* 
 
THE DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
" Don't be mean, my little Dutch Queen, 
 But name our wedding day." 
 
THE DIARY OF A 
 SHOW-GIRL 
 
 BY 
 
 GRACE LUCE IRWIN 
 
 Illustrated by 
 WALLACE MORGAN 
 
 NEW YORK 
 MOFFAT, YARD AND COMPANY 
 
 1909 
 
Copyright, 1909, by 
 
 MOFFAT, YARD AND COMPANY 
 
 NEW YOBK 
 
 All Rights Reserved 
 Publiehed, March, 1909 
 
 THE QUINN & BODEN CO. PRESS 
 RAHWAY, N. J. 
 
fs 
 
 35, / 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. THE KICK-OFF . . 1 
 
 II. ON THE RUN ... 27 
 
 III. THE SCRIMMAGE . . 55 
 
 IV. BUCKING THE LINE . . 82 
 
 V. THE TOUCHDOWN . . 112 
 
 VI. THE GOAL KICK 147 
 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 " Don't be mean, my little Dutch Queen 
 But name our wedding day." 
 
 Frontispiece 
 
 Of course I always wanted to be an 
 
 actress 3 
 
 I began to whirl and side-step . . 6 
 
 " Higgins, you pay attention after 
 
 this" 9 
 
 Gee, what a jay he looked! ... 15 
 
 Gracious, how good it felt! ... 21 
 
 Admiring the set of them A. 1. wings . 37 
 
 It was something like the Dutch dance . 43 
 
 Jim lit into him like an old stamp-mill . 51 
 
 " I'd rather look like a grasshopper 
 
 than a frog," I says .... 67 
 
 Playing I was leading lady ... 69 
 
 " You impudent, horrid, impudent, dis- 
 gusting, impudent ' . . . . 76 
 ix 
 
x LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I just flew at the song. I choked it, I 
 
 bamboozled it 79 
 
 They was fine looking one of them had 
 on the gladdest kind of an evening 
 shell 80 
 
 " What I am looking for is proposals " 109 
 Then I swept into Rector's . . .131 
 
 " I love you well enough to come back 
 
 and stay " 145 
 
 " I want my money. This ain't no 
 
 Christmas gift " .... 159 
 
 I had on them embroidered hose, too . 167 
 
THE KICK-OFF 
 
 JAN. 28th, 190. 
 
 " Old Bill " he's our stage manager 
 said to me yesterday, " You and Mc- 
 Cann better room together this show " 
 so we went right up to the boarding- 
 house together. I better explain right 
 here that McCann is a peach, the kind 
 of girl you can borrow a button-hook 
 of when she's still in her stocking feet. 
 She ajways has an extra package of 
 gum to give a fellow True Peruvian 
 she is! 
 
 When I was a mere infant, going to 
 grammar school back in my home town 
 Paris, Ohio I spent a long time de- 
 ciding just what I'd be. Of course I 
 always wanted to be an actress, but 
 then writers is some sought after, and I 
 
2 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 could always write down my thoughts 
 so lovely, writing comes as easy as 
 talking to me. But next I would look 
 in the glass, and sing a song, acting all 
 the while to myself, and knew I was a 
 born actress. Mama and papa both 
 said so. And with all that talent I 
 ought to do something with it ! 
 
 Jan. 29th. We had a rehearsal yes- 
 terday the fifth this week. It lasted 
 from three o'clock in the afternoon until 
 three o'clock last night. My, it was 
 grand! I had a piece of pie and two 
 crackers for my supper. I am in the 
 third row from the front in the butter- 
 fly costume, and the second from the 
 end in the Black Bats. Molly McCann 
 says I'm awful lucky to get so near the 
 front, and she ought to know as she's 
 been on the road four years and I'm 
 just a beginner. Why, sometimes 
 " Old Bill " calls her by her first name. 
 . . . Just think, one year ago I was 
 washing mother's windows back in 
 
THE KICK-OFF 
 
 Of course I always wanted to be an actress. 
 
4 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 Paris, Ohio. Gee, how dirty they must 
 be now. Poor old mother! I haven't 
 written her but once since I left home. 
 I've been standing twelve hours a day 
 on my tootsies, selling spools of thread 
 in a 14th Street Bargain Emporium, 
 everything marked down to thirty cents 
 till at last by hanging around the the- 
 aters every night I could sneak, I made 
 a phoney stage manager push me out of 
 his way. It was " Old Bill," ten days 
 ago, he's not so very old either, but he 
 knows it all. 
 
 " Wait," I said, just like that, " I 
 want to speak to you." 
 
 "You can't! No time!" he says, 
 without looking at me. That's the trou- 
 ble ; they won't even look at you, but I 
 grabbed his coat. 
 
 " I'm starving! " I cried, as quick as 
 I could, for two cornet blowers and a 
 electrician was waiting to nab him 
 " you promised me a job in your next 
 chorus." 
 
 Of course he hadn't, but I'd learned 
 
THE KICK-OFF 5 
 
 you have to lie just like that. Then 
 he looked at me. 
 
 "Pooh!" he said after a minute. 
 "You can't sing!" 
 
 Then I squealed out right there in 
 front of the theater, a Dotty Dimple 
 chorus, about " Can't I be Your Hono- 
 lulu Queen? " till he started away 
 again, with his hands to his ears. 
 
 " What I want is dancers! " he called 
 back over his shoulder. ' You can't 
 dance ! " He was almost out to the side- 
 walk then, and I began to whirl and 
 side-step like I saw a girl do at one of 
 the roof -gar dens last summer. But he 
 made tracks for his automobubble and 
 went off chuff! chuff! I was again 
 alone in a damp, dim world, with the 
 lights all on me, and no one to ring 
 down the curtain. 
 
 But I was there with bells next night, 
 and then he said I might try. Then I 
 went inside with him into the land of 
 glory! All the empty seats were cov- 
 ered with dirty cloth and old scrub- 
 
DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 I began to whirl and side-step. 
 
 women were sweeping and scrubbing 
 up the aisles and the dust was thi . 
 Old programs and cigar butts in the 
 orchestra place, a smell of dead flowers 
 
THE KICK-OFF 7 
 
 in the air what there was of it. Not a 
 footlight or a bit of scenery just a 
 'normous big dark space, with a lot of 
 little figures moving about. Then the 
 footlights came up and I saw McCann 
 and all the rest of the girls looking at 
 me, as if my hair was dyed and I wore 
 hip padding that wobbled. My, some 
 of those girls are beauties ! The men in 
 the chorus just winked when they saw 
 me coming up the aisle. But of course 
 the chorus men don't count. I guess 
 they could see I had no experience. All 
 the experience I ever had was doing 
 housework back in Paris, Ohio, and 
 watching Sunday night vaudevilles here 
 in N. Y., from the gallery, trying to 
 make fresh people who didn't know me 
 stop trying to get acquainted. I'm 
 sorry I didn't write to mother but once 
 since I've been in New York, but I 
 hated to let her know I was being sort 
 of back-stop at the spool counter it's 
 30 easy writing down my thoughts, but 
 that's different from writing letters. I 
 
8 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 don't get no time. I'm overworked as 
 it is. 
 
 Jan. 30th. The star came in to-day. 
 He was beautifully dressed! He was 
 late. Gray gaiters, too! 
 
 Jan. 31st. McCann and I quarreled 
 to-day over how our hair should be done 
 when we are off stage. Of course peo- 
 ple stare so when they know you're in 
 the " The Babes in Woodland." I say 
 do your hair round and round, and she 
 says up and over. It all depends on 
 your nose anyway. Folks will be so in- 
 terested in these notes after I get a little 
 bit better known. I'm nearly famous 
 already. Last night a elevator boy 
 pointed me out as one of " them babes 
 in the woods." I draped a red veil over 
 my hat and basted some dinky lace in 
 my collar for rehearsals. These things 
 count. Molly helped me. 
 
 Feb. 5th. Sometimes my legs ache 
 so I can hardly make them kick. But 
 
THE KICK-OFF 
 
 Wiggins, you pay attention after this. And pull up your stockings ! 
 
10 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 I must. I never thought it could tire 
 one so to weave a chain of butterflies up 
 and down the stage three times, inter- 
 weave, dance, march and dance, march 
 dance - - interweave - - march. My 
 wings are bum always in the way, and 
 Grandcourt got mixed up in them. She 
 said it was my fault. I told her there 
 never was such a name as Grandcourt, 
 anyway, and I believed it was Casey. 
 
 " Here, you butterflies," yelled some- 
 body, " quit your scrappin'." It was a 
 new man I hadn't seen before. He was 
 standing right in among the Union men 
 who play the horns and things. He is 
 a fat, short, bald man with a long nose. 
 
 " Here you, three from the front," he 
 said to me, " come out here, what do you 
 suppose I'm payin' you sixteen dollars 
 a week for? It's good money, ain't it? 
 Oh, you're a new one Higgins ! Well, 
 Higgins, you pay attention after this. 
 And pull up your stockings! They 
 mustn't wrinkle. That's a shine way to 
 do your hair. Better next time. Oh! 
 
THE KICK-OFF 11 
 
 Of course. Never mind, dearie, don't 
 you cry! " And there I was, with tears 
 come to my eyes. I must have looked 
 such a greenie. 
 
 " He don't mean anything," said Mr. 
 Smith, a chorus man, in the wings to 
 me. " I never was so called down in my 
 life," says I. " Not even by Mr. James 
 Percivant, the floor- walker." 
 
 " Oh, the ' old man ' don't mean any- 
 thing," piped up Smith again. " He 
 just owns the show." 
 
 Just think of it he owns a show ! 
 
 Why, he even told Mr. Bradley, who 
 has a line to say twice in the first act, to 
 come down to the footlights, and say 
 them all over again. Everyone looked 
 scared and tired, and trying hard to 
 please, and then after he went every- 
 body laughed and said to everybody 
 else, " The old man doesn't mean any- 
 thing." 
 
 I was so set up when I got my little, 
 old salary to-night just as if nothing 
 had happened. 
 
12 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 Feb. 8th. They've got a playwright 
 to this show that could write a song to 
 a pair of suspenders. " The old man " 
 has some Dutch costumes left over from 
 a show that failed, and the prima donna 
 looks nice in them, so he had to write a 
 song to any old tune. 
 
 They didn't want it sung in the first 
 act right after the King of the Eagles 
 runs off with the Fairy Princess, in the 
 Enchanted Forest, so they put it in the 
 second act, where the Princess is receiv- 
 ing her admirers while they're carrying 
 on the plot in a Louis XV flat in a pal- 
 ace in Paris. Of course a lot of Dutch 
 girls and boys do look kind of queer 
 coming right into a pink and white 
 French boudoir scene, but the leading 
 lady sings it swell, and I'm one of 
 the Dutch kids. Such a cute get-up. 
 They'll notice me in the papers and I 
 will become a star and they'll hear 
 of me way back in Paris, Ohio 
 all because of that Dutch song, 
 "Oh, I love the click of your little 
 
THE KICK-OFF 13 
 
 wooden shoes, on the tiles of Am- 
 sterdam." 
 
 Feb. 8th. Mr. Smith is in love with 
 me. " Nothing but a chorus man," says 
 McCann, " they don't count, there's 
 girls and Johnnies and then God threw 
 in chorus men. They don't count." 
 
 " I don't count him," I says, throw- 
 ing back my red veil. " Why, I'm one 
 of the principals almost; I stand next 
 to the prima donna, in that ' Tiles 
 of Amsterdam.' I'm going to pro- 
 gress in my career. I won't marry 
 anybody not even a Pittsburgh mil- 
 lionaire." 
 
 Molly laughed so long it sounded 
 mean. She wakes me up every morning 
 practicing " The carr-nage was e-tro- 
 cious, e-trocious, e-trocious," then I tell 
 her it's a-trocious, but every day when 
 we get to rehearsal there we are singing 
 it with the rest of the crowd " The 
 carr-nage was e-trocious -trocious 
 e-trocious," 
 
H DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 Feb. 10th. I don't believe Mr. 
 Smith is in love with me. He said 
 " Hullo, Angel-Face," when he saw me 
 to-day. I am trying a blue veil falling 
 down the back. 
 
 Feb. 14th. Well, we've been three 
 days out of New York. We're trying 
 * The Babes ' on the dog, and you could 
 have knocked me down with a feather, 
 when I found we were going to Paris, 
 Ohio. We had a special train the 
 principals, and the playwright, and the 
 stage manager, and the proprietor, and 
 the financial agent and the press agent, 
 and the manager's representative and 
 the star's brother who looks after his in- 
 terests and the owner's secretary, and 
 another manager had one part of the 
 train, and we girls had one car to our- 
 selves and the chorus men the other, 
 next the scenery, only they sat with us 
 most of the time. Everybody jollied. 
 
 ' We aren't real swell chorus girls, 
 or we wouldn't have it," says Molly; 
 
THE KICK-OFF 15 
 
 she sighed. " Wait till we make our 
 hit. Then we'll be Show-girls." 
 
 Gee, what a jay he looked ! 
 
 " I'm making my hit to-morrow night 
 in the Tiles of Amsterdam," I says. I 
 didn't encourage Mr. Smith at all. 
 
 The day before we left New York, 
 
16 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 just as I was coming out of the side 
 entrance of the theater with Mr. Smith 
 and Mollyy who should I meet just 
 like that, but Jim Burns, my old sweet- 
 heart back in Ohio. 
 
 "Why, Minnie Higgins!" he said, 
 turning sort of pale around the gills. 
 
 " Why, Jim Burns " I said, per- 
 fectly at ease, and stepped back with 
 him. Gee! what a jay he looked! in 
 his old derby after that soft felt hat 
 that Mr. Smith wears with a pugaree, 
 turned down over the neck like a college 
 fellow's. 
 
 ' What are you doing in a theater 
 this time of day? " he asks. 
 
 "Acting!" I says, chewing hard, 
 with my nose in the air. 
 
 " You've got red paint on your 
 cheeks," says he. 
 
 " Powder ! " I corrects him. " Every- 
 one does it! I'm one of the Black 
 Bats." 
 
 "Oh, heavens! Min don't you re- 
 member how the preacher used to warn 
 
THE KICK-OFF 17 
 
 us against the stage back in Paris? 
 What fun you and I used to have going 
 to prayer meetings together." 
 
 " Yes, and now I have just as much 
 fun going to rehearsals," I replied, 
 shrugging my shoulders as that lovely 
 Miss Wyncote, our leading lady, does. 
 ' Why, Minnie Higgins!" he says, 
 and I could feel his love for me. " I 
 hope no harm comes to you, of all this." 
 
 * We open up in Paris, Ohio, to-mor- 
 row night," I says. " Will you come? " 
 
 He looked ahead at Mr. Smith and 
 McCann and he shook his head, he 
 stared at me, with his derby pushed 
 back, and then he said: " Sure! " Gee, 
 what a jay he looked! I've been a 
 chorus lady three weeks. 
 
 That night we went down to the de- 
 pot and piled into our special train 
 Molly and I had a section together and 
 in the morning we went spinning along. 
 In every section was a blonde head and 
 a raven tresses one, and as we sat there 
 looking out, we were a regular adver- 
 
18 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 tisement at every station. It was awful 
 work, keeping our hairpins in place. 
 Grandcouft said it was all favoritism, 
 my being in the Dutch song. Every 
 time the star or the stage manager came 
 into the car, she stood up and butted 
 in. We had to rehearse as soon as we 
 got to Paris, and kept it up for five 
 hours. When the butterfly chorus came 
 down the stage, Grandcourt said, 
 " Great Scott! " under her breath, gave 
 me a little shove just like that, and I 
 stumbled I almost fell. Old Bill 
 stopped the music. Everyone's gum 
 froze in her mouth! 
 
 "Won't do! Clumsy! Grandcourt, 
 take Higgins' place. Don't you rely on 
 your pretty face, it's feet that counts in 
 the ' Babes ' go back to the last row, 
 Higgins." 
 
 And back I went. But I didn't shed 
 no tears this time. 
 
 " Angel-faces don't help much," 
 snapped a girl as if she was glad of it, 
 but Grandcourt didn't say a thing. 
 
THE KICK-OFF 19 
 
 Her face couldn't help anybody it's a 
 scream. Anyway when we got to the 
 " tiles of Amsterdam " I was all right. 
 Old Bill watched my feet careful. 
 
 "Stop the music," he says; " Hig- 
 gins is the best dancer, she better have 
 the solo dance." 
 
 So there I was, dancing alone before 
 them all. Even the star and the scene- 
 shifters looked at me hard. I see my- 
 self being starred with a racket of 
 drums just like Fritzi Scheff, only of 
 course I am a better dancer than she is. 
 
 We didn't have a bite to eat, and I 
 thought I would faint away in the 
 dressing-room but my waist was so 
 tight I couldn't. 
 
 Everybody in Paris had turned out 
 mama and papa were there, and 
 everyone I used to know excepting the 
 preacher, all looking for me, too, and 
 Jim had a front seat. I could see him 
 from the back row, but he couldn't see 
 me. I could hardly wait till we got to 
 that Dutch thing. Then the Paris peo- 
 
20 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 pie saw me and they clapped and 
 clapped. " It's a go! " said someone in 
 the wings, and I knew they meant the 
 song. 
 
 Those folks didn't care that it was 
 funny to see Dutch girls and boys right 
 there in the Louis XV pink drawing 
 room. They liked my looks in those 
 bloomer pants with my blonde wig cut 
 off at my ears and those cute wooden 
 shoes. They were just crazy over Min- 
 nie Higgins' dancing a solo dance right 
 there before them, but of course Miss 
 Wyncote took the encore. 
 
 " Of course it's a go," said the play- 
 wright who wrote the song; "I'm glad 
 enough, it will help fill out my score 
 book ; I expect to make a few thousands 
 out of that." 
 
 Just think of it Minnie Higgins 
 helping a man to make a few thousands 
 and all I am getting is 16 a week, with 
 all I eat to pay for. They didn't know 
 I was brought up in Paris, Ohio, no one 
 cared to ask where I was brought up, 
 
THE KICK-OFF 
 
 Gracious, how good it felt ! 
 
2% DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 but they saw my dance took. They cut 
 out part of Miss Wyncote's song, after 
 the performance, to give me more time 
 the next night. My, that made her 
 peevish. The playwright said, " Hang 
 it I didn't write the dance! " I heard 
 the fuss as I went out the side door, be- 
 cause Jim Burns was waiting for me. 
 
 " Well, hasn't Paris done itself 
 proud? " he asked me. " Aren't we the 
 people? Ain't this a fine audyance? " 
 
 I looked at him in perfect surprise, 
 as if that was any way to talk about my 
 hit. 
 
 The next minute there was mama 
 and papa waiting for me. I just fell 
 in her arms and burst out crying. She 
 didn't say a word, just held me close, 
 never a word about not writing, noth- 
 ing, just held me close. Gracious, how 
 good it felt ! 
 
 ' Who washes your windows now, 
 ma? " I sobbed out, then I began to 
 laugh. 
 
 " How much do they pay ye for all 
 
THE KICK-OFF 23 
 
 that jig stepping, Minnie?" asked 
 papa. $16.00 seems a good deal in 
 Paris, Ohio. 
 
 "Well, at last you're an actress!" 
 says mama proudly. " I don't mind 
 missing you so much now. Just think 
 of the clapping you got." 
 
 " And did you see us coming up from 
 the train? " I said. " Everyone run- 
 ning out of the stores to watch us, as 
 we walked over to the theater; all the 
 clerks nudged each other. They all 
 knew we were the Black Bats from the 
 Babes." 
 
 " Oh, that's all very well," said Jim, 
 " but I don't like the game. Do you 
 have to know the fellows in all the 
 towns you go to? " 
 
 " Hush," said mother, " Minnie has 
 always had her ambitions! " 
 
 In the morning, going on to the next 
 town I was invited into the front car 
 with the principals. Miss Wyncote ad- 
 vised me to do my hair closer to my 
 face, and to get a new jacket. The 
 
24 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 stage-manager said I had made good 
 and I had thrilling emotions all of 
 them staring at me. Of course when I 
 rode in that car, I couldn't be expected 
 to associate at least as an equal with the 
 chorus any more. I felt so sorry for 
 McCann and Grandcourt and Mr. 
 Smith. I had luncheon with Miss 
 Wyncote when we arrived and now I'm 
 writing about it. 
 
 P. S. Fritzi Scheff has a very nice 
 figure, but mine is better for dancing, 
 because I'm taller. That counts. Gee, 
 but I am glad I've got a straight nose. 
 After all a German face never could 
 take in this country as well as a really 
 beautiful American one. I suppose 
 Fritzi Scheff will hate it when she 
 knows she is going to have a rival. But 
 then she has had her chance, now I'm 
 going to have mine. " I love the click 
 of those little wooden shoes, on the tiles 
 of Amsterdam." 
 
THE KICK-OFF 25 
 
 Later. I guess I'll never forget the 
 sight of that audience. It was my first 
 real, flesh and blood audience, all the 
 faces turned up to me, just urging me 
 on the music and the lights, and the 
 way they clapped, why it was more ex- 
 citing than Coney Island on a summer's 
 night in an automobile that the owner 
 doesn't know is out. When you're on 
 the stage you're not yourself. You just 
 feel like some wonderful person you've 
 dreamed about. And you don't want to 
 wake up either. 
 
 Feb. 22nd. On the train speeding to 
 Chicago. Well, last night wasn't so 
 much. Jim followed the show and had 
 a front seat. He wore a new Tuxedo 
 with a white tie. And he clapped hard 
 enough to break his life-line in two. It 
 didn't make a bit of difference. They 
 didn't like that Dutch song in Dayton. 
 They sat there as if they were a band of 
 wooden Indians out with some stiffs for 
 a funeral. Once they turned their eyes 
 
26 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 because a society leader had chasseed 
 into her box. My dance took, anyway. 
 The audience clapped, but nobody 
 would let me do it over. Everything 
 was on the bum. Here I am back in the 
 car with the chorus. Grandcourt has 
 her dog with her, so of course can't 
 speak to anybody else, and McCann has 
 three chorus men, and Lovell is reading 
 poetry. She is weeping over it and 
 swallowing her gum, she's so excited. 
 " Old Bill " said I was to come back in 
 this car because they're going to cut out 
 " Amsterdam." All I get for Chicago 
 is three rows from the front in the 
 Black Bats. Gee, but I'm mad! I'll 
 beat them out yet. I don't know what 
 they soured on it for; the owner of the 
 show says it isn't a whistling number. 
 I wish I had known they wanted folks 
 to whistle it. Jim is a dandy whistler! 
 
II 
 
 ON THE RUN 
 
 CHICAGO, Feb. 20th, 190. 
 
 Being a Butterfly isn't all it's cracked 
 up to be. There's a blizzard going on, 
 and it has held the boards ever since we 
 tooted into this prairie town why, 
 every old thing is buried under a foot 
 of soot and a foot of snow. McCann 
 has a sore throat. It's no steam-heated, 
 elevatored apartment, with a Buttons at 
 the front entrance for ours. No, what 
 we draw is a back street exit where a 
 Lake breeze plays in at the keyhole 
 like a trombone, when the hall-door is 
 opened. We go skating along over 
 slippery sidewalks, gripping on to each 
 other, till we land plump in a pile of 
 snow. Then we squirm through and 
 
 27 
 
28 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 there's the stage door. I see sables are 
 marked down to $4.92 cts. so perhaps I 
 can save up and get one next week. A 
 girl must dress. 
 
 The first night we got here we re- 
 hearsed from three o'clock in the after- 
 noon it was Sunday till three that 
 night. The chorus has to change its 
 clothes six times, and most of the girls 
 has at least five different dance steps. 
 Most of them we had wrong. In the 
 last act I wear an electric blue spangle 
 gown, with a big hat to match, with a 
 pink feather falling off the crown. 
 While we performed the principals sat 
 in the scenery and had a talkfest. Miss 
 Wyncote must be at least thirty-five. 
 She has a beautiful figure, but she's big 
 and stiff and walks as if she was afraid 
 some one wouldn't know she was a lady. 
 She's smooth. She smiles when we 
 speak to her, but I wouldn't dare now 
 to set next to her any more than I would 
 to go up and chuck the manager under 
 the chin. I think she's got a case on 
 
ON THE RUN 29 
 
 the star. He's such a dear! I love his 
 vests! His voice is so grand when he 
 sings " Good-bye, my Lady-lov' " at 
 the rehearsals, with his hat on the side 
 of his head. It is a derby, so some of 
 the chorus men wear derbys now, too, 
 and they all fix them on the side of their 
 heads on the same side. Anyway, as 
 Mr. Smith says, we are just one big 
 family! Why, I can imagine if my 
 dead body was found, to-morrow, 
 everybody, even the stage manager and 
 the star, would shake their heads and 
 say, " Poor Higgins! " 
 
 Well, about five in the afternoon, we 
 had a little rest, while the principals 
 got their turn. Mr. Bradley took me to 
 dinner at a funny little joint with pic- 
 tures done by artists and college boys 
 all 'round on the walls. We had a real 
 good beefsteak and a bottle of beer and 
 some ice-cream afterwards. 
 
 ' The trouble with this comic opera," 
 says Mr. Bradley, lighting his cigarette, 
 " is that it has too many songs for the 
 
30 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 star, and not enough opportunities for 
 the rest of us. I am told by those 
 in authority that we are to have 
 another song added after to-morrow 
 night." 
 
 " What, has he written another 
 one? " I asked, sipping my coffee. 
 
 " He's afraid of interpolations, and 
 they've tried the Dutch song, so he's 
 written one about 
 
 " Five little pickaninnies back in old Alabam', 
 Wish you could guess which one is ma lamb." 
 
 ' The old man has the costumes, 
 and it will give Grandcourt a chance 
 
 " Grandcourt! " I could see her pert 
 wide blonde face with the big mouth 
 and the twinkling little eyes. How 
 would that name look on a lighted sign 
 in Broadway? 
 
 People would think it was a garage 
 for Pullman cars. 
 
 " Why should she be hauled out of 
 the chorus any more than I? " I said, 
 
ON THE RUN 31 
 
 quick, just like that. " I must dance 
 in that song will you help me? " 
 
 All he promised was to help me care- 
 fully into my new imitation broadcloth 
 cloak, and we went back to the theater. 
 We met a lot of them on the corner, and 
 we were all talking and laughing so 
 loud, it drew a crowd. 
 
 Then we began to rehearse. Every- 
 one was cross. The stage manager said 
 Miss Wyncote's new hat made her look 
 like a feather-duster, then she cried be- 
 cause she said she hadn't known they 
 were going to take our pictures that 
 evening and had worn her old clothes. 
 So, they called up the photographer 
 again and he took her picture over 
 again alone out in the hall, where the 
 flashlight wouldn't take our attention. 
 She came back wiping her eyes. And 
 the star got mad because the proprietor 
 of the show called him down to the foot- 
 lights, and he said he was so tired al- 
 ready that if he had to stand there an- 
 other minute, he'd drop over among the 
 
32 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 musicers. Then the stage manager said 
 he'd fire the electrician if the spot light 
 didn't follow the star around faster in 
 his " big " song, and Mr. Bradley for- 
 got his three lines. The playwright was 
 talking to the man who wrote the music, 
 and he was awful mad about the star 
 saying his song was rotten, no chance 
 for business, and there we were inter- 
 weaving, march double march dance, 
 and McCann's decolltay didn't come 
 together in the back. I was just ready 
 to drop, but I kept my eyes open, to 
 hear if anything was said about the new 
 song, with a dance in it. 
 
 I think they might have treated us to 
 a supper at eleven o'clock. Mr. Smith 
 sneaked me a sandwich at half-past. 
 
 " Do you know anything about the 
 new song for that French scene Five 
 little Pickaninnies down in old Ala- 
 bam'? " I says. " Watch Grandcourt. 
 You never can tell what will happen to 
 a chorus girl who always butts in." 
 
 " You bet I'll watch her," he says. 
 
ON THE RUN 33 
 
 " Her dog kept me awake last night, 
 and it's the only room left in the house." 
 
 At twelve o'clock, when the princi- 
 pals were jarring about their cues, I ap- 
 proached the playwright. 
 
 "Mr. Orden," I says. "Beg par- 
 don, but I hear you've written a new 
 song." 
 
 "Who told you that?" he asked, 
 turning on me quick like that I had 
 on a new hat. 
 
 " Nobody," I said, " but I love that 
 Amsterdam song of yours. You are a 
 wonderful genius. I know this Pick- 
 aninny one must be great. I wish I 
 could sing in it." 
 
 " They won't try it," he hissed be- 
 tween his teeth. " They won't even try 
 it, and all my friends coming to-morrow 
 night. Why, they all know about that 
 song. I've been singing it to them for 
 years, and at last I thought I had 
 landed it. They'll be watching for it. 
 I am going home to bed." 
 
 That sounded so tragic. 
 
34 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 " If you'll give me a copy of that 
 song," I says quick, my heart beating 
 so fast under my silk shirt-waist, "I'll 
 learn it before Tuesday night. I'll sing 
 it at Tuesday rehearsal. They know 
 my dance. I'll sing it there, in the in- 
 termission, as if I was just practicing 
 
 for fun, then the stage manager may 
 U _ 
 
 1 L 
 
 He grabbed up a paper and gave it 
 to me, and began humming the tune, 
 and then he got the music. I could read 
 it, because I sang in the church choir 
 once for two months. 
 
 At three o'clock that night they let 
 us all go home. We were so tired we 
 could hardly walk. "What's up?" 
 said Mr. Smith, outside the theater, 
 chattering to keep himself warm. 
 " Grandcourt's got a new song to learn, 
 all about ' Pierrot Pierrette, I love you 
 yet.' What is a chorus girl doing with 
 a new song for herself? She says she's 
 going to learn it to sing at Tuesday re- 
 hearsal. That's all I could find out. 
 
ON THE RUN 35 
 
 Say, what do you think of Bradley any- 
 way? Isn't he a pill in that Eagle out- 
 fit? Looks like some sort of a wet hen." 
 
 But I was thinking, thinking! 
 
 Then Monday afternoon we re- 
 hearsed again, and at last Monday 
 night was the premiere. The whole 
 company was so tired we could hardly 
 drag ourselves to the dressing-rooms. 
 Miss Wyncote had a terrible case of 
 stage-fright and was drinking strong 
 tea. Mr. Bradley said he had taken a 
 pitcher of coffee to keep him awake, and 
 one of the funny men said he had a 
 frightful pain in his stomach and bor- 
 rowed a whiskey bottle of the other 
 funny man. Usually they don't speak. 
 Well, the music piped up, and the per- 
 formance had begun again. There was 
 that dear, lovely, expecting audience 
 out there behind the curtain, and me 
 looking at myself in the looking glass, 
 and admiring the set of them A. 1. 
 wings, and the red on my lips. I for- 
 got I was tired, I just knew I had those 
 
36 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 steps to do, and that I never knew be- 
 fore how beautiful I was. Grandcourt 
 was ahead of me Pullman car name, 
 and all. The stage manager passed us, 
 and as he went he clapped her on the 
 shoulder above her glittering wings, and 
 said, " You're a dream, Mame! " and 
 then I knew how she had gotten that 
 song. 
 
 Well, this is Tuesday morning. The 
 performance last night was done rotten, 
 the papers say, the company gone stale, 
 but the music was good and probably 
 we \ill do better to-night, so they'll 
 give us one more chance. Kind, aren't 
 they? I wish those critics had gone 
 through it on tea and coffee and six 
 hours' sleep in three days. Well, I'm 
 learning " Five little Pickaninnies " 
 now. It is easy. I can hear Grandcourt 
 hollering herself hoarse over " Pierrot, 
 Pierrette, I love you yet," in the room 
 downstairs. Her dog's name is Mar- 
 maduke and it hasn't had a bite but one 
 chop since yesterday morning. Some 
 
ON THE RUN 
 
 37 
 
 v 
 
 of us girls are saving up breakfast sau- 
 sages for it. 
 
 Admiring the set of them A. 1. wings. 
 
 Feb. 21st. Can't write, am going to 
 lunch with a man who asked for an in- 
 
38 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 t reduction last night. Molly is com- 
 ing too. 
 
 Later. -The snide took us to a 75c 
 table d'hote. 
 
 Feb. 25th. At Tuesday rehearsal I 
 sent a note to Mr. Orden, which read: 
 " Dear sir Did you write Pierrot, 
 Pierrette, I love you yet. Grandcourt 
 has it." Mr. Smith took it to him while 
 the Black Bats were parading. He 
 said, Orden said, " Who in h - is 
 Grandcourt? " I could see by the way 
 he rushed around that he never had 
 written " Pierrot, Pierrette " in his life. 
 
 Then there came the intermission, 
 and I walked over to the piano, with 
 perfect ease, stuck my gum under the 
 piano stool, picked the tune out with 
 one finger, and began to sing: 
 
 "Five little Pickaninnies back in Alabam', 
 Wish you knew which is ma lamb." 
 
 Gee, but it was easy! Mr. Bradley and 
 a lot of the rest crowded around, and I 
 
ON THE RUN 39 
 
 forgot all about trying to please " Old 
 Bill " with it, but just enjoyed myself, 
 and then I tried a few steps. 
 
 "What's all this about?" yelled 
 somebody, sticking his head into the 
 crowd. " Oh, it's Higgins, is it? Well, 
 you just sit way back in the auditorium 
 until this rehearsal is over." Of course 
 I knew I was going to be fired and Mr. 
 Orden pretended he didn't know me. 
 I'm glad I am not such a " butt-in " as 
 Grandcourt, she went right over to the 
 stage manager and whispered in his 
 ear. 
 
 I sat there crying, and at last the 
 chorus work was over, and a lot of them 
 came down and patted me on the back. 
 It felt so good, I couldn't bear not to 
 belong to them and to " The Babes in 
 Woodland." Lovell just called me in 
 to her room because someone she once 
 knew somewhere had sent her a box of 
 candy. It must have cost two or three 
 dollars. 
 
40 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 Feb. 29th. To go on with the notes 
 about my life. They didn't fire me. 
 The next morning the " old man " sent 
 word for me to know " The Five Little 
 Pickaninnies " for rehearsal. When I 
 got there with the other girls, Grand- 
 court was up singing " Pierrot, Pier- 
 rette, I love you yet." Old Bill looked 
 around proudly, but nobody liked it. 
 She sings through her nose. I am go- 
 ing to give five dollars to Hart well to 
 send home because her mother's dead. 
 
 March 1st. Mr. Bradley introduced 
 me to a young man who travels for a 
 silver firm. Oh, yes, about that song. 
 After Grandcourt had finished I got 
 my chance with the Pickaninnies again, 
 so without saying anything more to me, 
 they began to plan my costume. " I'll 
 be hung if that song ever gets on," 
 swore the stage manager. " It's no 
 place for it, in a French pink boudoir." 
 
 Mr. Orden looked awful quiet as if he 
 hadn't heard and talked with the owner. 
 
ON THE RUN 41 
 
 But it isn't in yet, and the 2nd month 
 has come, and " The Babes " was a 
 great success, after we'd got a little 
 sleep. Well, I suppose the owner is 
 making his thousands out of it. I'm 
 glad somebody's rich. 
 
 March 5th. The young man who 
 travels for the silver house took Lovell 
 out to supper instead of me. I was 
 standing right there in the wings, too. 
 Men is so unsincere. 
 
 March 6th. Ain't it awful? I 
 haven't been asked to sing in the Little 
 Pickaninnies yet! I've got an awful 
 cold in my head. 
 
 March 7th. Had a letter from 
 mama, she says I am famous in Paris, 
 Ohio. Well, that's some comfort! 
 There's so many girls acting in Chi- 
 cago. 
 
