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[Illustration: ELSIE JANIS IN A FEW OF HER CHARACTERIZATIONS.]
A STAR FOR A NIGHT
A STORY OF STAGE LIFE
BY
ELSIE JANIS
WITH PICTURES FROM THE PLAY TAKEN ESPECIALLY FOR THE BOOK
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
WILLIAM RICKEY & COMPANY
1911
Copyright, 1911, by
BRUCE EDWARDS
Copyright, 1911, by
WILLIAM RICKEY & COMPANY
_Registered at Stationers' Hall, London_
_(All Rights Reserved)_
Printed in the United States of America
PRESS OF WILLIAM G. HEWITT, BROOKLYN, N. Y.
_To My Mother_
ORIGINAL CAST
OF
A STAR FOR A NIGHT
_Produced at Charles Dillingham's Globe Theatre, New York_
"MARKY" ZINSHEIMER _Mr. Joseph Cawthorn_
MRS. BLACKMAN} Guests at {_Miss Jane Bliss_
MRS. GILDAY } the {_Miss Pauline Hathaway_
MRS. MARTIN } Claypool {_Miss Josephine Lachmar_
MRS. CARLIN } Hotel {_Miss Henrietta Pouts_
BELL-BOY _Mr. Al Stuart_
MRS. DAINTON _Miss Harriet Sterling_
VICTOR WELDON _Mr. Ralph Nairn_
SANFORD GORDON _Mr. Stanley H. Forde_
FELICE } Mrs. Dainton's {_Miss Josephine Kernell_
MURRAY } servants {_Mr. Jack Sullivan_
FLOSSIE FORSYTHE _Miss Elizabeth Brice_
MRS. KILPATRICK _Miss Margaret King_
MARTHA FARNUM _Miss Elsie Janis_
"PINKIE" LEXINGTON _Miss Julia Frary_
GEORGE CLAYTON _Mr. Wallace McCutcheon_
LIZZIE _Miss Olive Quimby_
ARTHUR MORTIMER _Mr. Gene Revere_
MRS. JANE ANDERSON _Miss Queenie Vassar_
MESSENGER BOY _Master Albert Lamson_
ARNOLD LAWRENCE _Mr. Charles Judels_
PHIL HUMMER _Mr. Charles King_
_Business Manager_ J. CLYDE RIGBY
_Stage Manager_ E. C DONNELLY
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PAGE
"Zinsheimer, of New York" 1
The English Actress 15
Introducing Martha Farnum 27
A Glimpse into the Past 49
Strictly a Business Bargain 63
"Where Everything is Homelike" 71
A Hundred-Dollar Bill 89
Sanford Gordon Reappears 103
Love and Ambition 121
The Underground Wires 133
In the Green-Room 143
An Overture and a Prelude 155
Before the Curtain Rose 167
The Morning After 183
The Final Reckoning 197
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Elsie Janis in a Few of Her Characterizations-- _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
"Marky" Zinsheimer (Joseph Cawthorn) 4
"Oh, that's Miss Farnum. She's old Mrs. Kilpatrick's companion" 28
"I haven't had an orchid this season" 84
"More flowers, and from a man I have never spoken to" 94
"I refuse to let you go, Martha" 98
"I'm sorry I'm so poor," sobbed Pinkie 102
"And glad I am to be back in your hospitable house" 114
"My boots have not arrived, I refuse to go on unless
correctly dressed" 162
Martha Farnum (Elsie Janis) 168
"This is infamous, infamous! I won't read another line" 188
"She looked like a turnip and acted the part artistically" 194
A STAR FOR A NIGHT
CHAPTER I
"ZINSHEIMER, OF NEW YORK"
Stick a pin in the map of southern Indiana, half an inch to the left of
Lost River, and about six hours from the rest of the world, as time is
used to measure railroad journeys, and you will find a speck called
French Lick Springs. Hidden away in the hills, so remote from the
centers of civilization that only wealthy inebriates and chronic
invalids can afford to visit this out of the way, yet expensive, spot,
French Lick has other attractions than the natural beauties of its
scenery and the health-giving quality of its waters. For while the sick
and the ailing may be tempted to the Springs in the hope of gaining
health from the bad-smelling waters they drink, and dozens of
florid-faced men invade the little town almost every day from the big
and distant cities in order to "get washed out" after too much
indulgence in alcoholic stimulants, there are others who go to the
Springs simply for the excitement of a little whirl at the gaming
tables, which rumor says abound there, but which a shrewd deputy sheriff
invariably reports to the local grand jury, "_Non est._"
The town itself is a tiny hamlet. There is a post-office, a railroad
station, a few frame buildings, and the hotel--_the_ hotel, because it
is the only shelter the town affords to the weary traveler. Patrons who
have stopped at the City Hotel in Marshalltown, Iowa, or the Commercial
House in Joplin, Missouri, may wonder how such a tiny town supports such
a gigantic hotel, but the rural spectators at the railroad station, who
have seen the trains on the little branch road bring in Pullman after
Pullman loaded to the roofs, know that no small part of the great
outside world comes here for rest, recreation, and rehabilitation.
