
“Oh, since I have gotten so low.”
“Come, now, you’re not so bad off, and besides you are going to tell me
the truth, and I am going to believe you, for a woman never gets too
low, even in her own estimation, to tell the truth when she refers to a
beautiful past.”
“Oh, yes, if it were all as you say, but then I think I will tell you,”
said the girl, bravely.
“My parents were natives of the New England states. When I was four
years old they removed from our eastern home to a small town in McLean
county, Illinois. My father was a Baptist minister, and I was taught
all the principles of the true Christian and, believe me, I enjoyed the
Sunday-schools, prayer-meetings and all the devotional exercises. Music
always charmed me and when the question arose as to whether or not an
organ should be placed in the church, I think it was due to my influence
over my father that one was installed there, for he opposed it at first.
The most looked for event of the year was Christmas time, for it was the
custom to have a Christmas tree at the church, at which time the music
would excel all other occasions. Once the local paper of our town offered
a fine, large doll (lifelike in every particular) as a prize to the
girl over nine years and under twelve years of age, who would write the
best Christmas story, the stories to be published several weeks before
Christmas. The names of the writers were to be kept secret, while the
patrons of the papers sent in votes denoting their choice; the doll was
given Christmas eve. I think as I now look back over a career that is not
spotless, that the moment when the great wax figure with the big blue
eyes and masses of soft, fluffy hair, the kid body of which was clothed
in the finest array imaginable, was placed in my arms, was the happiest
moment of all my life. I knew I had sent in a story, but never dreamed
of being the winner; my heart was full, my life complete. I had no
longings or dreads; my childish competitors took their defeat like little
women; the next week my parents assisted me in giving my first party and
the invitations were issued only to those dear little friends, who had
competed for the prize; we called it a christening party, for we named
the dollie.
“Tired, aren’t you?” said the girl.
“No—go on!”
“I cannot understand how all this stuff about my dolls, etc., will
interest you.”
“But you have not always played with dolls,” said the man as he elevated
his brows.
“I am sorry to say I have not. The next important event of my life
was the death of my father, which caused my first real sadness. I was
fourteen then; how well I remember the night after we buried all that was
left of our dear protector. I dressed for bed, then, as was my custom,
went to say good-night to papa and mamma; my prayers were always said at
my father’s knee; that night from force of habit I went from the door
of my room and walked straightway to my father’s chair and was just
bowing my head as I prepared to kneel, when the vacant chair caught my
eye. Oh, sir! I can’t tell you how desolate, how dreary I felt when I
fully realized that the blessed privilege of snuggling into his lap and
putting my arms around his neck and having a good talk with him was gone
forever; my father always trusted me as a good friend and companion,
confiding in me and often advising with me on different topics pertaining
to his sermons, so that even at this tender age I was well advanced in
mental training; he never told me no if I asked him if I should read a
certain book, or go any place, or do anything; if my act did not meet
his approval he never indulged in a long lecture about disobedient and
headstrong children, but would take me gently into his arms and say,
‘Now, let’s see, we will talk it over,’ and before I left him I would
know and understand why my contemplated step was wrong and no amount of
persuasion would induce me to go contrary to his wishes. Not only would
he cause me to see things his way on these occasions, but he would insert
some request, some little point he wanted me to look up in the Bible or
history for him, so that my mind became so full of interest in doing
these things that my own ideas were submerged. I was told once by a girl
friend who was hurt at some little indiscretion on my part that I need
not be so smart, my father was not always a preacher, while I, in the
full confidence of religion and clerical importance, naturally supposed
that he had been and replied to her sharply that ‘I knew better.’
“‘Well, I know better, too,’ she retorted, ‘for my papa knew him when he
was a bad, wicked man, so there, now!’
“I was so hurt and humiliated that I burst into tears, and made no reply
but went home and running into my father’s arms, I cried and sobbed until
I was sure I should die; it was a long time before I could calm myself
sufficiently to answer questions which my father and mother poured in
upon me. Finally I told them the circumstances; I noted the pallor which
spread over papa’s face, but mistook it. I thought he was angry.