 March 10th. " Hullo, Minnie," says 
 Miss Wyncote to me last night, " I'm 
 
42 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 going to sing The Little Pickaninnies 
 next Monday night, and you're to stand 
 next me in line, and do your cute little 
 dance." Say, you could have knocked 
 me down with a feather! Of course I 
 might of known she'd have gotten the 
 song. But she can't dance. Thank 
 Heaven, I ain't been so fed up on lob- 
 ster and champagne that I can't get 
 around pretty lively yet. 
 
 March 21st. I went to lunch yester- 
 day with a man named Bowsox. 
 
 March 30th. Well, the costume of 
 the Little Pickaninny fitted me like po- 
 tato peel. We sang it last night. Say, 
 it was a knock-out. Mr. Bradley says 
 the audience was tired of the pink 
 French drawing-room, anyway, and 
 glad of a change. Audiences as a 
 whole, he says, are shifty. First Miss 
 Wyncote sang her verse all through, 
 then us chorus joined in, and then I out 
 
ON THE RUN 43 
 
 It was something like the Dutch dance, only more 
 niggery. 
 
44 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 and danced like a bird. It was some- 
 thing like the Dutch dance, only more 
 niggery. Well, they clapped and 
 clapped, and Miss Wyncote swept on 
 and bowed and then they clapped 
 harder, and she looked worried, and 
 then Old Bill came right up to me him- 
 self : ' You've got to do that dance 
 over," he says glum as a man you owe 
 money to. Then we sang the last 
 chorus verse over, and I danced again, 
 and everything was lovely, except that 
 somebody says Miss Wyncote cried all 
 through her powder, when she toddled 
 back to her dressing-room. Of course I 
 hate to make a lady cry. But what was 
 she expecting. She isn't any Fritzi 
 Scheff ! Why, if it wasn't for the Johri- 
 nies who come to see her figure she 
 wouldn't be prima donna. My voice 
 has six more notes than hers, three be- 
 low and three above. And the play- 
 wright came up and shook my hand, for, 
 course, his song goes, though he didn't 
 write the dance. 
 
ON THE RUN 45 
 
 April. Mr. Bowsox says I must 
 meet his sisters when I go to Denver. 
 Gee, that gave me a start! Just think 
 of me meeting anybody's sisters, and 
 then a gentleman like him. He always 
 comes in a cab, and wears a diamond 
 scarfpin. 
 
 April. Grandcourt is on the end of 
 the line in the Pickaninny dance. Old 
 Bill put her there. 
 
 April 4th. Spring clothes is in all 
 the windows, and I haven't a cent saved 
 up. Grandcourt has a new feather boa. 
 
 April 5th. Last night when the 
 music started up for my dance, you 
 could have knocked me down with a 
 feather! I started out and begun to 
 dance, and Grandcourt stepped out and 
 danced right along with me ! Gee, what 
 gall! I almost dropped dead in my 
 tracks, and it wasn't a solo dance any- 
 more. And she took the encore with 
 
46 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 me too. Gee, what's the use of knowing 
 what to do -with your feet, when another 
 girl's got the inside track with the 
 stage manager. Talent don't count in 
 this business! I'm that blue I could 
 take something. 
 
 April 6th. Ain't it awful? I've 
 been on the stage three months, and still 
 in the chorus. McCann says I'm too 
 ambitious. Perhaps I am, but 16 a 
 week and half baked sports ain't going 
 to attract me always. But Mr. Bowsox 
 is a perfect gentleman. 
 
 April 7th. Who should I see in the 
 orchestra chairs last night, looking just 
 as big and twice as natural ? It was Jim 
 Burns in that new Tuxedo of his, and 
 looking for all the world like a big wa- 
 termelon in a basket of prunes. He got 
 so excited when the Little Pickaninnies 
 came on that he drank three glasses of 
 ice water before the boy could stop him. 
 I never danced better in my life. For I 
 
ON THE RUN 47 
 
 wanted to show Jim how far above him 
 I was. Afterwards he met me at the 
 door. 
 
 " Hullo, Jim," I says, just like that. 
 " Where'd you drop from? " 
 
 " Paris," he says. " There isn't much 
 doing in the livery stable business, this 
 time o' year, so thought I'd come on and 
 see how you're makin' it." 
 
 " Oh, I'm makin' it," says I, tossing 
 my head. 
 
 " I'm going to take you to supper," 
 says he. " I know where you can get a 
 good beefsteak and beer for 
 
 " For seventy-five cents," says I. "I 
 know it. Why, I can find my way to 
 that caffee blind-folded. Come along, 
 little boy." 
 
 "Cut that out," says he. "Don't 
 put on none of your stuck-up airs with 
 me." And there was Mr. Bowsox at 
 his elbow. 
 
 " Is this feller annoyin' you any, 
 Miss Higgins?" says he. "If he is, 
 just give the word." 
 
48 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 Jim turned on him so quick, he took 
 out his handkerchief and blew his nose. 
 " No one's annoying me, Mr. Bowsox," 
 I said, liking the fun, for Grandcourt 
 was passing, staring like a china cat. 
 ' We were just going for a supper 
 at- 
 
 " My favorite place," says he, "I'm 
 going there myself." So we three 
 started off, Jim clumping along on one 
 side of me, and Mr. Bowsox twiddling 
 his cane on the other. His cane has a 
 silver top. 
 
 When we got there the place was as 
 full of people as a corn-popper ; fellows 
 hanging outside around the door, and 
 waiters just humping along, dropping 
 plates, and setting down steins with a 
 jam you'd thought would break them. 
 Molly was there and Lovell and a lot of 
 the other girls, and Mr. Smith and 
 some men and couples that live in Chi- 
 cago, sittin' around staring at them. 
 Everyone had on her new spring hat, 
 and the beer tasted almost good. But 
 
ON THE RUN 49 
 
 I never did like the taste of the stuff. 
 Molly says it's an acquired taste, and 
 that I'll learn. She's always cheerful 
 about things, " I suppose you're quite 
 dippy over this gay life," says Jim, 
 when we were set down. ' I guess I 
 like horses better than people anyway." 
 
 " Interested in horses, are you, Mr. 
 Burns?" said Mr. Bowsox in his ele- 
 gant manner; " I have a little racing 
 mare myself. She's a morning-glory 
 and she can traipse a mile in nothing 
 by lantern light. Yesterday she just 
 dropped out of the clouds, nailed the 
 rear end taggers in four jumps, hung 
 seven or eight of the others on the fence, 
 jammed her way through a hole the 
 size of a thimble, caught the sooner 
 counterfeit that was fizgogging out in 
 front at the sixteenth, came home with 
 a wet sail and won the tapeovitch by a 
 face!" 
 
 Jim looked sulky. 
 
 " Interested in horses, Mr. Burns? " 
 asked Mr. Bowsox. 
 
50 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 " No," said Jim, " I ain't. I got half 
 interest in^a livery stable! " 
 
 " Oh," says Mr. Bowsox. Then he 
 began to jolly me, and everybody piped 
 up singing, * You're a dream of a 
 peach, you are," and I felt fine. Jim 
 just sat there like a bump on a log, tak- 
 ing a glass of ginger ale, now and then, 
 because the preacher had got him to 
 sign the pledge back in Paris. Mr. 
 Bowsox being a perfect gentleman and 
 used to city cafes didn't understand 
 that, and once or twice he laughed, be- 
 cause Jim was wearing his white tie, all 
 tied wrong. I guess a girl doesn't al- 
 ways know what to do. Anyway, I 
 didn't know anybody thought anything 
 fresh was going on, till Jim says sud- 
 denly to Mr. Bowsox, " I'll thank you 
 to take your hand off the lady's arm, 
 
 sir." 
 
 " What business is it of yours, I'd 
 like to know? " says Mr. Bowsox, get- 
 ting to his feet. Then there was an aw- 
 ful crack of plates, and Jim lit into him 
 
ON THE RUN 
 
 51 
 
52 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 like an old stamp-mill, hitting down 
 from the top, and I stud up and put on 
 my coat. I didn't know what else to do. 
 But the waiters made a dash for Jim, 
 and that stirred me up, and Molly run 
 up to me, and Mr. Smith said, " Great! 
 There's a reporter present, Min 
 But I didn't care about no reporters. I 
 just told all the men that Jim was my 
 brother, and he didn't mean any harm 
 and I just took his arm and glared 
 at Mr. Bowsox. I knew it was the only 
 way to keep him from being arrested. 
 I didn't want poor old Jim arrested, so 
 I said to everybody, ;< It was that 
 man's fault," and then we went out 
 together. "Your brother! Bosh! 
 Min, don't you want to get into 
 the limelight?" I heard Mr. Smith 
 say. 
 
 Well, Jim and I went out into the 
 night together, and he patted my hand 
 and said I was true Peruvian. And we 
 took a long walk, and he told me that 
 he was in love with me. He said I was 
 
ON THE RUN 53 
 
 the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, 
 that my face was like an angel's, and 
 he would rather die than see me married 
 to someone else, especially a cad who 
 ran fake racing horses, which were 
 probably doped. 
 
 " But Mr. Bowsox doesn't want to 
 trot me up to the wedding counter," I 
 said to Jim. " He never told me he 
 did. You don't understand city life 
 any more than a lob or a dead one. 
 
 "But I want to marry you, Min," 
 says he. " I'm going to make money, 
 and I want to take you back to 
 Paris." 
 
 " Back to " says I. " Gee, but I 
 
 mama and all I'd kind of like it," and 
 I let my head lean on his shoulder for 
 just a little rest. I knew he would 
 take good care of me, and I was that 
 tired out. 
 
 " Can't you love me, a little, Min? " 
 he asks, standing very still, and his 
 voice shaking. 
 
54 DIARY OP A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 " No, I can't," I said, starting on 
 home. " It would be madness to give 
 up my career." 
 
 And of course after that he didn't 
 urge no more. 
 
Ill 
 
 THE SCRIMMAGE 
 
 AUGUST 2nd, 190 . 
 
 New York is good enough for me! 
 We open here on September 5th, and 
 they've put us on half pay till rehearsals 
 begin. Hart well, Molly and me are liv- 
 ing in a little two by four, with one bed, 
 and cooking our meals on a dinky oil 
 stove that smokes, with one burner, 
 where the coffee slops over and the rice 
 boils all over everything. Hartwell is 
 so skinny she'll look like a freak in that 
 Bat costume. If they don't hurry up 
 there won't be enough of us three left 
 to make one well fed Butterfly even if 
 we're wrapped in cotton like one of 
 them cocoons. Ain't it awful! 
 
 Gee, but it's fine to be back in little 
 old New York and walk up Broadway 
 
 55 
 
56 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 at night and see them lovely lighted 
 champagne signs up on 42nd Street. 
 It's so hot we can't stay in our room, 
 Molly calls it The Oven, any more than 
 we can help, so these nights we stay out 
 all we can. Molly says once she had a 
 great ambition sounds foolish now 
 she wanted to be lady demonstrator for 
 Kaulberg's soups. She says of course 
 she never mentioned it to 'em, but she 
 lived over in Hoboken next to the soup 
 factory and she hoped some of them 
 would seek her out and offer her the 
 job. She did admire the way they kept 
 the factory clean, so much. Why, she 
 says, you could eat off of every floor, 
 except where they kept the machinery 
 next to the vats, and they didn't put 
 anything in but real meats. Why, she's 
 a regular advertisement for Kaulberg's 
 soups now, but they didn't seek her out, 
 and here she is a chorus girl. Kaulberg 
 missed a lot. I can just hear her up in 
 Fliegal and Swooper's Groceries De- 
 partment saying in that smooth voice 
 
THE SCRIMMAGE 57 
 
 to every lady who passed, " Kaulberg's 
 soups, Madam; won't you try a sam- 
 ple? It's all that it's cracked up to be. 
 I know, for I live in Hoboken. I can 
 highly recommend Kaulberg's soups 
 highly nutritious. Why, I've lived on 
 Kaulberg's soups for weeks at a time. 
 Won't you try a package, Madam? " 
 We're living pretty near on Kaulberg's 
 soups now. Soda-pop is cheap too. 
 
 August 15th. Mr. Bowsox called 
 last night. He looked so grand in a 
 new pale gray suit and of course he had 
 a lot of horse-talk. I entertained him 
 on the front steps. I feel sorry for 
 poor old Jim every time I see Mr. Bow- 
 sox. I don't like smarties. I don't take 
 much stock any more either in all that 
 guff about his sisters. If they were 
 right in New York, he wouldn't intro- 
 duce them to me that's the sort of 
 hunch I've got. He says one of them 
 has hair the color of mine. Sometimes 
 I don't believe he's got any sisters. I'm 
 
58 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 giving him a big fill now-a-days about 
 all my brothers, Jim being the smallest. 
 
 August 17th. He gave Molly and 
 me a grand time last night. He took 
 us to Coney and wasn't any pincher. 
 He gave us dinner in an open-air 
 joint, and all the beer we wanted. 
 I didn't want much. Then we went to 
 Dreamland and had our fortunes told 
 and Molly laughed so much a lot of 
 freshies tried to talk to us. I had on 
 a new pale green veil thrown back off 
 my hat. We did everything there was 
 to do, and then we went over to the 
 other place and bumped the bumps. I 
 came down slipping and sliding down 
 the bumps so, I laughed till I almost 
 died. And Molly went off with a friend 
 of hers. Mr. Bowsox asked me would 
 I dance one of those " sweet Strauss 
 waltzes," and I straightened up my hat 
 and we went over to the Pavilion and 
 danced and danced and danced. I 
 didn't look at anyone else though, for I 
 
THE SCRIMMAGE 59 
 
 wanted Mr. Bowsox to know I was a 
 real lady. We came home on the last 
 boat and sang " Farewell, my lady love, 
 good-bye." If we can get Molly's 
 friend to take us out to dinner to-mor- 
 row night, then we'll have saved one 
 dollar to buy eggs with. For, if Mr. 
 Bowsox hadn't come to-night, we would 
 have spent : 
 
 10 cents for rice 
 
 10 cents for kerosene 
 
 10 cents for butter 
 
 5 cents for tea 
 
 3 cents for bread 
 
 15 cents for ice cream 
 
 53 cents in all, and 
 
 about the same to-morrow night. I'm 
 not squealing about the 3 cts. 
 
 August 20th. Rehearsals began to- 
 day. ' The Babes " need brushing up 
 some, but there are so many of us good 
 looking girls in the chorus. A reporter 
 says it's sure to be a go. If it is, that 
 
60 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 means two or three months of Broad- 
 way for me, and $16 a week. Miss 
 Wyncote came on the surface car and 
 Grandcourt came in an automobile. 
 That made everybody pity Miss Wyn- 
 cote. But I guess her not coming in a 
 bubble, too, was just an accident. Some- 
 times I think she's a pretty good fellow ; 
 she asked me to-day to lend her my side 
 comb, and she told me I was looking 
 fine. Marmaduke was sitting up in the 
 automobile, in the front seat, with a new 
 saddle blanket on. He barked when I 
 tried to pet him. I guess he's forgotten 
 those breakfast sausages I went with- 
 out, all for his sake in Chicago. I 
 danced so much to-day I'd sleep if they 
 gave me the seventh part of a kitchen 
 table for a bed anywhere in the St. 
 Regis. 
 
 August 22nd. Mr. Smith was per- 
 fectly killing to-day. His voice just 
 boomed out like a fog-horn, more than 
 usual, and Old Bill stopped the chorus. 
 
THE SCRIMMAGE 61 
 
 " Stop," he says, waving his flipper. 
 " Those bassos are making too much 
 noise. Now all together, softly 
 softly." 
 
 I guess Mr. Smith can't help it he is 
 so big and he's got such a big mouth like 
 a great big cat-fish, he just boomed out 
 again. " I would I were on fairy flow- 
 errs. Asleep amidst those May-time 
 bow-errs." 
 
 "Stop, Smith! Stop!" says Old 
 Bill, flipper up. Then they tried it 
 again, and Mr. Smith just stepped back 
 into the wings and didn't sing at all. 
 But just the same Old Bill yelled out, 
 " Stop that eternal callyope back of 
 your teeth, Smith you drowned out 
 the so-pranos." And Mr. Smith hadn't 
 sung at all. Everybody laffed except 
 Old Bill. 
 
 August 23rd. A cat stole 10 c. 
 worth of Hamburg steak we had out on 
 the fire escape. Hartwell says this high 
 life is killing her. 
 
62 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 Aug. 24th. They have changed our 
 costumes for that last chorus in the last 
 act about ' There are plenty of 
 peaches on Fifth Ave-e-noo, but never 
 a lemon there." My skirts are in silk 
 ruffles to the knee, with sandals and pale 
 pink hose. On my head is a big pink 
 lace hat as big as the shade on a Wal- 
 dorf-Astoria piano lamp. My hair is 
 ruffled up into a curly pump-a-dore 
 about a foot high, back on this is placed 
 the lamp hat I mean, with lace and 
 flowers falling off all around the edges. 
 Up over my left ear is a great bunch of 
 violets and roses like a Broadway flower 
 store, and over my right ear, a bunch of 
 pink ribbons and loops, yards of it, like 
 a bargain counter at Altman's. And 
 there's a sash ribbon tied under my 
 chin. All around the top of my low-neck 
 waist very decolettee, is bunches of 
 grapes in pearls, and lace ding-bats and 
 I carry a pale pink parasol covered with 
 roses and violets. It ought to take the 
 Johnnies, Molly says. I look lovely in 
 
THE SCRIMMAGE 63 
 
 it. But what does that matter? Gee, 
 it's Miss Wyncote's song, and Grand- 
 court's got a hat bigger than mine! 
 She has to take it off to get out of the 
 dressing-room door. My only hope of 
 getting one of those newspaper notices 
 is when I dance my dance in " The Lit- 
 tle Pickaninnies in Old Alabam'." 
 Then I'll get it sure. Thanks be to 
 Glory, it's going on and I'm to dance it 
 on the opening night, September fifth. 
 Right here on dear old Broadway with 
 the house packed and everything hum- 
 ming and the gallery keeping time with 
 its feet. 
 
