And he hotly answered: "Well, don't you try playing for anyone else. I
give you fair warning--I'll enjoin you if you do! The law is on my side,
remember."
"My dear sir," I said, "the law was not specially created for you to have
fun with, and it has an odd way of protecting women at times. I shall at
all events appeal to it to-morrow morning."
Next morning my salary was sent to me. I took from it what was due me for
two nights' work I had done early in the week, and returned the rest,
saying: "As I am not a member of the company, no salary need be sent me."
And eleven o'clock found me in the office of ex-Judge William Fullerton.
He declared that my mind showed a strong legal bent, and he congratulated
me upon my refusal of the proffered salary. "If," said he, "you receive a
desirable offer in the way of an engagement, take it at once and without
fear. Mr. Daly will threaten you, of course, but I can't believe his
lawyers will permit him to take this matter into court. In attacking you
he will attack every young, self-supporting woman in New York, in your
person. The New York man will sympathize with you. Public opinion is a
great power, and no manager wishes to see it arrayed against him."
And thus it happened that I was not legally quite off with the old
manager when I was on with the new--in the person of Mr. A. M. Palmer, my
sometime manager and still my honored friend. Our relations were always
kindly, yet to this hour I squirm mentally when I recall our first
meeting. I was taking some chocolate at a woman's restaurant on Broadway,
and a common friend brought the "Union Square" manager in and introduced
him, simply as a friend, for whatever my secret hope, there had been no
open word spoken about business in connection with this interview. But,
given a meeting between an idle actress and an active manager, a
Barkis-like willingness to talk business is sure to develop.
Looking up and seeing Mr. Harriott advancing toward my table with a
strange gentleman in tow, I gave a nervous swallow and fixed my attention
upon the latter. His rigid propriety of expression, the immaculately
spotless and creaseless condition of his garments made me expect each
moment to hear the church-bells clang out an invitation to morning
service. Being presented, he greeted me with a gentle coldness of
manner--if I may use the expression--that sent my heart down like lead.
Now extreme nervousness on my part nearly always expresses itself in
rapid, almost reckless speech, and directly I was off at a tangent,
successfully sharing with them the fun of various absurdities going on
about us; until, in an evil moment, my eye fell upon the smug face of a
young rural beau, whose terrified delight in believing himself a very
devil of a fellow was so ludicrously evident, that one wept for the
presence of a Dickens to embalm him in the amber of his wit.
"Oh!" I said, egged on by one of those imps who hover at the elbow of
just such women as I am, "can't you see he is a minister's son? He has
had more religion given to him than he can digest. He's taking a sniff of
freedom. He has kicked over the traces and he has not quite decided yet
whether he'll go to the demnition bow-wows entirely, or be moderately
respectable. He's a minister's son fast enough, but he doesn't know yet
whether he will manage a theatre in New York or run away with the
Sunday-school funds; and that red-haired young person oppo--opposite----"
And I trailed off stupidly, for judging by the ghastly silence that had
fallen upon my hearers and the stricken look upon Mr. Harriott's face, I
knew I had set my foot deep in some conversational morass. I turned a
frightened glance upon Mr. Palmer's face, and I have always been glad
that I was in time to catch the twinkling laughter in his cool, hazel
eyes. Then he leaned toward me and gently remarked: "I am the son of a
minister, Miss Morris, and the manager of a theatre, but upon my word the
Sunday-school funds never suffered at my hands."
"Oh!" I groaned. And I must have looked just as a pet dog does when it
creeps guiltily to its mistress's foot and waits to be smacked. I
_really_ must, because he suddenly broke into such hearty laughter. Then
presently he made a business proposition that pleased me greatly, but I
felt I must tell him that Mr. Daly promised to get out an injunction to
prevent my appearance anywhere, and he would probably not care to risk
any trouble. And then there came a little squeeze to Mr. Palmer's lips
and a little glint in his eye, as he remarked: "You accept my offer and
I'll know how to meet the injunction."
And I can't help it--being born on St. Patrick's Day and all that--if
people _will_ step on the tail of one's coat, why of course they must
expect "ructions." And to tell the honest truth, Mr. Palmer's perfect
willingness to fight that injunction filled me with unholy glee; which
combined beautifully with gratitude for his quick forgiveness of my _faux
pas_--and I signed a contract with Mr. Sheridan Shook and Mr. A. M.
Palmer and was announced to appear in "The Wicked World" at the Union
Square Theatre, and I was pursued day and night by slim young men with
black curly hair, who tried to push folded papers into my unwilling
hands; while life behind the scenes grew more and more strenuous, as
scene-shifters, property-men, and head carpenters, armed with braces and
screw-eyes, charged any unknown male creature that looked as if he could
define the word injunction.
The night came, and with it an equinoctial gale of perfect fury. Whether
the people were blown in by the storm or fought their way in by
intention, I can't decide. I only know they were there and in numbers
sufficient to crowd the bright and ruddy auditorium. They were a trifle
damp about the ankles and disordered about the hair, but their hands were
in prime working order, their hearts were warm, their perceptions
quick--what more could the most terrified actress pray for in an
audience?
The play was one of Gilbert's deliciously poetic satires--well cast,
beautifully produced, after the manner of Union Square productions
generally, and Success shook the rain off her wings and perched upon our
banners, and we were all filled with pride and joy, in spite of the young
men with folded white papers who swirled wildly up and down Fourth Avenue
in the storm, and of those other young men who came early and strove
diligently to get seats within reaching distance of the foot-lights, only
to find that by some strange accident both those rows of chairs were
fully occupied when the doors were first throw open. Yes, in spite of all
those disappointed young men, we had a success, and I was not enjoined.
Yet there were two rather long managerial faces there that night. For
unless my out-of-town managers threw me overboard, because of the
trouble about "Alixe," I could remain in this charming play of "The
Wicked World" but two short weeks. And no manager can be expected to
rejoice over the forced withdrawal of a success.
And right there Mr. Palmer saw fit to do a very gracious thing. After the
first outburst of anger and disappointment from Mr. Thomas Hall (my
Philadelphia manager), instead of breaking his engagement with me, as he
had every right to do, he stood by his contract to star me and at the
same terms, if I could provide a play--any play to fill the time with. I
had nothing of course but the Daly plays, so my thanks and utter
abandonment of the engagement were neatly packed within the regulation
ten telegraphic words, when Mr. Palmer offered me the use of his play,
"The Geneva Cross," written by George Fawcett Rowe. In an instant my
first telegram changed into a joyous acceptance. I was studying my part
at night, my mother was ripping, picking out and pressing at skirts and
things by day. Congratulating myself upon my good fortune in having once
seen the play in New York, I went to Philadelphia, and after just one
rehearsal of this strange play, I opened my starring engagement. Can I
ever forget the thrill I felt when I received my first thousand dollars?
I counted it by twenties, then by tens, but I got the most satisfaction
out of counting it by fives--it seemed so much more that way. I was
spending it with the aid of a sheet of foolscap paper and a long pencil
until after two o'clock in the morning. My mother to this day declares
that that was the very best black silk dress she has ever owned--that one
out of that first thousand she means, and on the wall here beside me
hangs a fine and rare engraving of the late Queen Victoria in her
coronation robes that I gave myself as a memento of that first wonderful
thousand. That, when the other managers saw that Mr. Hall kept faith with
me, and had apparently not lost by his action, they followed suit and all
my engagements were filled--thanks to Mr. Palmer's kindness and Mr.
Hall's pluck as well as generosity.