“In about thirty days from that time my father was called to go to the
country, some sixteen miles, to officiate at the funeral of an old member
of his flock. The day was bitter cold; the wind howled, while the snow
went swirling and drifting everywhere. It was necessary for him to drive;
he arrived home late that night, chilled and benumbed from the cold and
exposure; in three days pneumonia had added poor papa to its long list of
victims.
“A parson’s salary is not a source of large bank accounts, and by the
time all the expenses which were incurred by the illness and death of
my father were paid we were without means; then the regulation donation
party was inaugurated and by that means we were put in possession of a
sufficient amount of the necessities of life to exist on for several
months, and to help, the official board met and passed a resolution that
they would not engage a regular pastor for the remainder of the winter,
so mamma and I could ‘just as well’ live in the parsonage right along
until further notice. Christmas passed that year with as much sadness
in it for me as there had been joy and pleasure in the preceding ones;
cold, dreary winter days did nothing to enhance the value of our lives;
then came spring, ushered in by the songs of birds and the breath of
roses. The official board met again and a new pastor was called to take
the place of him who had been the light of my life. The members of the
church were not thoughtless by any means, for they, in their goodness,
provided for us; in a certain town in Eastern Indiana there is a Baptist
hospital; it was through the generous and kindly directed influence of my
father’s flock that my mother was offered the position of matron of this
institution. We took up our abode there and it was there that my real
life began.
“When I was fifteen years old I tried my hand at writing again, but not
for a doll this time; I was successful enough to have a story received by
a popular magazine, for which they paid me fifty dollars. This brought
me not a little notoriety and I was asked to join a literary club and
practically taken into the arms of the social leaders of the town. If I
say I was good looking, I do so only because others declared such to be
the case. I seemed to be a favorite; I was much wanted at the different
social functions for I had learned to play and sing. It was little wonder
that when a young man came into the city and arranged with the Ladies’
Club to produce an opera, solely with local talent, that my name was
mentioned as being the one for the leading part. The part required youth,
grace, modesty and vigor, a combination which the director told me was
not easily found.
“‘The Little Tycoon’ was the title of the production. My part was a
singing part and it required much training and long practice. I strove to
please the young man who had the affair in charge and worked many hours
after the other performers had gone home. The young man, Leon La Dew, was
also greatly interested in my success and he spent hour upon hour with
me that I might attain the proficiency which I aspired to reach.
“The entertainment was a success from every standpoint, so much so, that
hundreds were turned away and by request it was repeated on the following
night; after the last performance, I hurried home with my mother, as
I had upon all occasions of rehearsal during the preparations for the
event. Next day the papers were full of praise for the participants, many
of them getting what we now call a ‘special.’ An interview with Mr. La
Dew held a conspicuous place on the first page. He lauded all the people
who had so ably assisted, and the interview closed by saying, ‘Mr. La Dew
informs the press that much of the success of the performance was due to
the excellent work of Miss Althea Noble, in fact, Mr. La Dew assures us
that should Miss Noble aspire to the stage as a profession, she, without
a doubt, has a great future before her.’
“How my heart throbbed, how my blood surged. I was not stage struck, I
actually abhorred the thought of it, but I had been praised by Mr. La
Dew. I wept with joy; he had been so kind, so sweet and tender, never
scolding or fretting when we girls made blunders, he had just that even,
patient temperament which will conquer all things, and he was rather
handsome, too. Not strikingly so, but so much so, that if he suddenly
came into a room crowded with people, no matter how unassuming he might
appear, everyone would see him. Then for me there was a familiar look
and attraction in his manner. I felt as if I had known him always. I
once expressed my feelings about him to mamma, and she explained that
the feeling was born of a memory, Mr. La Dew being the first man I had
associated with in any manner since my father’s death. I accepted her
explanations for the time, but before Mr. La Dew was gone from the town
three days, I knew I was in love. On the fifth day, after he had gone,
I ran to my mother, uttering screams of delight, all brought about by
reason of a letter which I pushed into her hands as she gazed at me in
an amazed way. The letter was from him. It said, ‘I have arranged to put
on “The Little Tycoon” here (a near-by town), but am unable to fill the
part which you so ably took in your home town; I showed the ladies here
the press notices, whereupon they insisted on my asking you to help us
out here, hence this letter. Now, if you can be prevailed upon to come,
please advise me by wire. You will, of course, be liberally compensated.