 August 25th. I had a letter from 
 Paris, Ohio, to-day. It was from 
 mama. She says she's sick. I had to 
 cry. How can I go to Paris, Ohio, 
 right now? Nobody would lend me the 
 money, and besides, how could I leave 
 before that opening night? Why, it's 
 my chance. It's what I've worked for, 
 and starved for and dreamed about all 
 
64 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 the month, and that new costume and 
 all. I wrote mama I couldn't come. I 
 told her it was the climax of my career. 
 Then I cried. I am afraid she's awful 
 sick. I'm still crying. I've got to stop. 
 Molly says so. She says I must learn to 
 be practical, and not let my eyes get 
 blood-shot. What could I do, if I was 
 there? I'm going to write to Jim 
 Burns. I'm going to ask him to do all 
 he can. Then I won't answer his letter. 
 That will keep my conscience clear. I 
 just mustn't give him false hopes. 
 What could I do with anybody's false 
 hopes now? I'm too busy. 
 
 August 26th. Hartwell says her 
 mother died of new-monia. 
 
 August 27th. I don't see why 
 Grandcourt hates me so. I've never 
 done a thing to her not that I haven't 
 wanted to. I wonder how she found 
 that out. Our hair's the same color, and 
 we're the same height, and we both look 
 
THE SCRIMMAGE 65 
 
 like Miss Wyncote, tho' we haven't so 
 much figure. In that song in the last 
 act all of us wears colors but Miss 
 Wyncote, and she wears all white. I 
 wish I could wear all white. I heard 
 Grandcourt telling Lovell she was go- 
 ing to rise above the chorus.soon; I won- 
 der how perhaps on wings. 
 
 August 28th. We was dressing for 
 the last act in our dressing-room at the 
 theater. We had to practice them new 
 costumes. 
 
 " How do you do? " says Grandcourt 
 to me, just like that, with a rising voice, 
 as if she didn't expect to be answered, 
 and hated to have to speak. 
 
 " How do you dooo? " I an- 
 swered, going up still higher. Then I 
 dabbed my nose indifferent-like. 
 
 " I suppose you think you're going 
 to be a regular scream," she says, turn- 
 ing herself around to look at her back. 
 " Reminds me of a grasshopper with 
 about four joints in each leg." 
 
66 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 " Indeed^' says I, still chewing my 
 gum, " are you referring to what you're 
 looking at in the glass? " 
 
 "Hardly, child," says she, "as I 
 can't see you from where I'm stand- 
 ing." 
 
 " Well, I'd rather look like a grass- 
 hopper than a frog," I says, flaring up; 
 " your eyes always did make me think 
 of- 
 
 " Shut up, dearie," says she. " If 
 you sass me any, I'll tell Old Bill. He 
 says you're too prominent in this show 
 already. We don't want any angel- 
 faced kids that hasn't got the Paris- 
 green rubbed off yet." 
 
 "Well, I'd rather have that than 
 some kinds of red," I says, and with 
 that the vixen up and threw a box of 
 powder all over me just like that. It 
 took me more than five minutes to brush 
 it off. 
 
 6 You ought to be polite to me," says 
 Grandcourt as she marches off, " for 
 I'm Miss Wyncote's understudy, I 
 
THE SCRIMMAGE 
 
 67 
 
68 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 am." And she marched off with that 
 poor little Marmaduke under her arm, 
 barking as if he'd bust himself. Then 
 Old Bill scolded me for being late to 
 the wings. 
 
 "Understudy!" I lets on quiet to 
 myself. "Understudy! What's that? 
 She couldn't do the prima donna part, 
 but I bet I could. I can do any- 
 thing." 
 
 So last night after the other girls 
 were asleep, I just stood up before our 
 mirror in " The Oven " there with the 
 windows wide open, and the cats squall- 
 ing in the alley, and just went through 
 Wyncote's part from start to finish. 
 And sometimes I'd have to stop quite a 
 while to remember, but of course I knew 
 that Pickaninny song and the " New 
 York Peaches," and I enjoyed myself 
 so much, going all over it, and playing 
 I was leading lady there, in my cheese- 
 cloth wrapper, that I didn't mind when 
 Molly woke up and threw shoes at me 
 till I put out the light. . 
 
THE SCRIMMAGE 69 
 
 Aug. 28th. I wonder how mama is 
 still no letter from Jim. I guess their 
 post-office is burned down. 
 
 Playing I was leading lady. 
 
 August 29th. First the curtain 
 comes up on a scene with water in the 
 background, then a bell chimes in the 
 forest twice, then in comes the merry- 
 merry dancing as butterflies, then the 
 
70 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 hero and the funny man do a turn, and 
 the King of Eagles does his song, and 
 there's a scene with the hero and the 
 King, and the merry -merry comes back, 
 and then enter Miss Wyncote in her 
 latest Osborn dress and raising her 
 parasol, cries, " Ah, I am lost, am lost." 
 Why, I could do her part just like fall- 
 ing off a fire escape on to a feather bed. 
 
 September 2nd. Of course Grand- 
 court won't ever get a chance to be the 
 understudy. But why didn't they give 
 me the chance? Isn't my hair just as 
 good, don't I look just as much like 
 Miss Wyncote as she does? But what's 
 the use? Old Bill thinks I'm sassy. 
 I've been to supper with a man who 
 knows George Cohan. 
 
 September 7th. Well, let me get my 
 breath. I've been moving all the morn- 
 ing, and I've got an engagement for 
 lunch but I must add to these notes. 
 Well, opening night came at last. 
 
THE SCRIMMAGE 71 
 
 There we were, all ready, waiting in the 
 dressing-room for our calls. Marma- 
 duke was sleeping in his basket just 
 where he could nip our ankles as we 
 went past. 
 
 " See who's here!" said Molly, and 
 there was Mr. Bowsox, looking in at the 
 door, but Old Bill caught on and sent 
 him up. 
 
 " 'M going out in Mr. Brown's mo- 
 tah," said Lovell next to me; " a spin 
 is as good as a smile!" Nobody 
 laughed, we were too intense. 
 
 " Gawd, Maime," said somebody else, 
 ''there's that ribbon untied again; 
 who's got a pin? " 
 
 " Well, if Mr. Burton did say that, 
 after all those I've got my opinion of 
 him!" 
 
 " Real silk chiffon with five yards of 
 lace " " I never said such a thing " 
 " he's off " " well, I'll be roasted to the 
 size of a>" " keep cool, can't you, don't 
 come so near " " as if I couldn't tell a 
 gentleman when I saw one " " I knew 
 
72 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 what sJi$ wanted quick enough " 
 " Sixth Ave. restaurant, holy smoke " 
 " who said pony " " oh, what a 
 headache I've got " " ain't it awful, 
 Maime " "go home in a cab " 
 " where is that woman? " You see all 
 of them just loved their art and was so 
 anxious to get on the stage they was 
 just as nervous as pop-corn on a hot 
 stove. 
 
 Then at last the call come, and us 
 merry-merry trooped in. My, what a 
 house, packed from gallery to the boxes, 
 and I felt all eyes fastened upon me. 
 I dance much better, of course, than 
 when I first started on my stage career. 
 And they even clapped that first 
 chorus. Of course I didn't tell the re- 
 porters, but I knew it was because there 
 were so many fellows in the front rows 
 who knew us girls. One girl winked 
 and said, " Hullo, Charlie! " 
 
 Then the rest of the thing went on, 
 just as it always had night after night 
 for months, and Mr. Bradley went 
 
THE SCRIMMAGE 73 
 
 through his three lines all right, but no- 
 body laughed. I guess Chicago is easy 
 pleased. 
 
 I was so excited when it came time 
 for " The Pickaninnies in Old Ala- 
 bam' " I could hardly get into the rig. 
 And in the wings stood Miss Wyncote. 
 
 " Feel my hand," says she, 'I'm 
 scared to death," and her hand was like 
 ice. But she strutted on and got her 
 note all right. Then I danced, and I 
 got encored, four times. Old Bill 
 wouldn't let me go out the fifth time 
 and the owner patted me on the head 
 afterward. 
 
 " We've got a great little dancer 
 here," says he. 
 
 " Can't I be the understudy?" says 
 I, quick like that. 
 
 " Grandcourt is Understudy," 
 growled Old Bill, and the owner just 
 laughed. 
 
 I was that depressed in the dressing- 
 room I could hardly keep from boo- 
 hooing right out before all those ladies ; 
 
74 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 some of them were talking very grand 
 about Sherry's and Delmonico's and 
 Rector's, already, but my dance was 
 over, and even if I did do well, what do 
 I get out of it, thinks I just 18 a week 
 and hard work and mama's sick, 
 and Paris, Ohio, is such a long way off. 
 Not a letter from Jim Burns either. 
 Men are so unsincere. 
 
 Then it was time for the merry-merry 
 in Act III, and then we got dressed for 
 the " New York Peaches " song. I 
 was scared. I didn't think that audi- 
 ence out there had taken to the pink 
 boudoir and all the heroes and Eagles 
 and Pickaninnies and things one bit. 
 Perhaps "The Babes" wouldn't last 
 any longer after to-night anyway; per- 
 haps The Babes would just turn up its 
 toes right here, then you could have 
 knocked me down with a feather! I 
 looked up and there was Grandcourt 
 getting into an all-white costume for 
 that song, and every bit of it, inch for 
 inch like Miss Wyncote's. 
 
THE SCRIMMAGE 75 
 
 Everyone in the dressing-room got 
 as quiet as if one of those pins you've 
 heard about was going to drop. 
 
 What a scheme to get attention to 
 herself , but how dared she ? She smiled 
 just as usual, sidling out of the door 
 with her hat in her hand because it was 
 so big. Then she put it on and there 
 was Miss Wyncote all in white in the 
 wings. She just blazed. She rushed at 
 Grandcourt and shook her so her teeth 
 clicked. 
 
 " You impudent, horrid, impudent, 
 disgusting, impudent," she screams; 
 " how dare you! " And Old Bill came 
 rushing up: "For Gawd's sake, Miss 
 Wyncote," he says, "it's almost time 
 for you to go on. You've got a lot of 
 lines keep cool, keep cool." 
 
 " It's your fault, you horrid, impu- 
 dent, horrid, impudent " she began 
 
 again at him, and then she began to 
 laugh. " Do you think I'll go on in the 
 same gown as a chorus girl? " she asks 
 in a grand tone. Then she begins to 
 
76 
 
 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 cry, and had hysterics, and somebody 
 led her to her dressing-room, and Old 
 Bill pulls his hair and grinds his teeth. 
 
 " You impudent, horrid, impudent, disgusting, 
 impudent " 
 
 " Oh, well," he says at last with a grin, 
 to Grandcourt, " you can go on you're 
 her understudy, now's your chance." 
 Grandcourt straightened up and 
 
THE SCRIMMAGE 77 
 
 smiled at him, then she draws away 
 from us, and smiles proudly as if she 
 was already a star, and takes a step 
 toward the stage, then she keels over in 
 a dead faint from excitement. 
 
 Old Bill was frantic and we was all 
 scared to death, the star came off, and 
 says, "My Gawd! what's the matter, 
 are you all dead? " 
 
 " No," says I, " not dead, but sleep- 
 ing." 
 
 " Perhaps you can go on," says Old 
 Bill to me, sarcastically. 
 
 " Oh, very well! " says I, tossing my 
 chin in the air, and making for the 
 stage. I thought of Fritzi Scheff, I 
 thought of all the others and knew I 
 was one of them! 
 
 And there I was singing " There's 
 many a peach on Fifth Avenoo, but 
 never a lemon there." 
 
 I just flew at the song. I choked it, 
 I bamboozled it, I patted it, I pulled it 
 around, I threw it at them. I knew I 
 bad to act, J acted like Fifth Avenue, 
 
78 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 I acted like 14th Street, I acted like a 
 peach, I acted like a lemon and the 
 house rose at me. Where is Fritzi Scheff 
 now? I just had to go on again they 
 kept calling for me, and reporters was 
 at the stage entrance asking what my 
 name was. I wasn't even billed. But 
 thank heaven for that practice night in 
 the Oven, in my cheese-cloth wrapper. 
 For Miss Wyncote had to have a doc- 
 tor, and Grandcourt watched me sulky 
 from the wings in her white dress that 
 the audience hadn't seen, and I went 
 right on with the part. Then the cur- 
 tain went down, and everyone crowded 
 around me, and the owner says, 
 ' You're the hit of the piece you've 
 saved the show. To-morrow your name 
 goes on the bills." And the star says, 
 " Bully fcr you, Higgins," and Mr. 
 Smith says, " I suppose you won't 
 speak to me now." Then a boy came 
 with a telegram, and I tore it open right 
 there, and it said: " Your mother is all 
 right Jim." Then I began to laugh 
 
THE SCRIMMAGE 79 
 
 I just flew at the song. I choked it, I bamboozled it. 
 
80 
 
 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 and cry, too, and Molly got me away. 
 I went in to Miss Wyncote and says, 
 
 They was fine looking one of them had on the 
 gladdest kind of an evening shell. 
 
 " I couldn't help it, really," and she 
 kissed me and says, " It wasn't your 
 fault, child." She's such a good fellow 
 after all. 
 
THE SCRIMMAGE 81 
 
 Then two men, whom Molly knew, 
 wanted to be introduced. They was 
 fine looking. One of them had on the 
 gladdest kind of an evening shell. 
 " Where will you have supper, Miss 
 Higgins? " says he. 
 
 " Oh, Sherry's," says I with my nose 
 in the air, because I was kidding. 
 
 But we got into his automobile and 
 would anyone believe it, we went to 
 Sherry's! Honest! It seems a very 
 quiet sort of slow place. Not much 
 doing. 
 
 " Perhaps you think I'm used to 
 this," says I, as the champagne was 
 brought on. " But I've been a chorus 
 girl ever since last February, and this 
 is the first time I've seen anything set 
 before me that looked any little bit like 
 lobster. I'm more used to Hamburg 
 steak. And as for those silly bubbles," 
 says I, " cut it out for me. I'm going 
 to have my mother here next week, and 
 I'm not used to it." 
 
IV 
 
 BUCKING THE LINE 
 
 SEPTEMBER 14th. Well, here I am, 
 living in a grand new a-partment on the 
 West Side. Gee, how many babies they 
 is out here. I fall over their buggies in 
 the hall every time I come home at 
 night. Molly and Hartwell and Lovell 
 and me has it together. There are three 
 rooms and a bath in this a-partment, 
 and the name of the house is the " Vio- 
 let." We pay forty dollars a month 
 rent, and the gas-stove goes with the 
 a-partment. There's a window in each 
 of the rooms, and Hartwell sleeps on a 
 couch in our kitchen, on the side where 
 the dumb waiter is, Lovell wouldn't. 
 She said she'd rather buy boards from 
 a carpenter, he wouldn't charge much, 
 and put them across the bath-tub and 
 
BUCKING THE LINE 83 
 
 sleep on that. But we wouldn't let her. 
 She tried it one night. It seemed so un- 
 romantic to have Lovell sleeping on a 
 bath-tub, talking about " You may 
 meet me in the conserv'tory, Ferdi- 
 nand," in her sleep, with all her Marie 
 Corelli books on the shelf above her 
 head. I do like a good comfortable 
 bed, like I've got now. It makes a girl 
 feel real independent again. It helps 
 her career. Of course after my great 
 success they raised my divvy, so now I 
 get $20 per. My, how I did grab those 
 newspapers the next morning. The 
 " Sun " said a few dignified joshes and 
 then called me "an unknown chorus 
 girl." Gee, and that's fame! But it 
 said it guessed the show " would draw 
 the usual Broadway crowd." The re- 
 porter on the ' Telegram " Molly 
 says I must call 'em dramatic criticks 
 well, his name is Rosenfeldt and he 
 knows Miss Wyncote, and he said the 
 piece " went as well as could be ex- 
 pected after her unfortunate disposi- 
 
84 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 tion " (it* was a misprint, I guess) 
 " but up to that point ' The Babes in 
 Woodland ' was a crashing big success, 
 one of the hits of a season, in which suc- 
 cessful musical comedies had been more 
 than usually successful"; and then he 
 said, " The chorus girl named Higgins 
 certainly made good in the ' New York 
 Peaches.' ' I bought five copies of that 
 and sent it to Paris, Ohio. But then I 
 read another one, and bought six of it, 
 tho' I was dead broke, because that 
 critick said, " Here we have a new sen- 
 sation a chorus girl who seems to 
 know how to act. Her voice is good as 
 well as her dancing, and w r e prophecy 
 before many years that she will be 
 growing star-size," but the rest of them 
 just said my name was Higgins. 
 
 Every day I'm expecting a manager 
 to seek me out to ask me will I star. 
 Then we moved from " The Oven " to 
 " The Violet." Hartwell said we might 
 just as well move in a cab, as it 
 wouldn't cost any more than an express 
 
BUCKING' THE LINE 85 
 
 wagon. So we got a two-seated hack, 
 and carried our things down stairs. 
 The cat was on the fire escape, looking 
 in, so we left her what she had left us of 
 our Hamburg steak. Hart well carried 
 the oil-stove and a paper bag of pota- 
 toes and one end of her trunk, and I 
 carried the other end and my winter 
 cloak under one arm, and a bunch of 
 newspapers and a picture of our star, 
 he gave me with his name signed, and 
 two bottles, and a package of jelly pud- 
 dings, and a fellow put his head out of a 
 door, and called out, "Going, girls?" 
 and Molly says, " Sorry, but we must 
 leave you we've got a raise," 
 
 " Oh, must you go? " says he. 
 