Drinking is under the ban here--that is, if you must drink, you must
drink the sulphur water. And every one who has tried to mix alcohol with
the water of the Springs knows the evil consequences thereof.
Which latter explains why Mr. "Marky" Zinsheimer, New York, feather
importer, was particularly grouchy on a certain autumn afternoon when he
strolled into the sun parlor on the veranda of the French Lick Springs
Hotel. In the vicinity of Broadway and Canal Street, New York, Mr.
Zinsheimer was a personage of great importance. Not a cloak model in the
Grand Street district but knew him to be "a perfectly lovely gentleman."
Not a chorus girl south of Fifty-ninth Street but knew that "Marky" was
always a friend in need and a friend indeed. The waiters at Rector's
treated him almost as if he were an equal. He was always sure of a
prominent table at the Cafe de l'Opera, whether he wore evening clothes
or not. He was accustomed to attention, and demanded it. Furthermore, he
was willing to pay for all the attention he received. Forty-two years
old, with a blond German personality which manifested itself in a
slightly bald forehead, slightly curled blond hair, and a slightly blond
moustache, Mr. "Marky" Zinsheimer gave every outward evidence of being
an important personage. His clothes were, perhaps, a trifle extreme; his
tie perhaps a trifle too pronounced in color; his watch-chain a trifle
too heavy; and his solitaire diamond stud was undoubtedly too large; yet
for all that, if you were in the least bit worldly, "Marky" Zinsheimer
was not a person to be lightly ignored.
[Illustration: "MARKY" ZINSHEIMER (JOSEPH CAWTHORN)]
Mr. Zinsheimer's natural good humor was disturbed even before he made
his entrance into the sun parlor. In the first place, he had gone seven
days without a drink, a feat simple enough for a camel, but slightly
difficult for a Zinsheimer. In the second place, he had devised a scheme
for entertainment during his enforced vacation at the Springs, said
entertainment comprising a visit and the companionship at golf of one
Miss Flossie Forsythe, of the "Follies" company, who had hurriedly left
the company in Chicago to accept Mr. Zinsheimer's telegraphed
invitation. But, while Mr. Zinsheimer was genuinely fond of Flossie, and
had even once spoken vaguely of matrimony, he had found that a week of
her society at breakfast, dinner and supper, to say nothing of golf, was
a trifle wearing.
The third reason for Mr. Zinsheimer's perturbation was the discovery, as
he entered the sun parlor, that all the desirable chairs were occupied.
Two of the easy wicker rockers were drawn up by a small table, where a
game of checkers was in progress between two fat ladies. Ranged at
intervals along the glass-enclosed front were four other equally stout
ladies, lolling back in equally comfortable chairs, some reading, some
dozing. Mr. Zinsheimer, who had anticipated a pleasant morning reading
the New York papers, was obviously annoyed. Fortunately, he knew the
proper method of attacking and routing the enemy.
One of the stout ladies, puzzling over her next move, was almost choked
when a whiff of smoke was blown across the checker-board. A moment
later, a somnolent and rotund lady in one of the rockers started up
furiously as another whiff drifted in her direction. A page-boy entering
at this particular moment was hurriedly summoned by the indignant
ladies, and Mr. Zinsheimer, gazing vacantly into space, felt a slight
touch on the arm.
"Beg pardon, sir," said the boy, "smoking is not permitted here."
Mr. Zinsheimer frowned.
"I did not ask permission," he replied.
Two of the stout ladies gathered up their magazines, glowered at the
placid Zinsheimer and the nonplussed boy, murmured "Wretch," and
departed.
"But I mean, there's no smoking here," continued the boy.
"Marky" Zinsheimer blew a particularly large whiff of smoke in the
direction of the checker-table.
"You're wrong, kid," he remarked. "There _is_ smoking here, and I'm
doing it."
"But it's against the hotel rules."
"Hotel rules are like a woman's mind," said "Marky" carelessly, moving
toward the checker-table. "They can be changed to fit any situation."
The checker-players were so much absorbed in their game that they did
not notice him at first, so he leaned over the table, genially, and
inquired:
"Well, whose move is it now?"
"I believe it's mine," retorted one of the two players, indignantly
rising to her feet and starting toward the door.
"And mine," responded the other, following suit. At the door the twain
paused and called to the other occupant of the room: "We are going for a
walk, Mabel. Won't you come?"
Mabel picked up her book and moved toward the irate checker-players who
had been so summarily routed.
"I don't like that cigar," she declared, stopping and turning to
Zinsheimer.