“‘Yours respectfully,
“‘LEON LA DEW.’
“I insisted so hard that my mother finally said in a relenting tone, ‘of
course, we could use the money.’
“I went several days before the performance. I was to assist Mr. La Dew
in drilling some of the characters; I was housed in the home of one of
the best families in the city and the lady of the house was all a mother
could be. I was protected in every way and Leon was so good, so kind and
gentle.
“On the afternoon of the performance, we were very, very busy at the
theater, everything in a turmoil, so I told my hostess that after the
last full-dress rehearsal she could run on home and dress and that I
would stay and assist in getting everything in shape for the evening. At
six o’clock I tapped on the door of the managers’ office and told Mr. La
Dew that I would run out, get some supper and return, so that I could be
there to help some of the young ladies with their ‘make-up.’
“‘No,’ said he, ‘I have sent out and within ten minutes our suppers will
be here; I cannot leave and there is no use in your going out, Miss
Noble.’
“We waited but a short time until the boy arrived with our suppers.
“If I sang better that night, if the roses seemed sweeter and the music
more dreamy, if I at times imagined that the flitting forms on the stage
were angels and that I, too, held a harp and chanted the songs of the
seraphs, it was all because Leon had told me of his love. I did not act
that night, I just lived my part in the ecstacy of my new found joy. When
I went home, Leon went with me. We told my mother all; our whole life’s
plans were changed. We quickly arranged for Leon and me to marry. Mother
was to leave her position and we were all to travel in the same line, in
which Leon had established himself. I disliked the business, but with the
assurance that he would save our earnings and enter into some business in
the future that would be more to my liking, I consented. Oh, the joy, the
happiness of true love. It now seemed that all the world was bright and
cheery. We had no time to lose, as Leon had engagements to fill. After
our plans were completed Leon said to me, ‘Althea, dearest, I want to
have a talk with you, there is something I want to tell you.’
“What is it, Leon?” said I, as my heart stopped with a throb.
“He, perceiving my agitation, took my face in his two dear hands, and
kissed my brow.
“‘Oh, it is not much, darling, only I must tell you. I know your love for
me will make things all right.’
“‘Well, Leon, tell me;’ as anxious as I was to hear his round full tones,
I trembled with fear. I never knew why I felt that way.
“‘I must tell you,’ he continued, ‘something of my past life.’
“‘Oh, never mind, Leon, I know you are nothing but a dear, good boy, and
I will not believe anything else of you.’
“‘No, Althea, it is not that, for believe me, I love you too much to have
caused you pain by spoiling your life by my own association if I thought
I were not worthy, but there is a blot on the abstract of my life and
before it is too late, I must tell you all.’
“I begged of him to keep the secret, but no, he was too honest.
“‘My mother was like you, Althea, a sweet, innocent girl; the man who
is my father I have never known, but he, like myself, was theatrically
inclined; he came to the town which was my mother’s home and much the
same as in our case, my mother took the leading role in the production
which he was playing; he became infatuated with her, they were quietly
married, but he soon became tired, deserted her, and there was a life
with all the glory and sweetness taken out of it. My mother died from
disgrace, when I was eight; she held me in her arms and told me the
story, then giving me a locket, which contained my father’s picture,
‘take this,’ said she, ‘and when you are a man, find him if you can; be
gentle with him and tell him I died thinking of him.’