 " Since you feel so bad," I sang out, 
 over my shoulder, " you might as well 
 pitch in and help, you'll never have an- 
 other chance," and he did. So we 
 moved that day, and here at " the Vio- 
 let " it is cooler. Mama says she'll 
 come just as soon as she's sure we have 
 room for her, but I told her about the 
 
86 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 bath-tub^bf course just as a josh, but it 
 scared her out. Well, the next day Miss 
 Wyncote was all recovered, looking 
 very pale, and very dignified, and could 
 do her part, only they kept me on to 
 jolly up things in " The Peaches," so I 
 act in it every night, and I'm the under- 
 study instead of Grandcourt, and she 
 gave up her white dress, but she comes 
 out and dances with me in " The Pick- 
 aninnies." Gee, but I'm glad I ain't 
 her gall. A weekly paper came out and 
 said the whole show was a shine except 
 Minnie Higgins, who acts in " The 
 Peaches," but no one in our show men- 
 tions that ar-tickle at all. 
 
 September 16th. Mr. Barton Ford- 
 ham Jones he's the one who took me 
 to Sherry's says I've got real brains. 
 I said I wish he'd pass the word along 
 to the managers. 
 
 September 17th. He laughs at ev- 
 erything I say. 
 
BUCKING THE LINE 87 
 
 September 18th. He was in that 
 same seat again last night. 
 
 September 19th. Mr. Bowsox took 
 me to supper last night. " Now, Mr. 
 Bowsox," says I, " I've known you four 
 or five months, and you're always talk- 
 ing about introducing me to your sis- 
 ters. Trot 'em out," I says. " Trot 
 'em out, or stop the guff. I don't feel 
 myself at all below anybody's sister," 
 says I. 
 
 " You're not," says he, " but you're 
 so cold, and hard, so cold," says he. 
 
 " Not at all," says I. " I never get 
 cold until long about the time the first 
 snow falls. And I like kidding and I 
 like good things to eat, but cut out the 
 sentiment," says I, just like that. I'm 
 tired of Mr. Bowsox, he ain't near such 
 a perfect gentleman as Mr. Barton 
 Fordham Jones, but Mr. Jones don't 
 say a word about his sisters. They're 
 mentioned in ' Vogue," sometimes 
 twice a month. 
 
88 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 Sept. 20th. I've got a new chiffon 
 boa with black velvet loops to it. I 
 wore it along the Bialto yesterday and 
 who should meet me but the owner of 
 the Babes and he noticed me. Of 
 course he never tips his hat. " Well, 
 Min," he says, "you certainly are 
 growing to be a good-looker. Keep it 
 up, keep it up." 
 
 "Keep what up?" says I, chewing 
 my gum hard. 
 
 " Keep up the licks," he says; " you 
 just dance, and do your little actin' as 
 hard as you can, Minnie, and next show 
 I get I'll give you a better part." 
 
 " How much a week? " says I, quick 
 like that, for I guess I know my own 
 worth, and I'm not going to be flim- 
 flammed, but he just laffed at some- 
 body, and whistled to him, and went on. 
 
 This job is getting easy. Nothing to 
 do but act at night and have a good 
 time when you can raise it, and sleep 
 late mornings and wash out things and 
 clean them with gasoline. 
 
BUCKING THE LINE 89 
 
 Sept. 21st. Lovell is crushed on a 
 man that she's only met once. Yester- 
 day morning she cried two hours by 
 our clock. " Oh, dry up," I told her, 
 " I wouldn't be such a ninny. Why, 
 you may never see him again at all." 
 
 " I know it," she says and cried 
 harder than ever. 
 
 " Your face will swell up and if he 
 comes to-night, he'll think you're a 
 dodo-bird," says Molly. 
 
 " I know it," Lovell said, and on 
 flowed her tears till I could hear them 
 dripping on our only rug. Our re- 
 marks didn't seem to console. 
 
 " What's the use of being a beauti- 
 ful chorus girl," she said, "if no one 
 proposes to me? " 
 
 Gee, that gave me a start. I never 
 thought about proposals before. Per- 
 haps we ought to get a job lot somehow 
 and spiel about them out loud before 
 the press agent. I don't know. The 
 only proposal I ever got was Jim's, and 
 that don't count anyway, and I feel 
 
90 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 knocked silly every time I think about 
 it. But I'd go through a good deal of 
 proposing if it would help my career 
 any perhaps Mr. Bowsox would do. 
 
 Sept. 22nd. When Mr. Bowsox 
 rang me up on the 'phone yesterday 
 afternoon there's a telephone at " The 
 Violet " and asked me to go to supper 
 with him last night, I let him take me. 
 When we were eating our oysters and 
 everyone was looking at us, I looked 
 better than usual, I spoke. 
 
 " Mr. Bowsox," I began, " some- 
 times you've called me hard and cold, 
 sometimes without sentiment, I have 
 been fooling you I have a heart." 
 
 " I thought you was all rigged to run 
 for Sweeney," he began. 
 
 " Sweeney," says I, " his name is 
 Jones." 
 
 " Good gracious, Minnie," he says, 
 " Sweeney is race-track talk for the 
 guy the dead ones trudge for. Now 
 you've given yourself away." 
 
BUCKING THE LINE 91 
 
 " No," I says, " whatever your 
 thoughts, 'tis you for who I really 
 
 care." 
 
 " Thank you," says he, after a min- 
 ute, " I have exactly $2500 a year be- 
 side what I make off the race-track. 
 Last month the boy I bet on just got 
 off and peddled matches. Do you 
 think you could stand for it? " 
 
 " I'm not stringing you," I says. 
 " But after all you don't care for me." 
 I'd learned a new trick, and I did it. 
 It's to make your face as sad and far 
 away as home on a wet night. I was 
 afraid after all he was going to give it 
 to me where Fanny wears the fichu. 
 But not yet. 
 
 " Min," he says, " you're a scrap of a 
 thing, about as big as a Chihuahua dog, 
 and I can carry four members of the 
 Fatman's club and a bale of hay in my 
 saddle bag, and then put down four 
 furlongs quicker than a spot-light can 
 reach from the gallery to the stage, all 
 along I've had my bet down on you, 
 
92 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 and you surely can go some. You don't 
 mean to say you're thinkin' of giving 
 up the race and becoming a wife to 
 anybody, do you? " 
 
 " Not to anyone who hasn't asked 
 me," I said. My, but it was hard work. 
 
 " I didn't know you was howling for 
 seventeen hours of straight slumber," 
 he began again. ; ' I thought you were 
 fixed to run for the end book, so far as 
 the matrimonial handicap was con- 
 cerned. Do you really want to wear 
 my colors, my dear? " 
 
 " Yes," says I, in a hurry. 
 
 He gheeked all around the Caffee 
 and then back at me. 
 
 ' This isn't no place in which to pro- 
 pose," said he. 
 
 Sept. 25th. Mr. Bowsox called me 
 up again to-day. " Can't you propose 
 by telephone, dear? " I asks, and then 
 he told me to stop my kidding. I can't 
 understand men at all. I wouldn't try 
 to make Mr. Jones propose. I am so 
 
BUCKING THE LINE 93 
 
 thankful for his friendship. The friend- 
 ship of such a man as that does a girl so 
 much good. 
 
 Sept. 26th. They're going to have a 
 newsboys' benefit, so they asked twenty 
 of us, and twenty from the " Purple 
 Star " chorus and twenty from the 
 " Girl and the Pearl " chorus to go 
 down to Wall Street in big automobiles 
 and sell tickets to brokers, millionaires 
 and bears down there. I'd never had 
 any errands down in Wall Street be- 
 fore, though I had heard of it and knew 
 where it was. Well, we had to get up 
 at eight o'clock. I was most dead be- 
 cause we'd been out to supper the night 
 before with Mr. Barton Fordham 
 Jones, and the powder on my nose 
 would show in the day time. But I 
 looked lovely under a blue spotted veil 
 it is so hard arranging the spots so they 
 won't get in your eyes or under your 
 nose. Well, Willy Harris arranged us 
 in the automobiles, we did look lovely. 
 
94 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 I never saw so much beauty together in 
 my life before, but lots of the girls was 
 much grander fixed up than I was. 
 And the one on the seat next me, one 
 of the " Purple Stars," could talk so 
 much faster than me I just gave her a 
 walk-over. We just went spinning 
 down Broadway, and everybody stood 
 still to gaze at us. Some was rooted to 
 the spot, and lots of the girls seemed to 
 know fellows along the admiring pop- 
 ulace, but I didn't see nobody I knew. 
 Anyway we had lots of jokes among 
 ourselves. The spear-carrier on the 
 other side of me kept singing her chorus 
 about " A potentate in him you. see." 
 
 " See that old lobster there on the 
 corner," says one of the " Purple 
 Stars," " he hasn't a single hair on his 
 head, and his wife won't let him wear 
 a wig, because she's afraid it'll make 
 him frivolous." 
 
 Then everybody talked at once. 
 " Good for you, little chafoor, take an- 
 other corner like that, and they'll have 
 
BUCKING THE LINE 95 
 
 to identify us by " " Ain't it cool and 
 nice" "At Atlantic City they" 
 " Stop your noise, Rosie, you're always 
 too talky " And when I got to 
 Cleveland, you may strike me dead, if 
 some one hadn't blacked my shoes for 
 me" "Is that Maxie? Of course, it 
 is doesn't he look like a little band-box 
 this morning ? It isn't ? Who is it then, 
 Smarty? " " Why, that's Bat Nelson; 
 my sister knew him before he went on 
 the pugilistic stage." ' Your hatpin is 
 caught in my veil " Move over, 
 you're a regular crowd ' To-night 
 at six o'clock :< If he doesn't for- 
 get " Look at that old jay almost 
 got run over; somebody at home would 
 miss him " No, it goes Tra-la-la- 
 la-la-la-la-tra--la-la " " She had the 
 audacity to walk right into my flat 
 " Oh, he's a mutt and everybody knows 
 it" " He don't " 
 
 " Now, girls," says Willy Harris, 
 turning around and talking through a 
 megaphone, " you must remember 
 
96 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 about the poor little newsboys what this 
 benefit's given for, and you just make 
 every man you see buy a ticket no in- 
 troductions needed." 
 
 Wall Street is a dinky, narrow, deep, 
 dark place, all choked up by the crowd 
 no women around. 
 
 My, there was a bunch drawn up to 
 see us light all right and everyone was 
 jollying. I suppose there were lots of 
 millionaires standing around in the 
 crowd, tho' they looked mostly like mes- 
 senger boys and men type-writers and 
 clerks nobody had on silk hats. Well, 
 I always have got my sense along, and 
 I says to the Purple Stars with me, " I 
 don't want to follow this outfit like a 
 lot of sheep, as if Willy Harris had a 
 bell on his collar. Everybody's laugh- 
 ing and there'll be auctions in the halls, 
 but no one will know us from the rest 
 of the merrys. I guess I'm almost a 
 principal now anyway let's sell tick- 
 ets by ourselves, and keep out of the 
 stampede." So we sacheted up a stair- 
 
BUCKING THE LINE 97 
 
 way and went in to offices. My, they 
 were grand. There was one which had 
 so much gilt and marble and red plush 
 on it, it was more beautiful than the 
 pink boudoir in the Parisian palace. 
 But I walked right in with my elbows 
 sticking out just as determined. 
 
 Some men got up from some chairs 
 and looked at us. 
 
 " Is Mr. Pierpont Morgan at 
 home? " I says, just like that, with nose 
 in the air. 
 
 " This is not Mr. Morgan's office," 
 says one of them, looking worried. 
 
 " Oh, well," says I, " I don't know. 
 I didn't look at the name on the door," 
 I says, " haven't time." 
 
 " There is no name on the door," says 
 the young man. 
 
 ' Well, whatever it is, is he at 
 home? " I asked. 
 
 " No, he's out," he answered, smil- 
 ing. "He's not at home to any callers. 
 He's out for the week." 
 
 " Oh, look here," I says, going up to 
 
98 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 him, " I don't want to see him, who- 
 ever he is in behind those haughty glass 
 doors there," I said; "does he listen 
 through it? I don't want to interrupt 
 him at his job any more than he'd in- 
 terrupt me at mine. He wouldn't do 
 that, would he?" 
 
 " No," he says, laughing. 
 
 " But you know there are a lot of 
 poor, down-trod, half -naked, starving 
 little newsies in this town, and we're do- 
 ing something for them. It's charity. 
 Want a ticket? Oh, go ahead, be a 
 good fellow," I said, and he bought one. 
 Some more men came out from behind 
 the glass doors, and they bought 
 more tickets, and we all laughed and 
 talked. 
 
 " Gee," I said, at last, looking at the 
 clock, " it's time we were moving on. 
 Be brief is our motto," and on we went 
 to another joint. I knocked at a door, 
 then I opened it and went in. " Is 
 Mr. John D. Rockefeller in? " says I. 
 There were three men seated there. 
 
BUCKING THE LINE 99 
 
 "Well, he's in for a good deal," 
 says one, " but this isn't his office." 
 
 " No matter," I said airily to one of 
 the old ones, for the Purple Stars 
 couldn't think of anything to say, 
 " you are just as good." 
 
 ' You do me too much honor," he 
 said, bowing so serious, you would have 
 thought he meant it. 
 
 " John D. Rock-a-feller or John D. 
 Do-a-fellow, it's all the same to me," I 
 says to him. " Tainted money or not, 
 I'd give him just the same chance I'm 
 giving you. There are a lot of poor, 
 hungry, snuffling little newsboys with- 
 out a stitch of clothing to their 
 backs- 
 
 " Tickets?" he asked, grinning and 
 pushing his hooks down into his 
 pockets. 
 
 " Perhaps you asked me to take a 
 seat," I says, " but I'm a little deaf this 
 A. M. I climbed all those old stairs of 
 yours to give you this chance not that 
 I wouldn't rather be sleeping calmly in 
 
100 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 my bed this moment. But I'm a 
 ' Babe ' from the beauty chorus of forty, 
 you know, so I had to help. I think 
 you might give a lady a chair." Then 
 they got us chairs in a hasten, and we 
 all giggled. I told them how glad I 
 was to have met them in this pleasant 
 informal way, and if any of them hap- 
 pened to be out my way, on my day at 
 home, I hoped they'd call, and as I 
 knew this wasn't their day at home I'd 
 be going on, as I didn't want to intrude 
 upon their grand work for humanity. 
 Everybody laughed, and by this time 
 we had two or three young fellows go- 
 ing along with us to see what I'd say 
 next. I was having more fun than a 
 crate of chickens. Then all of a sudden 
 something happened just like that. 
 A street organ was playing a tune out- 
 side that they'd played at Rector's last 
 night, when I sat at supper with Mr. 
 Jones, and I remembered just how nice 
 he'd been to me. And how sweet the 
 flowers smelled he'd sent me, and how 
 
BUCKING THE LINE 101 
 
 it seemed as if life never was so much 
 worth living as when you're young, and 
 a man, you thoroughly respect, looks 
 into your eyes, and says he loves you. 
 Well, I don't allow no nonsense, but 
 I had just felt as if life was awfully 
 good to let such a lovely, kind-hearted, 
 good-looking man as that care for me 
 and I felt if he wanted me to give up the 
 stage well, he was the only man I'd 
 ever seen who was as good as a career. 
 So when the grind-organ began that 
 long, slow wailing song it has, I leaned 
 my elbows on the window-sill in the 
 hall a minute, up ten stories, and my 
 thought went back to Rector's I re- 
 membered the look in Mr. Barton Ford- 
 ham Jones' eyes, and how he seemed 
 somewhat delicate in spite of his size, 
 and I just said to myself, " Anyway, I 
 hope no harm won't ever come to him 
 he's too good a man to have to suffer in 
 any way, and I know he's not unsin- 
 
 cere." 
 
 " Come on, Miss Higgins," says one 
 
102 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 of the men in that light way they all 
 have, except Mr. Jones; " you seem in 
 maiden meditation fancy free." 
 
 "Oh, I'm fancy free, all right," I 
 laughed. " It's pooh, pooh for mine. 
 And now for the little newsies. I never 
 shirk my job, so hike on," says I, and 
 we went in to an office, and when they 
 knew who we were, though we didn't 
 give no names, they had us ushered in to 
 an inner office. There was two old men 
 there and three young ones, and one of 
 the young men was Mr. Barton Ford- 
 ham Jones, looking lovely in a pale gray 
 suit, with a lavendar necktie. He was 
 just lighting a cigar and looked up 
 when we came in. He didn't move. I 
 was so glad to see him, I went right over 
 to him. 
 
 " Oh, we didn't know it was your of- 
 fice," I put it to him. " But I'm so glad 
 it is. You never told me you would 
 take a ticket last night at supper. I 
 didn't think I'd find one of my best 
 friends here. I'm afraid of strangers, 
 
BUCKING THE LINE 103 
 
 tho' I don't look it," I smiled. One of 
 the old men straightened up and looked 
 over at Mr. Jones, and no one else 
 spoke. 
 
 " Of course, you're mistaken about 
 knowing me," he said to me after a min- 
 ute, " I've never seen you before in my 
 life, you know." Then he went on 
 smoking. " Must be another Jones- 
 there are such a lot but I'll buy your 
 tickets," he added. Then he looked over 
 at the old gentleman and smiled, and the 
 old gentleman smiled back again, and 
 I understood just like that! He 
 wasn't no more a perfect gentleman 
 than Mr. Bowsox was, for even Mr. 
 Bowsox wasn't ashamed to say he knew 
 me, and whatever Mr. Jones' reasons 
 was for pretending he didn't know me, 
 my ideal died within me. 
 
 " Of course, a case of mistaken iden- 
 tity," I said, with my nose up. " My 
 acquaintance among millionaires is so 
 extensive, that of course sometimes I get 
 them mixed up," and they thought that 
 
104 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 funny. I knew I could bring them 
 " Why, sometimes when I'm out at one 
 of those intense swell teas where they 
 gabble, gobble, and get, and their hus- 
 bands would rather be dead than seen 
 at, I meet so many of the best people, 
 I can hardly tell one from another, and 
 sometimes you know I can hardly tell 
 a stage-gentleman from a real one." 
 And Mr. Jones just sat there looking at 
 me and smoking. Well, they all bought 
 tickets and we went out, and I let the 
 others go ahead, and just stood at the 
 window, listening to that organ grinder 
 play, and wiping the tears from my 
 eyes. It is so hard to see one's ideals 
 fade. 
 