"Well, then, try one of these," responded the irrepressible "Marky,"
offering several long perfectos from a leather case. He was answered
only by a snort of indignation, and the next moment the smiling and
courteous Mr. Zinsheimer, alone on the field of battle, settled himself
in the most comfortable of the vacated chairs.
But "Marky's" serenity was to be short-lived. There was a rattle of
chatelaine chains, a vague and indistinct odor of some unrecognizable
but vivid perfume, the rustle of silken skirts, a cry of glad surprise,
and Miss Flossie Forsythe, engaging, attractive, youthful and magnetic,
settled herself on the arm of his rocking-chair as though entitled to
rest there by the law of eminent domain.
"Marky," she cried, "I've been looking for you everywhere! Who ever
would have thought of finding you in the sun parlor?"
Mr. Zinsheimer coughed uneasily.
"Yes, that's just what I thought," he stammered. "You see," he added, "I
noticed you talking to that swell chap Gordon in the lobby, and I didn't
like it."
Flossie patted his cheek playfully, in spite of "Marky's" efforts to
elude her, and said joyfully:
"Oh, Marky, you were jealous!"
Mr. Zinsheimer grunted.
"Well, if you want to find a new backer, go ahead. All right, only you'd
better be careful I don't get cold feet first. Feather importers _is_ in
demand on Broadway this season," he added as an afterthought.
"But Mr. Gordon is an old friend," pouted Flossie. "I was introduced to
him one night when he sat at a table next to me during the run of
'Florodora.'"
"I suppose you were one of them original sextetters, eh?"
"Now, Marky, don't be horrid when I was just going to ask a little favor
of you."
Mr. Zinsheimer rose to his feet carefully, and buttoned up his coat with
an ominous air, while, relieved of his ballast, Flossie almost fell from
her comfortable perch on the arm of the big chair.
"Nothing doing, Flossie," remarked Zinsheimer, coldly. "Of course it's
all right for me to pay the hotel bill of my fiancee, but as the bill is
assuming generous proportions, I don't think the fiancee should expect
to go any further."
Flossie's dark eyes half filled with tears, and there was just a slight
suspicion of a twitch around the lips at the injustice done her, and she
said plaintively:
"Oh, I don't want to borrow any money."
At that Zinsheimer threw open his coat easily, sighed with relief, and
inquired easily:
"Why, certainly, my dear. What is it you want?"
"Well, it's about my chum, Pinkie Lexington," began Flossie, brushing a
few spects of dust from Mr. Zinsheimer's coat-sleeve. "We were out
together two years ago with 'The Girl from Paris'--the time it stranded
in Butte and you sent us the railroad tickets to come home."
"I remember," interrupted Zinsheimer, quickly. "Rather a pretty girl she
was, too."
"She's still pretty, but she's awful fat," resumed Flossie, wonderfully
innocently. "And I never heard any one call her beautiful. Anyhow, the
show she's with has gone on the rocks up near Indianapolis, and Pinkie
has been left high and dry without a cent."
"So you want me to send her some more rocks, eh?"
"Not at all. Pinkie wrote me all about it, and I wired her to come down
here at once. She's due this afternoon, and I can share my room with her
if you'll just speak to the manager and say we're good for the money."
Zinsheimer scratched his head reflectively.
"But neither of you has any money," he ventured.
"You know as soon as my lawsuit is settled, I will be on velvet,"
retorted Flossie, haughtily. "Meanwhile, your word with the manager
goes."
"Lawsuit?" repeated Mr. Zinsheimer. "Now, Flossie, that's been going on
for five years and I never found out yet what it was all about. Where is
it and when will it be settled?"
Flossie's evident embarrassment at the inquiry into the facts of her
lawsuit was fortunately terminated by the sudden entrance of a bell-boy
with a telegram for "Miss Forsythe."
"That's me, boy," cried Flossie, grabbing the envelope and tearing it
open. "It's from Pinkie and she'll be here on the 3:30 train," she
explained, turning to Zinsheimer. "Boy, call me a carriage."
"Yes, Miss," responded the boy, moving toward the office.
"And have it charged to my room," called Flossie, hastily. Then, taking
"Marky" by the coat lapels, she turned her big brown eyes upward and
asked archly:
"You will speak to the manager about Pinkie?"
Mr. Zinsheimer endeavored to gain time, but the appeal was direct and to
the point. He coughed twice, as if planning resistance, and then
surrendered.
"All right," he growled. "I'll speak to the manager, Flossie, but I know
who'll pay the bill."
"You old dear," cried Flossie, and in another moment the rattling
chatelaines, the vague and unrecognizable perfume, the rustling skirts
and the fascinating Flossie flitted along the veranda toward the waiting
carriage, while "Marky" tried to get interested in the New York papers
and figure the total of seventeen days at five dollars a day, with
extras in the shape of flowers, carriages, candies, manicures, tips, and
other incidentals dear to the heart of a lovely woman who lives
economically but well.