“‘And have you the locket, Leon?’ I cried eagerly.
“‘Yes, here it is.’
* * * * *
“I regained consciousness, surrounded by friends; all I could see as I
slowly opened my eyes, was a little gold locket. The picture which it
contained was that of my father.
“No amount of coaxing or force would cause me to tell what the cause of
the shock was; as soon as I revived sufficiently to talk, I asked for
Leon. When he came I signified a desire to be left alone with him and
told him all, then the dear, generous brother, that he was, insisted on
taking my mother into the secret. That is where I blundered. In order to
spare my poor mother the pain and anguish which I knew the news would
bring, I objected. Leon and I argued the matter, he contending that he
could at least go on with our plans in regard to the show business; he
could at least assist me on to fame, but no, I would not agree with him.
He finally left me in as much misery as he himself was surrounded with.
I have seen him twice since then, once, soon after I came to Chicago and
adopted the stage, for I was compelled to seek employment. My fainting
spell which occurred while all alone with Leon was food and drink for the
‘I told you so’s’ of the little town where I had sprung into popularity
in spite of the fact that some of the more conservative residents
insisted on saying that ‘nobody really knows what she is.’
“I left mamma there; when I arrived here I applied to one of the most
fashionable play houses in the city. They were in need of chorus girls;
my voice was tried and I was told to go to the costumer’s for my
wardrobe; that worthy gentleman handed me a large paper box, saying, with
a sardonic grin, ‘if they are too tight be careful about stooping in
them, for they might split and we are short on outfits right now.’
“They. I wondered for a moment what he meant; tears sprang to my eyes
when I unfolded the silken tights, which the box contained. I proceeded
to take each article from the box, tights, fancy hose, girdle, etc.,
hardly enough clothes to make a respectable suit of underwear, still
I was to appear under the glare of strong lights, before hundreds of
pleasure-seeking people in this scanty array. I thought of my mother,
then Leon, and with a shudder of indignation I thought of my father as I
had seen him the last time. I cried some, then with the feeling that it
was not all my fault, I managed to get into the abbreviated garments and
reported to the stage manager for full-dress rehearsal.
“‘Zound!’ I heard the musical director say, ‘where did you pick that one
up?’
“‘Oh, from the country,’ replied the manager.
“A giggle ran along the rows of girls at this sally.
“I took naturally to the work, and at the end of the rehearsal was told
by the director to ‘come on’ for that evening’s performance, ‘but mind,
my little scared dear, make up some.’ I failed to understand him, for if
the clothes which I wore were supposed to fit a good figure, I felt that
I filled the bill, for the costume was very snugly fitted; at last it
dawned upon me that it was my face, so I asked some of the older girls
to make me up. I was sent from one to another, until one girl, who seemed
to be a little new, told me to go to Dollie Squires. ‘She can do it and
if she does, the director is sure to be pleased, for she is Prof’s pet,
and she knows what will please him.’
“Of course it was my desire to make the best appearance possible, it was
simply a matter of business, so I trusted all to Dollie. When I went on
in the first scene, the titter which fluttered around the stage almost
spoiled the act. Little did I dream that it was I who was the innocent
cause of all the sensation among the performers, until after the curtain
had been drawn.
“I had seen Leon in the audience. I was most miserable lest he should
recognize me; my fear was changed to hurt, however, when the musical
director ran pell mell all over the stage until he found me.
“‘Who made you up?” said he.
“I told him. He raved, he tore, and stormed; his language was so bitter
and I was so hurt that I was unable to go on any more that night. Next
day he came to me in a more quiet manner and explained that he had
intended to ‘feature’ me and that my make up had so horrified him that he
really lost his temper. It took days for me to see clearly that Dollie
put up the job on me, because she was jealous, but such was the case,
and I could thank her for one thing, that being that Leon had failed to
penetrate the disguise which she had placed upon me.