 Somebody touched my arm. It was 
 a man rather a small man, not very 
 good-looking, who had been in there, 
 but I hadn't talked to though there had 
 been a lot of gab and jolly before we 
 went out. 
 
 ' What did you mean about the 
 stage gentleman?" he asked, smiling. 
 
BUCKING THE LINE 105 
 
 " You see I'm interested because we're 
 in the same profession." 
 
 I wasn't particularly impressed, but 
 he looked kind enough to open a door 
 for a lady even if his folks were looking. 
 " I guess you knew what I meant, all 
 right," I says, not going to let him see 
 me wipe tears like a greenie. ' The 
 stage is a grand career, ain't it? " 
 
 " Well, I don't know about it being 
 so grand," he laughed. " But it's the 
 greatest fun ever. Say, come around 
 and see me act, won't you? I've seen 
 you and at least you ought to do as 
 much for me," and he gave me a dinky 
 matinee ticket for a certain date, and 
 then he went. I'm on to their ways 
 of filling up a house with paper, when 
 their old show don't go. I was just 
 sticking it in my purse, when the door 
 at the end of the hall opened and out 
 sneaked Mr. Barton Fordham Jones. 
 Gee, I wonder if I knew he would, the 
 reason I was there. But it's awful to 
 see one's ideal sneak. 
 
106 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 " You're a stranger to me," I says. 
 " I've never laid eyes on you before." 
 And I turned my profile toward him 
 because he once said he liked it. 
 
 " Now, Minnie," he says, " be a good 
 girl, I do like you awfully, but how's 
 the governor to know what sort you are? 
 You don't want me to be cut off without 
 a cent, do you? " 
 
 " I don't care," says I, taking out my 
 gum and chewing it, because I knew he 
 didn't like that. ' Your bank account 
 is a matter of real indifference to me, 
 Mr. Jones." 
 
 " Come to lunch with me, there's a 
 good girl! " he says. 
 
 ' Where's a good girl? " says I, with 
 my nose in the air. " I don't see any 
 here. Well, I wouldn't go to any pub- 
 lic place with you for a row of brown- 
 stones. Some of your snob relations 
 might catch you. You would get up 
 and run and leave me to pay the bill." 
 
 " I always pay my bills," he said, 
 haughtily then he took hold of my 
 
BUCKING THE LINE 107 
 
 hand. " Now, Minnie dear," he says, 
 just as in novels " you misconstrue 
 my actions. I am not at all ashamed 
 of being seen with you." 
 
 At that moment out came the old 
 man, and Barton just twisted himself 
 around the balustrade, and disappeared 
 upstairs. It's awful to see one's ideal 
 act like that. As I watched him I knew 
 my heart was dead. 
 
 " I understand your actions they 
 aren't hard to see through," says I to 
 him, when he got back and the old man 
 had gone proudly on without a glance. 
 ' They remind me very much of the 
 actions of our janitor's dog when it's 
 trying to find something in the ash- 
 barrel." 
 
 " How you do talk," he laughs 
 " you're awfully taking so funny, with 
 that angel-face, too. You'll come to 
 lunch with me, won't you?" 
 
 " Why should I? " says I" I have 
 enough to eat at home." 
 
 " But I care so much for you," he 
 
108 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 tells me, holding my hand, " you're such 
 a pretty little imp and you are clever 
 in your funny little way, tho' you don't 
 know it. I'm awfully depressed to- 
 day, really, I need cheering up. We 
 won't have anything sentimental or 
 anything of that sort, for of course I 
 love you too much to tell you so now, 
 but I can't live without you, do 
 come." 
 
 " Mr. Barton Fordham Jones," says 
 I, " please give me back my hand when 
 you are quite, quite done with it. And 
 your father, I am sure, will understand 
 my feelings." His father had come up 
 the stairs and had stood there and heard 
 every word, and I let him go on, while 
 his father and I just looked at each 
 other. No one can stare me off the 
 stage. I took Barton's hand and led 
 him over to his pa: " Mr. Jones 
 
 " Fordham- Jones," says the old man 
 stiffly. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Fordham Jones," I went 
 on, not a bit rattled. For was I not a 
 
BUCKING THE LINE 
 
 109 
 
110 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 celebrity, and they only in private life? 
 " If I had ever had your son, I'd give 
 him back to you now. But I've never 
 had him a bit. He's never told me the 
 truth, and he's never even proposed to 
 me. What I am looking for is pro- 
 posals. The press-agent likes them. I 
 have just declined to go to lunch with 
 your son, and I wouldn't go to lunch 
 with you, if you should ask me." The 
 old man sort of groaned, so to cheer him 
 up, I said; " though of the two I like 
 you the best. But I think you're both 
 too awfully stuck up for me. And I 
 wish you'd keep your son at home in- 
 stead of letting him clutter up the side- 
 walks in front of our stage entrance. I 
 want plenty of room. That's the kind 
 of a girl I am. And thank you so much 
 for buying the tickets." 
 
 Then I bowed to them, very elegant, 
 indeed, and the old man glared at Bar- 
 ton, and Barton glared at me, but I 
 went downstairs and climbed into our 
 automobile. And I had sold as many 
 
BUCKING THE LINE 111 
 
 tickets as any of the girls, tho the " Pur- 
 ple Stars " were away ahead of the 
 " Babes " altogether because as a whole 
 they had more brass, having been on 
 Broadway longer. They were traipsing 
 along with a lot of men they'd picked 
 up, who had given them tips on the 
 market, they said. 
 
 Sept. 25th. The newsboys are dubs, 
 anyway. They hissed one of the ladies 
 which sung at their benefit. My heart 
 is still dead. 
 
THE TOUCHDOWN 
 
 OCTOBER 7th. Well, to-day being 
 Thursday I believe I'll go to that mat- 
 inee that man gave me the ticket for. 
 As long as I haven't anything else to 
 do, and I've got a new blue hat, with 
 three feathers under the back brim, I 
 thought I might as well go. 
 
 October 8th. The name of the piece 
 was " The Under Dog," and it seemed 
 kind of odd, not having anything in it 
 about girls, or belles, or Babes, or noth- 
 ing of that sort which always draws the 
 crowd, but there was a big house. It 
 had a plot too I got so interested I 
 almost laughed myself to death, and 
 then I thought where in the merry, 
 
 112 
 
THE TOUCHDOWN 113 
 
 merry, is the gentleman who gave me 
 the paste-board. And you could have 
 hung me over your shoulder limp as a 
 bag of salt, when I saw that the star, 
 Harry Hopper, was .the man himself. 
 Why, I've seen Harry Hopper's mug 
 decorating the elevated stations for six 
 years, and yet I didn't recognize him 
 that day in that sky-scraper by the open 
 window up in Wall Street. Gee, but I 
 felt good, thinking a man like that had 
 noticed little me. Why, he's a star, 
 bigger than our star, and he can act and 
 sing too like a bird and he's an illus- 
 trious genius. There was two big, long 
 acts and in between I'm so excited 
 my pen's jiggering in between the 
 acts, one of them fresh ushers touched 
 me on the shoulder and asked 
 would I like to go up behind the 
 scenes? Now, wouldn't that take the 
 lead? 
 
 ' I've got my hat off, and I paid for 
 this seat," I says, sort of low down sus- 
 picious. 
 
114 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 " Yes, miss," he says, grinning. 
 " You're Miss Higgins, aren't you? 
 Mr. Hopper gives the invitation." 
 
 Then I jumps up, pins on my lovely 
 hat in a jiffy, and takes my bag of choc- 
 olates with me, and follows the fresh 
 one up behind the scenes, as if I didn't 
 know the stage too well to get lost in 
 the mazes of no scenery without a fresh 
 kid like that to show me the way my 
 nose was pointing. 
 
 There sat Mr. Hopper in his make- 
 up, on a stool in his dressing-room. 
 
 ' Well, how's every little thing with 
 you this morning? " he asks easy like, 
 offering me a chair. " I want to intro- 
 duce you to my sister, Miss Holmes." 
 Say, you could have knocked me down 
 with a feather. She is his sister, she 
 looks like him, only she looks older, be- 
 ing a woman. To meet a sister rattled 
 me so I ate two chocolates before I 
 thought to offer her one. 
 
 4 Well, I've heard such a lot from 
 Harry about how pretty you are, and 
 
THE TOUCHDOWN 115 
 
 how smart you are," she said, " that 
 I'm glad to see you at last, Miss Hig- 
 gins." 
 
 Mr. Hopper got up and walked 
 across the room, and fixed the black 
 over one eyebrow, as if he didn't like 
 her saying that. But you bet I did. 
 He looked so funny and solemn in that 
 side-splitting make-up I just laughed 
 right out. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Hopper," I says, " I never 
 guessed it was you who give me the 
 ticket. I didn't suppose such a great 
 man as you would ever notice a chorus 
 girl. Why, you get a laugh for every 
 line. You're a wonder. I believe you 
 could make 'em cry too, if you wanted 
 to. You just got them going. That 
 audience is all yours." 
 
 Then he laughed and wasn't rattled 
 no more, and somehow, I just felt he 
 was a friend of mine. I told him all 
 my ambitions, and he said why not go 
 to a dramatic school, education counts, 
 of course I haven't any, except what 
 
116 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 that old corkscrew-curled principal of 
 mine threw at me back in Paris, Ohio. 
 Precious little of it stuck. Anyway, 
 when I had to go, and his call boy had 
 come, I'd told him everything, even if 
 his sister did hear, and I was sure he 
 sympathized with me about my love for 
 Mr. Jones, tho' we didn't mention no 
 names. 
 
 " Oh, girls! " I said in the dressing- 
 room before our show. " I've seen and 
 talked with a real actor, I have, and I 
 don't believe I'm no Fritzi Scheff any 
 more." Just as I said that, there came 
 a note for me it said, " I've sold out 
 the livery-stable business, and I've 
 come to New York to stay. I'll be at 
 the stage entrance. Jim." Now, 
 wouldn't that jar you? All through 
 the kick-up, and " The Peaches," too, 
 I was just wondering what I was going 
 to do with the jay. I hoped there 
 wouldn't any bunco sharps run off with 
 him before I could reach him. Then I 
 remembered how big he was, but I 
 
THE TOUCHDOWN 117 
 
 didn't want him to spend none of that 
 hard-earned dough on me. 
 
 "What's the matter, angel-face?" 
 says Mr. Smith to me, when we danced 
 together. 
 
 " Nothing," says I, in the lady's 
 chain, " except that an old beau's wait- 
 ing for me outside, and I've got to side- 
 track him." 
 
 Then I thought of a scheme. I just 
 laughed right out, and Old Bill didn't 
 give me the high-sign. 
 
 Well, at the door there was Jim, and 
 I had along with me a new chorus girl. 
 We called her " The Idiot Child," be- 
 cause she is greener than me even. But 
 the cutest, little, black-eyed jay, with a 
 sort of stupid look around the mouth, 
 but she has dimples. 
 
 " My friend, Miss Shoreham," says 
 I, grand as could be. ' We three go to 
 supper together; no, not to Rector's, 
 some cheap place will do me, I'm tired 
 of grandeur." 
 
 Jim swallowed the big word and 
 
118 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 swallowed the whole thing I could 
 hear him clearing his throat. 
 
 At first he didn't notice " The Idiot 
 Child " much; he was busy asking me 
 how I did, and if the game payed, and 
 all that truck. 
 
 "Pay?" I said. "I'd rather be a 
 scene-shifter's infant child, if I couldn't 
 stay on the stage any other way, than 
 to be the wife of the Mayor of Paris, 
 Ohio." Then he understood. Then the 
 Idiot began piping off to him, in her 
 soft little voice, and all at once I saw 
 him notice those dimples of hers. Well, 
 Jim is a good looker, even in the city 
 here, among all the swells, and his jay 
 clothes don't keep some from knowing 
 he's a gentleman. " The Idiot Child " 
 began adoring him before supper was 
 over. Sometimes I've wished for dim- 
 ples, but my business is such an exer- 
 cising one it keeps them down. 
 
 October 18th. I've often thought 
 how lovely it would be if Miss Wyncote 
 
THE TOUCHDOWN 119 
 
 should get real sick something that 
 would keep her in bed, like appendicitis 
 or scarlet fever. She looks the picture 
 of health. What chance is there 
 for an understudy to a leading-lady 
 who's the picture of health? Some of 
 us never has any luck. The whole 
 world's against us. 
 
 October 20th. I went to a Dramatic 
 School and got a lesson. A tall, 
 preacher-looking man took my name 
 and address. He said it was voice cul- 
 ture. He said voices were so beautiful 
 when they were well placed. I told 
 him mine was placed in my boots, and 
 he didn't like it, so I told him anyway 
 that was better than having them placed 
 in someone else's boots, where you 
 couldn't get at 'em without asking, and 
 he didn't like that either. Then he told 
 me to open my mouth wide, and when 
 I'd most cracked my jaw, he looked 
 down it a long while. 6 Your throat, 
 any throat is so interesting," he says. 
 
120 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 " Thank you," says I, when I got my 
 jaws to working again. Then he threw 
 out a lot more guff about our throats 
 and looked down into them again, then 
 he said as we were weary we could take 
 a recess. In recess I bragged to the 
 girl next to me that I knew Harry 
 Hopper well. She didn't believe me, so 
 I told her I wasn't in the habit of lying. 
 She said she supposed it might become 
 a habit at any time. Then recess was 
 over, and we all stood up and puffed 
 our chests out like pidgeons, and beat 
 them like drums with our two hands. I 
 worked so hard I made myself black 
 and blue, and The Butterfly costume 
 don't include no beads either. Then we 
 drew such long breaths I felt quite 
 faint, and one of my corset-strings 
 busted. 
 
 " Breathe deep," says the teacher. 
 " Breathe deep, young ladies and young 
 man. The longer you breathe the 
 longer you live." 
 
 Then we breathed some more. Then 
 
THE TOUCHDOWN 
 
 he said it again. After awhile the les- 
 son was over, and we got little cards 
 saying it cost $8.00. I didn't have it 
 with me, but he said he'd send the bill 
 to my manager. Gee! Then as we 
 went out the door, he said, as slow as a 
 train of freight cars, " The longer you 
 breathe, the longer you live." 
 
 " Yes," says I, brightly, and putting 
 my gum back, " and the longer you live, 
 the longer you'll breathe." 
 
 Somehow, he didn't seem pleased 
 with that, but he'd given us tickets, so 
 we went in to one of them student's 
 matinees. There was lots of nicely 
 dressed parents there, and strangers 
 from other parts of the country, and 
 actors who knew some of the girls. The 
 first play was about some women who 
 wanted to give a club reception, and 
 how to raise the money, and they were 
 all alike in as good dresses as they could 
 get together. That was the trouble, 
 they were just girls acting, not club 
 ladies, and it seemed when they came in, 
 
DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 I could hear 'em say, " Sallie, is my 
 dress hanging well?" "Of course, 
 Mary, wasn't it funny I didn't get any 
 applause at my entrance? " Sallie 
 looked so humiliated over that. Instead 
 of comforting her out loud, Mary was 
 saying, " Whatever shall I do? When 
 my husband comes home, he will find 
 out that I have been stealing from his 
 bank account! Such a situation." And 
 husband was very moral and particular 
 about stealing. When the old man with 
 the wig came on, and he went over and 
 grasped his hand, I could just hear him 
 whisper, " Too bad, old man, we're get- 
 ting a frost," but out loud he was say- 
 ing, " Let us put up a joke on the ladies 
 and scare them a bit. It will be a good 
 lesson." After awhile the curtain went 
 down and there hadn't been a laugh, 
 but they came out and bowed, looking 
 so bewildered. Then I came home to 
 " The Violet," stumbled over a baby- 
 buggy in the dark hall, and wrote all 
 about the lesson to Mr. Hopper, and 
 
THE TOUCHDOWN 
 
 that I was afraid I couldn't take the 
 time from my real work not that I 
 minded the money. 
 
 Oct. 21st. The Idiot Child came to 
 me to-day, and asked me all about Jim. 
 She said Mr. Burns had told her he was 
 going to study dentistry, but she said 
 she thought he was joking, and that he 
 was really a college fellow, or a sen- 
 ator's son from somewhere. 
 
 October 26th. I told Jim that hon- 
 estly I couldn't go out to supper with 
 him two nights running; it wasn't con- 
 sidered proper here. Then when Mr. 
 Bowsox asked me I went home to " The 
 Violet" and went to bed. I didn't 
 want to hurt poor old Jim's feelings by 
 going out with Mr. Bowsox instead. 
 
 Nov. 1st. Grandcourt spoke to me 
 last night. She said Marmaduke's 
 name had been changed to Isabel, and 
 that he she has two puppies, and she 
 
DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 would give me one to show there was 
 no hard feelings. I wonder if I'm go- 
 ing to be fired she seems so easy in her 
 mind. 
 
 Nov. 2nd. I asked Mr. Hopper 
 what he thought about it, and he said 
 not to worry. He walked with me up 
 Broadway, he asked me when my 
 mother was coming to visit me, and I 
 asked him how he knew I had a mother, 
 and he said I looked like it. 
 
 Nov. 3rd. I wrote Mr. Hopper a 
 note, telling him that I had a bad sore 
 throat and couldn't go to the theater 
 that afternoon, and was afraid I'd lose 
 my job, and he came to see me. He 
 said he thought " The Violet " ought 
 to be named " The Onion," it smelt so 
 of other people's dinners. Molly let 
 him in and they joshed a good deal, but 
 I couldn't because I had such a sore 
 throat. Then they cooked me a little 
 dinner, and Mr. Hopper went out and 
 
THE TOUCHDOWN 125 
 
 bought some oysters to cook for me. 
 He did it awful funny, and we had to 
 laugh so, my throat got worse. Then 
 he said he'd have to stop being 
 funny for the first time in his life. 
 He said the couch in the kitchen under 
 the dum waiter was a great idea, and 
 he hoped mother wouldn't take my bed, 
 for then I'd have to sleep on those 
 boards across the bath-tub. He didn't 
 like the bath-tub idea. He said it was 
 wonderful how cosy our little green 
 window curtains looked, and if I really 
 liked that fellow he meant the picture 
 of our star he did have the big-head 
 so. I said, " No," I had to talk slow, 
 " I don't like him, not since I met 
 you know who " 
 
 "Do you mean me, imp? " he asked, 
 picking up my shawl, so funny. 
 
