  A few years ago a handsome, immaculate young man came over to me as I was sitting in the office of the Adams House in Boston and said, "Mr. Cressy, my name is so-and-so; I am an actor; a good actor too, and I have always been very proud of my profession. My mother is one of the most popular actresses in America to-day. But last summer I had an experience that set me to thinking a little. As you were mixed up in it I am going to tell it to you. "Last season I was out with a company that made one of those 'artistic successes,' but which did not seem to interest the public very much. As a result, when the merry springtime came around, I had a trunk full of good clothes, good press notices and I.O.U.'s from the manager, but not a dollar in money. "But I was fortunate enough to receive an invitation from a luckier actor friend to spend a month at his summer home on the shores of Lake "He had a beautiful home. And I was certainly some class; I had linens, flannels, yachting clothes, tennis clothes, evening clothes; in fact I had everything but money. "One night we were sitting down on his little wharf enjoying our—no, his—cigars, and a very pretty little launch passed by. "'Whose launch is that?' I asked. "'Oh, it belongs to some Vaudeville player by the name of Matthews, I believe. They live over on the other side of the lake. I don't know them.' "Pretty soon another little launch came into the bay, cruised around the shore, and went. "'Whose boat is that?' I inquired. "'That belongs to a Vaudeville fellow by the name of Merritt. I don't know him.' "A little while after a big cabin launch came into the bay and cruised slowly around. Out on the deck was a party of young folks: two of the girls were playing mandolins and they were all singing. "'By Jove!' I exclaimed. 'That's a beauty! Whose is it?' "I sat for a while—thinking. Here I was, a recognized Broadway player of legitimate rÔles, a man who could play any juvenile Shakespearian rÔle without a rehearsal, a member of The Lambs and The Players Clubs. And here I was sitting out on the end of a wharf because I didn't have money enough to hire even a bum rowboat. And the three first launches that had passed by were all owned by Vaudeville players—whom my legitimate friend 'did not know at all.' I thought it all out and then I turned to my friend and said, "'All right, Tom, but you want to make all you can out of this visit of mine. For the next time I come up here you won't be speaking to me.' "'Why won't I?' he asked in surprise. "'Because the next time I come up here I am going to be "one of those Vaudeville players." I am going to have some money in my pocket; and I am going to have a boat; and I am going Copy of a letter received from the proprietor of a hotel in Youngstown, Ohio: "To the Manager of the —— Company. "I can highly recommend you to my hotel we get all the best troups our rates are as follows. One man or one woman in one bed, $1.25. Two men, or two women, or one man and one woman in one bed, $1.00. And the hens lay every day. Hanging in each room of the Freeman House at Paterson, N. J., there used to hang a neat little frame of "House Rules." Among these rules were the following: "Towel Service will be restricted to one clean towel for each guest daily. The face towel of the previous day may (and should) be retained for hand use the following day." "Gentlemen will not be allowed to visit ladies in their sleeping rooms, nor ladies to visit gentlemen in their rooms except under extenuating circumstances." "Why?" "Why?" A little boy playing around the stage door of the Orpheum Theater in Kansas City spoke to me as I came out one afternoon. "Hello, Mister." "Hello, young feller." "Do you work in there?" "Yes." "Are you an actor?" "Yes." "Why?" And I couldn't tell him of a single reason. |
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