 " No," I says, " Mr. Barton Ford- 
 ham Jones I love him yet. Isn't it 
 romantic? " 
 
 " No," he says. " He's a young 
 puppy." 
 
126 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 Then I guess the tears came to my 
 eyes, for I couldn't help thinking of 
 those lovely times Mr. Jones and I had 
 had together, with the music playing 
 " Salome " and all that. 
 
 " Is it your throat or Mr. Jones?" 
 he asked. 
 
 ' It's Mr. Jones," I answered, and 
 he patted my hand. 
 
 "I'm surprised at you being so nice 
 to a mere chorus girl," I says. 
 
 : ' I am, too," he says; " I'm an old 
 fool." Then he picked up his hat and 
 goes away. 
 
 He's a very funny man, off the stage 
 as well as on. He told me not to worry 
 about my job. I lay thinking about 
 the color of Mr. Jones' eyes, all the time 
 the girls were gone. My throat is 
 better. 
 
 Nov. 25th. The owner took hold of 
 my arm yesterday and said: " I'll fire 
 you, if you don't do better." It hurt. 
 I guess houses for " The Babes " is 
 
THE TOUCHDOWN 127 
 
 thinning out some. I went to Del's 
 with Molly and two new men. Jim 
 wouldn't speak to me. I'm making no 
 squawk about that. 
 
 Nov. 29th. To-day Jim came up 
 here to " The Violet " and began scold- 
 ing me. " How do you know what kind 
 of men those were? " he says. ' Who's 
 Molly to do the introducing " 
 
 " I'll thank you to leave my name out 
 of your discussion, Mr. Burns," Molly 
 said to him. " I guess I'm just as good 
 a judge of men as you are. We have to 
 go out to dinner or supper now and 
 then, it's all in the business." 
 
 ' You're a mutt, Jim," I told him, 
 picking up Marmaduke's puppy. " Do 
 you expect me to work all night, and 
 wash up the dishes, and sleep all day, 
 and never have no pleasures at all? 
 Every old thing has its pleasures, even 
 a parrot with its tail feathers gone looks 
 forward to having a shindig with the 
 monkeys now and then. I don't like 
 
128 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 any gentlemen, anyway. My heart is 
 dead." 
 
 "I believe it is," Jim said; "Miss 
 Shoreham does, too." Then I laughed, 
 and Jim says: 
 
 14 Laugh at that poor little thing all 
 you want, Miss Higgins; she doesn't 
 go out with strange men 
 
 " No, you're not a stranger to her 
 now, I expect." 
 
 Then he was furious. " To-morrow," 
 he says, " I write and tell your mother 
 of your goings on." I know it's just his 
 jealousy. Then the door opened and in 
 came mother. Dear, dear, where is she 
 going to sleep? 
 
 Dec. 4th. Hart well had to move, 
 and she said we liked Marmaduke's 
 puppy, which does nothing but chew its 
 paws, better than we do her. I'm hav- 
 ing awful times teaching mother gram- 
 mar. She says it ain't for it isn't, and 
 she do leave off all her g's, but she 
 washes dishes lovely, and cooks for us. 
 
THE TOUCHDOWN 129 
 
 Dec. 5th. Nothing exciting has 
 happened for a week. 
 
 Dec. 8th. Mr. Hopper came here 
 and saw mother. He says, " This is a 
 nice, clever little girl of yours," and 
 mother says, " She seems to me pretty 
 nigh grown-up." 
 
 I laughed. ' Why do you always 
 talk so as if you was old as a grand- 
 father? " I says to Mr. Hopper, and 
 he seemed to feel I'd hurt his dignity. 
 After he'd gone I told mother she ought 
 not to say " nigh "; it was an old-fash- 
 ioned word. 
 
 " Ain't he a great friend of yours? " 
 she asked me just like that. 
 
 "Oh, I don't know," says I, "he 
 ain't never took me to supper yet. He 
 may be a quitter for all I know. Men 
 
 is so unsincere." 
 
 She said she didn't like the word 
 quitter. 
 
 Dec. 20th. Last night so much hap- 
 pened. Again I saw him Barton 
 
130 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 Mr. Barton Fordham Jones. He met 
 me at the stage entrance as I was 
 emerging. (Lovell told me that word 
 out of her reading.) 
 
 " Come to supper with me at 
 Sherry's, Miss Higgins?" he asked, 
 with his hat in his hand. 
 
 " No," says I, " to Rector's." I feel 
 more comfortable at Rector's, and be- 
 sides, I had something to tell him. It 
 isn't stylish to talk at Sherry's. Rec- 
 tor's is much livelier and the women's 
 dresses there are just as grand. My 
 furs always look kind of skimpy any- 
 way wherever I am. Mr. Jones' dress 
 suit was lovely. He looked a dream, 
 and I asked him how his father 
 was. 
 
 " The old cove is in Paris, enjoying 
 himself," he said, " while I am again in 
 the good graces of a Broadway favor- 
 ite." 
 
 :< I'm no favorite," I says for a come- 
 back. " I may be a hit with the audi- 
 ence, but the after-theater bunch don't 
 
THE TOUCHDOWN 131 
 
 Then I swept into Rector's. 
 
132 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 take much to me. You're not in my 
 good graces either, tho' I may look it." 
 Then I swept into Rector's, wearing 
 my five dollar brown fur hat marked 
 down from ten, and with that hipless 
 coat dangling from my shoulders. My 
 jewels was just one old rhinestone 
 buckle, but I swept just the same so 
 hard I knocked down a champagne 
 bucket with the tail of my skirt. The 
 head waiter asked what Queen of Song 
 I was. Everybody rubbered. 
 
 Mr. Jones had engaged one of those 
 side tables next the mirrors, with the 
 little pink lamps with bead dew-dads 
 hanging on them. In this soft aristo- 
 cratick light I looked my loveliest. I 
 heard somebody tell a man that I was 
 " Higgins, who has a song all her own 
 way, at one of those Casino leg shows," 
 and I knew this was fame. 
 
 " Now, Mr. Jones," I hit out, " I'm 
 eating your oysters, and I feel as cosy 
 and warm at your entertainment as a 
 fly in a plate of ice-cream, but I want 
 
THE TOUCHDOWN 133 
 
 to tell you just this, I have cared about 
 you, and that is why I accept your en- 
 tertainments just to recall the dead 
 past. But now I don't care no more, 
 and all sentiment must be cut out be- 
 tween us." 
 
 " Now, Minnie," he says, " don't give 
 me the marble mitt like that. It makes 
 me feel cold all over as I take it, but 
 everything you say goes." 
 
 But the music began to play up there 
 in that little hole in the ceiling, and I 
 was almost sorry he took me at my 
 word. He began to tell me about his 
 college scrapes and they was awful 
 slow. I turned around and looked at a 
 real Queen of Song, who was sweeping 
 in, in the gen-u-ine thing. She was so 
 big and blonde she made the men with 
 her look like the little round balloons 
 hitched on to a Fourth of July kite. 
 There were rows of jet trimmings 
 mixed with a pearl necklace, and a lot 
 of lace hanging down over her chest, 
 and there was room on her skirt for 
 
134 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 three different rows of fluted ribbon 
 each a foot apart. Her white gloves 
 reached almost up to her shoulders, and 
 in the back was a V-shaped it was an 
 empire with a wasp waist, and on her 
 head was a pink hat with a shower of 
 pink feathers, and one falling to her 
 neck, three or four feet long. 
 
 "Are you looking at Feathers?" 
 Mr. Jones asked. " She is a real suc- 
 cess. She is getting four hundred dol- 
 lars a week for singing an hour a night 
 in vodeville." 
 
 I leaned back and looked at her. 
 " That is a lot," says I. " I guess I 
 never will be earning four hundred dol- 
 lars a week, but I guess I don't want to, 
 if I have to deck myself out like a Har- 
 lem Christmas tree. See the lights in 
 her ears. I wouldn't dare face myself 
 in the dark with all that on. Seems as 
 if some people had no retireingness in 
 their natures." And I looked down at 
 my rhinestone buckle and sighed. I 
 knew I was jealous. 
 
THE TOUCHDOWN 135 
 
 " You're looking awfully well to- 
 night," says he, and they began to play 
 " Salome." Miss Wyncote was there 
 with a party, all diked out, eating in the 
 middle of the room, where everyone had 
 to stop and give them the high-sign as 
 they went out. The women were all 
 talking and laughing, and there were 
 pink, green and blue in the party, and 
 Miss Wyncote in black and white was 
 the picture of health. She looked over 
 at me and smiled as one who would say, 
 " Well, well, little one." And Grand- 
 court and Lovell came in with one man 
 between them who didn't even know the 
 waiters. The owner of our show was 
 suppering with another man and he 
 looked as if my stocks had gone up, be- 
 cause I was with Mr. Jones. So I 
 looked at Barton flirtatiously from 
 under my fur mushroom and toyed with 
 my baked shad elegantly, but all I was 
 saying was : 
 
 " Gee, but it's noisy in here. No one 
 seems to mind if you stare at 'em at all. 
 
136 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 I guess the whole thing's a press 
 agent's dream anyway. Pipe the dia- 
 monds." 
 
 Then I looked up, and who was star- 
 ing at me hard but Jim Burns, sitting 
 there with his second-hand Tuxedo, and 
 his white tie, and at the table with him 
 was the Idiot Child, wearing a new silk 
 shirtwaist and a pink " Widow " with 
 one red rose on it. I most died inside, 
 laughing and crying both. She looked 
 so contented and admiring. So I just 
 nodded to Jim quick like that and 
 went on talking. I wasn't in for no sour 
 grapes act. I didn't want to spoil her 
 little game, but it did kinder hurt when 
 they both leaned over and began to talk 
 to each other, as if I was some sort of 
 hoodoo bird flying around outside. But 
 the music was playing, and I was eat- 
 ing my truffled grouse, and then I 
 looked up and saw hold me up while I 
 write it two people came jogging 
 down the aisle and took a table across 
 the room from us, and one was Harry 
 
THE TOUCHDOWN 
 
 137 
 
 Hopper in a dress suit and the other 
 was my mother. 
 
 ' What's the matter, you've gone 
 white ! " says Mr. Jones to me, with one 
 of his sentimental looks. I didn't know 
 what to do. A girl can't be ready for 
 everything. Even if she's got plenty of 
 guff. You see, mother had on her rusty 
 old black silk dress, and her little best 
 bonnet with the grapes she'd worn for 
 three years out in Paris, Ohio. And 
 right at the table next her sat the Queen 
 of Song that was getting four hundred 
 dollars a week in vodeville, and every- 
 body admired so much. Mother's front 
 hair was false. And it looked it. And 
 she had a nice little polite smile on her 
 face, the kind she used at church soci- 
 ables at home, tho' I could see she was 
 scared behind her spectacles, at all the 
 gilt, and the red, wriggly car-pet, and 
 the champagne buckets and things. 
 
 Harry Hopper had the most polite 
 smile, too, and he was leaning toward 
 her and talking as if she was the whole 
 
138 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 cheese, but everyone was laughing at 
 them, and you could see by that little 
 smile on his face that he knew it, and he 
 didn't care a bit. He was just having 
 the time of his life, and imagining he 
 was in a play. Don't I know the feel- 
 ing, don't I have it every now and then ? 
 Wasn't I having it just a minute ago 
 when they were playing " Salome " up 
 there in the hole over our heads, but his 
 was a different kind of a play, and it 
 was all because she was so differ- 
 ent, and nobody had ever had a per- 
 son like that in there for late supper 
 before. 
 
 I didn't know what to do. I couldn't 
 make myself go over there and own up 
 she was my mother before the whole 
 crowd, tho' I knew I ought to. Miss 
 Wyncote's party was looking, and 
 there was the owner of the show and my 
 career to re-coll-ect, and all the men at 
 the tables who knew who I was, and 
 would laugh, and Mr. Jones, and 
 Grandcourt, and all. Here was every- 
 
THE TOUCHDOWN 139 
 
 one else diked out like Newport, and 
 mother looking like Paris, Ohio. I 
 was dressed bad enough, goodness 
 knows. And it looked so funny her be- 
 ing there anyway. I just wished I 
 could crawl under the table. 
 
 " Do you know Harry Hopper? " 
 says Mr. Jones. " He's a great fellow. 
 Always up to some joke or other. 
 Wonder who that freak is with him to- 
 night." 
 
 I choked on a chunk of bread, and 
 Jim was looking over at me, with the 
 most shocked expression I ever saw. 
 Then Harry Hopper saw me, he'd been 
 looking around, and came over to my 
 table. All the time he was coming I 
 stared down at my plate, wondering 
 what I'd do. When he got there he 
 didn't look jokey at all. 
 
 " Good evening, Jones," he said, and 
 shook hands as solemn as a preacher. 
 :< I didn't know you and Miss Higgins 
 had made up." 
 
 " We haven't," I snapped. " What 
 
140 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 did you do it for? " He knew what I 
 meant. 
 
 " We were waiting for you at the 
 stage entrance," he said. " It was to be 
 a surprise for you," he says. 
 
 " It is," said I. " What were you 
 saying, Mr. Jones?" I was that cool 
 as if I had swallowed a little kicking 
 devil. Mr. Hopper turned red, but the 
 owner of " The Babes " and everybody 
 in their grand clothes was looking, and 
 I just couldn't go over there and let 
 on she was my mother, following me 
 up, dressed in that kind of a bum 
 outfit. 
 
 " 'Tisn't appropriate here for old 
 folks," I said, after a minute. " They 
 should be in bed." I felt as mean as 
 the shrimp in my salad. Mr. Jones 
 laughed. I saw Jim had gone over to 
 talk to mother, and another man had 
 taken his place with the Idiot Child, and 
 I hoped there wouldn't be no harsh 
 words. 
 
 " That's so," says Mr. Jones. " Who 
 
THE TOUCHDOWN 
 
 is the old party, Hopper? Give me an 
 introduction." 
 
 " Not at all," says Mr. Hopper, " un- 
 less you and Miss Higgins will join us 
 at our table." 
 
 Mr. Jones got mad. 
 
 " Oh, stop butting in, Hopper," says 
 he. " I've ordered Miss Higgins' sup- 
 per, and I'm going to enjoy her com- 
 pany." 
 
 They just stood and glared at each 
 other, and everybody rubbered at us. I 
 seemed quite a heroine to everybody but 
 little Minnie herself. I felt inside like 
 the sequel to a story where the heroine 
 died young. I didn't say nothing as I 
 should have done, and the minute 
 passed and Mr. Hopper went back. 
 The owner of the " Babes " bowed and 
 smiled to me, when he saw I knew Mr. 
 Hopper, and everybody laughed as they 
 looked over at Mr. Hopper's table, and 
 in my heart I grew harder and madder 
 every minute. I wouldn't look at 
 mother because I knew just how hurt 
 
DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 she was looking. And Jim Burns 
 pulled the man out of the chair that had 
 taken his place. 
 
 Then they played " Salome " again, 
 and I thought I was glad I was with 
 Mr. Jones. Well, we finished that din- 
 ner even to coffee frapays, and I swept 
 out of the place with him, just swish- 
 ing my messaline silk skirt and no 
 one had had a chance to laugh at me. I 
 hadn't given them no chance to act 
 snobbish to me. 
 
 " I believe you like me best after all, 
 Minnie," says the Jones boy, as we 
 stood on the curb. " Shall we take a 
 spin before we go home? I'll get Mc- 
 Cann and the others." 
 
 " No, I'm going straight home," says 
 I, stamping my foot. There was a raw 
 wind blowing. ' Take me straight 
 home. I'm only stuck on you, when 
 you don't say or do anything. I want 
 to go straight home." So he took me 
 out to " The Violet " and I went in and 
 lighted the light in our apartment, and 
 
THE TOUCHDOWN 143 
 
 there was no one there but Marma- 
 duke's puppy chewing up one of Lov- 
 ell's slippers. It sounded so lonesome. 
 After awhile I heard them stumbling 
 over a baby buggy and mother and Mr. 
 Hopper came in. 
 
 " How dared you," I said to him, 
 " how dared you take my mother to that 
 restaurant at this time of night? " 
 
 " It was sort of a loud looking place," 
 said mother. " I never saw none like 
 it at Paris, Ohio." She was looking all 
 kind of puzzled and tired out. 
 
 " Well, you were there," said Mr. 
 Hopper, taking in my tragedy queen 
 attitude, and the silk scarf thrown 
 around my shoulders, for they always 
 turn the heat off at midnight in these 
 $40 ones. ff You were there! " he says. 
 " We had an awful time finding you, 
 Minnie," said mother. " We wouldn't 
 have gone in there, I wanted to go to 
 Child's, where I feel more at home, ex- 
 cept somebody told us you was there, 
 then you wouldn't speak to me at all." 
 
144 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 " Do you mean to say you are angry 
 at me? " said Harry Hopper, his eyes 
 blazing. Mother took Marmaduke's 
 puppy and went out of the room. 
 
 "Why shouldn't I be?" says I. 
 ' What are you to me that I should 
 stand your making fun of us," I said, 
 so mad I was seeing red. " You made 
 me ashamed of my mother and her old- 
 fashioned clothes and I'll never forgive 
 you." I burst out crying. 
 
 He took a step toward me and I felt 
 him coming. 
 
 " Leave this room forever," I said, 
 stamping my foot. " It's all I've got, 
 this little home, and you shan't make 
 fun of it. Leave this house, I 
 say." 
 
 And you could have knocked me 
 down with a feather, for he did go. I 
 heard him go out the door, and then I 
 knew I was losing my best friend and 
 I couldn't bear to lose him, and I ran 
 out into the hall after him. I caught 
 hold of his sleeve. My breath was gone. 
 
THE TOUCHDOWN 145 
 
 " I love you well enough to come buck and stay." 
 
146 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 " Don't you like me well enough to 
 come back? " I says. 
 
 " My dear little girl," he says, " I 
 love you well enough to come back 
 and stay." 
 
 And Marmaduke's puppy was the 
 first one to come nosing around out 
 there in the hall and find out we were 
 engaged. It wasn't at all like real life 
 on the stage. But I knew I cared for 
 Mr. Hopper the minute that Jones boy 
 began to unwind those moth-eaten col- 
 lege yarns of his. This world is an 
 awful queer place, things you expect to 
 happen never do, and things you don't 
 expect to happen never don't. I got a 
 note from Mr. Hopper just now and 
 it's true, honest. I hope he isn't unsin- 
 cere. I don't believe I ought to let him 
 do it. 
 
VI 
 
 THE GOAL KICK 
 
 JAN. 2nd. Harry Hopper says my 
 dance in the Pickaninnies' song is a 
 cinch, but I ought to look at the audi- 
 ance, he says, some more than I do; he 
 says the audiance don't never like to 
 feel it's forgotten. 
 
 Jan. 4th. Harry Hopper says when 
 he was a little boy back in Laredo, 
 Texas, his father owned a stock farm, 
 and he ran away. They caught him up 
 in Houston in a vodeville house, singing 
 coon songs to an accordian accompani- 
 ment. He says those good old days is 
 past, but there is just as good a-coming. 
 He says there's no use telling Old Bill 
 and the owner of the show or the other 
 girls in the " beauty chorus of forty," 
 that we're engaged yet. He says it 
 
 147 
 
148 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 might be embarrassing for me. I don't 
 see why. But he knows. 
 
 Jan. 6th. He says I can come every 
 Thursday afternoon when he acts and 
 watch him if I can live through it. I 
 could watch him act all night, and over 
 the next day, and forget to .eat my 
 breakfast. I think he thinks a lot of 
 me. 
 
 Jan. 7th. Holiday trade was pretty 
 good for " The Babes." Miss Wyn- 
 cote keeps awfully well. I can't think 
 of nothing but Harry. I guess I've 
 got it bad. But I'm going to have a 
 career just the same. He says so. 
 
 Jan. 8th. Last night he told me he's 
 going to have a new comic opera. A 
 playwright and a musician are getting 
 together and in about a week it'll be 
 done. He says he's tired of ' The 
 Under Dog." It's going to be a Dutch 
 comic opera, all in Delft scenery, and 
 with Dutch costumes, then I sighed. 
 
THE GOAL KICK 149 
 
 "What's up?" he says just like 
 that. 
 
 " Nothing," says I, trying not to be 
 a baby. 
 
 " Yes, there is/' he says. " Pull it 
 out. I've got to see it, and know what 
 it's like." 
 
 " Well," says I, " there was a song in 
 our show that I sung in Paris, Ohio, 
 and I wore a pair of Dutch bloomers in 
 it, and I liked it, and I got an encore 
 in it, and it went 
 
 " Wilhelmina, Wilhelmina, 
 
 Listen to what I say, 
 Don't be mean, my little Dutch Queen, 
 
 But name our wedding day. 
 When you're near, my heart feels queer, 
 
 Half dead with love I am, 
 When I hear the click of your little wooden 
 
 shoes 
 On the tiles of Amsterdam." 
 
 I said I liked it much better than I did 
 
 ' ' I am a 
 
 Alabama 
 
 Pickaninny." 
 
150 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 And he said he wasn't surprised, the 
 tune had more snap, and he said who 
 wrote it. I said Mr. Orden did. 
 
 "Oh, him! He'll charge all that's 
 coming for it," says he, " but he may 
 want it in a good production and we'll 
 get it for you, for this new comic opera 
 is called ' Brigands of Delft,' " he says, 
 " and you're to be in it." 
 
 Jan. 10th. I'm drawing salary al- 
 ready for " The Brigands of Delft "- 
 you may knock me down with a feather 
 it's fifty a week. That sure takes 
 the lead. I wonder what Fritzi Scheff 
 gets. But rehearsals begin soon, and 
 Old Bill and the owner of "The 
 Babes " and all the others have got to 
 be told. But I'm so rich I can hardly 
 sleep nights. Mama says she knew 
 Harry Hopper's intentions was serious 
 when he began hauling her around to 
 Caffees at midnight. Lovell says she 
 supposes I have a " far more sentimen- 
 tal disposition than shows on the sur- 
 
THE GOAL KICK 151 
 
 faces." Hartwell says it can't be a re- 
 ward of virtue, for she's so virtuous it 
 makes her creepy, and Molly says she 
 " don't see how I done it." 
 
 Jan. llth. The owner got in the 
 wings last night after the show was over. 
 He said, " Ladies and gentlemen " we 
 was all gathered around four deep, and 
 somebody stepped on Miss Wyncote's 
 train, and she threw a fit " Ladies and 
 gents," he says, " I have to announce 
 that ' The Babes,' after an un-pre-ce- 
 dented run of many months, must fulfill 
 its engagements on the road, and we all 
 leave for Boston next Saturday night. 
 Stop crowding there, girls, and if you 
 hear anyone say this house has been 
 packed with paper for the past fort- 
 night, you give 'em the ha-ha," and 
 that's the first I knew that it had. He 
 didn't say ha-ha only I can't remem- 
 ber his grand words. Anyway, he said 
 New York would miss us, and poor old 
 Broadway, he said, would miss us, never 
 
152 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 had there been such a beauty chorus, 
 and some of the girls who hadn't been 
 asked out to supper at all said, " Oh, 
 get a transfer." But we all got to feel- 
 ing so sorry for poor old Broadway that 
 we just pitied those that had to live on 
 in New York without us. 
 
 Harry Hopper asked me if I had 
 a contract with them, and I said, 
 " What's that? " and he said, " Oh! all 
 right." 
 
 Jan. 12th. We moved again to-day 
 because I'm so rich. We moved to this 
 a-partment further down-town. The 
 house is called " The Lady Jane Grey," 
 and there aren't no baby buggies in the 
 hall. We left Lovell and Molly behind, 
 but we brought Marmaduke's puppy. 
 He's got a sharp nose, and a funny 
 black tail, he's all black, and I don't 
 know what he is. Folks laugh when I 
 take him on the end of a string. This 
 is a grand place. Gee, my clothes do 
 look kind of shabby here. I went and 
 
THE GOAL KICK 153 
 
 bought a dress at Altman's and paid 
 $55.00 for it I mean they sent it 
 C.O.D. There are mirrors let into the 
 wall in the bed-rooms, and all the furni- 
 ture is first-hand. As soon as we got 
 our trunks in, mother went and called 
 on the folks across the hall. She said 
 she felt real neighborly. The folks was 
 out. At least they said they was. 
 
 Jan. 13th. They gave me some 
 money on my " Brigands " salary in ad- 
 vance, so I took mother and went down- 
 town. First I took her to a manicure 
 place, and after they'd done my nails, I 
 made her let them do hers. She said 
 she never could get the half -moons to 
 show, but the lady who did them said 
 what had already been done couldn't 
 be helped. Then I went in and had my 
 hair waved all around my head like 
 Miss Wyncote does hers Marcel they 
 call it. It took a long time to Marcel 
 me and mother went to sleep, but I 
 woke her up and said she had to have 
 
154 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 hers Marcel too. " Now, Minnie," says 
 she, " there ain't no need of spendin' all 
 that money on me. And I don't want 
 to take off my front piece and let that 
 lady see how little hair I got." But I 
 said, " Now, mother, you got to. It's 
 all the go now, and we must be in the 
 style or bust, as long as we're staying at 
 the Lady Jane Grey." So then she 
 gave in, and she and the lady had a nice 
 talk while she was doing her hair, and 
 mother told her all about how many 
 chickens she raised in her back yard in 
 Paris, Ohio, in one summer. It didn't 
 take long to Marcel her hair. 
 
 Then I took her over to Fliegal & 
 Snooper's and picked her out a hat. 
 She said she didn't want to go, as it was 
 twelve o'clock, and she always felt like 
 dinner at twelve o'clock, besides she 
 didn't need a new hat, that she guessed 
 Harry Hopper didn't care what kind 
 of a hat she wore, and I said: 
 
 " Now, mother, you shut up. You 
 know I'm not thinking of whether 
 
THE GOAL KICK 155 
 
 Harry Hopper cares or not, but I guess 
 we're rich now, and you can have 
 clothes." 
 
 Then the shop-lady and I had her try 
 on hats. The shop-lady said she knew 
 just what would suit mother. First she 
 brought out a pale pink hat, with some 
 grey veiling around the crown, and then 
 it had some pink roses under the brim. 
 It was a sweet hat. But mother got 
 obstinate. She said it was too small for 
 her, and she didn't like pink anyway; 
 then the shop-lady tried a great big 
 black one with a gilt buckle on her and 
 said, " Ain't that lovely? Just what 
 you want, madam." 
 
 But mother said it hurt her head and 
 the shop-lady said, " I don't see how 
 that can be. It's an imported hat, 
 madam," and we had an awful time. 
 But at last the shop-lady got so cross 
 we bought a little black one with a white 
 pompom on, and mother said she wished 
 father could see her now. Then we 
 went and had lunch at Mo-kan's. I 
 
156 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 thought we might as well as long as I 
 had the money. Then I took mother 
 up to Macy's and bought a dress for 
 her. The shop-lady said, " Why, yes, 
 dearie, I have just the very thing. 
 Something dressy, you say? " Then 
 she said mother ought to wear corsets, 
 but mother said she wouldn't because 
 they gave her dyspepsia. We tried a 
 blue umpire on her and she looked 
 sweet, but she liked a gray one best, be- 
 cause it didn't have so much trimming 
 on it, but it went in at the waist. I 
 don't know whether it cost forty or 
 fifty dollars, but I'll know to-morrow 
 morning for it's coming then, C.O.D. 
 Well, I said I'd take the gray one and 
 the shop-lady kissed us good-bye. Then 
 we went into a glove place and I bought 
 her some tan ones, and I bought my- 
 self some embroidered silk stockings 
 C.O.D., and some more things, for, of 
 course, I'll be walking on Fifth Ave- 
 nue a lot when I'm one of the principals 
 in " The Brigands." Then we went 
 
THE GOAL KICK 157 
 
 home and cooked our supper. Mother 
 said she didn't hardly like to use her 
 hands, and then I hurried around to 
 the theater. In the dressing-room I 
 got one of those silly spells when you 
 can't keep things to yourself no longer, 
 and told some of the girls not to tell 
 anybody else, but I was engaged. They 
 wouldn't believe it when I said Harry 
 Hopper. I can't sleep to-night, think- 
 ing of those embroidered silk stockings 
 coming to-morrow and all those things 
 for mother. 
 
 Jan. 14th. Well, they all came. 
 Harry was sitting on our dining-room 
 table, making fun of the pictures, when 
 the bell began ringing. Mother went to 
 the door. First, it was my dress from 
 Altman's and I paid for it. We opened 
 the box and he said he thought I would 
 look a real Queen of Society in it, but 
 no one would notice it across the street. 
 Then I cried. I'm such a greenie. 
 What's the use of clothes if they aren't 
 
158 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 noticed? Then it was mother's tan 
 gloves and I paid for them, but mother 
 couldn't get them on, because of rheu- 
 matism in one of her fingers. Then the 
 bell rang again, and gee there was 
 Lovell and Molly. They said it was a. 
 fine place for parties, and the beer pan- 
 try was a regular scream. They said 
 they'd be down Saturday night, if Mr. 
 Hopper would invite the gentlemen. 
 
 Harry said he only knew two gentle- 
 men who weren't engaged for Saturday 
 night, and they were both rounders, but 
 he couldn't ask them anyway, because 
 the " Babes " were going to Boston Sat- 
 urday night. Then we all sang coon 
 songs a while and Molly made believe 
 the dish-pan was a drum. Then the bell 
 rang and it was my embroidered stock- 
 ings and lots of other things came. 
 Lovell was in trying the couch in the 
 parlor, and I counted and found I had 
 spent every bit of my money. 
 
 " Now, Miss Higgins," says I to my- 
 self, " there ain't no rhino left to buy 
 
THE GOAL KICK 
 
 159 
 
160 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 no provisions with. You've gone and 
 spent like a millionaire, when all you 
 had was an ordinary salary. Let it be a 
 lesson to you." 
 
 Then the bell rang and Molly ran 
 and brought in a box. It was mother's 
 dress. Everyone rubbered at it and she 
 was trying it on, when the boy walked 
 right in and said, " What 're you givin' 
 us? I want my money. This ain't no 
 Christmas gift." 
 
 Harry began to look out the win- 
 dows, and I didn't know what to do. 
 Molly looked so surprised. " You'll 
 have to shell out, Min," she says. But 
 there wasn't any shell to me. That's 
 what being rich comes to. 
 
 " I'll lend you the money," says 
 Harry, in a dignified voice, and he went 
 and paid the bill. I couldn't say noth- 
 ing, and after awhile they all went 
 home. 
 
 Jan. 15th. I went down alone to the 
 matinee to-day in my new Altman 
 
THE GOAL KICK 161 
 
 dress, and went up behind the scenes be- 
 tween acts. There was a strange young 
 lady in Harry's dressing-room. She 
 had on a most stylish gown. She was 
 laughing and said, ' Thank you, so 
 much. Then we will go together, or 
 shall I meet you there? " I didn't wait 
 to hear no more, but just came home 
 here and took to my bed. But there 
 ain't no comfort in this world for a 
 chorus girl. I had to get up and go 
 kicking with those Bats as usual. 
 
 Jan. 16th. I haven't seen him all 
 day. I wonder if it's her reshershey 
 figure or the clothes she wore that at- 
 tracted him. I suppose all black is ele- 
 gant. Men is so unsincere. Anyway 
 I've got that contract with the manager 
 of the " Brigands " he got for me. But 
 I don't know as I want to be in " The 
 Brigands " if I've lost his love. I 
 wished I'd never met him. I don't know 
 what to do. Mother thinks I've got the 
 tooth-ache. There isn't much to eat 
 
162 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 anyway. I suppose he thought my 
 spending all that money was kind of 
 immoral. I just hate my Altman dress. 
 I'd tear it up if he wanted me to. When 
 I got to the dressing-room to-night all 
 the girls thought they knew and they 
 began kidding me. 
 
 " Say, Gene vie ve," says one without 
 turning away from the glass, " have you 
 heard about Min Higgins ? She's had a 
 dream that she's engaged to Harry 
 Hopper, and she b'lieves it." 
 
 " Yes, I heard that," says Grand- 
 court. " She's got him mixed up with 
 Mr. Bowsox of Hoboken, who says 
 it'll have to be a Harlem flat or Jer- 
 sey Heights. What are you going 
 to give her for a wedding present, 
 Lucille?" 
 
 " Oh, me? A package of her favor- 
 ite chewing-gum, I guess. Or would 
 you rather have an opera box, Min- 
 nie?" 
 
 And so the merry joke went round. 
 And a lot of them that liked me got 
 
THE GOAL KICK 163 
 
 kind of affectionate and helped me 
 dress. They believed the engagement. 
 
 " Is it so, what Molly says, that if 
 Harry Hopper told you to jump off 
 the Flatiron building, you'd do it?" 
 one of the Butterfly s piped. 
 
 " Yes," I said after a minute; it made 
 me feel good to say it, tho' I don't know. 
 Perhaps he'll never speak to me again. 
 
 " Say, Min," said the one we call 
 Bandy-legs, " do you like him so well 
 that if another fellow offered you two 
 automobiles and a summer mansion up 
 The Hudson, you'd take him anyway 
 even if the other bloke had a yacht? " 
 
 " Yes," I says out real loud, hooking 
 on my wings. 
 
 " Gee, it's the real thing! " says 
 Mabel Murphy. " And say, Kid, if he 
 told you you was a real genius, would 
 you believe him? " But they all laughed 
 so quick I remembered and didn't say 
 yes. 
 
 Pretty soon we got in the wings and 
 Old Bill passed me, and said, " Con- 
 
164 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 gratulations, Miss Higgins," in a sort 
 of sarcastic tone as if he didn't believe 
 it. I didn't blame him any, but I seen 
 how they'd all been told. And Mr. 
 Smith said, " Angel-face, how could 
 you take Harry Hopper when you 
 might have had me? " 
 
 " It is surprising, ain't it? " I owned, 
 throwing back my head and laughing. 
 Then between acts the owner of the 
 show comes up to me. He is smiling 
 and looking more polite to me than I 
 ever saw him in all the time I'd known 
 him. 
 
 " Miss Higgins," he says, shaking 
 my paw, " you have my hearty congrat- 
 ulations. We must give you a party 
 you and Mr. Hopper, before we go." 
 
 Now, wouldn't that give you a fit, 
 turning over backwards off a loop the 
 loop and landing on a floating island? 
 I was dazed to the pulp you read about. 
 I saw he meant it. He'd heard the 
 news, but he believed it. He didn't 
 doubt it at all not near as much as I 
 
THE GOAL KICK 165 
 
 did, shivering there in my Bat costume; 
 and why didn't he care, if he'd found 
 out I was going to leave " The Babes," 
 and he was going to give me a party? 
 A party ! Me ! I wondered right there 
 what kind it was going to be. I'd al- 
 ways heard he was such a pincher. 
 After the show he invited us all. " To- 
 morrow night," he said, " we will have a 
 supper here on the stage, in honor of 
 the engagement of Miss Minnie Hig- 
 gins, after the show, in honor of herself 
 and her fiance, Mr. Harry Hopper." 
 
 Say, you'd have thought he had made 
 the match himself. 
 
 The company all clapped ; I was that 
 phoney I clapped too. And everybody 
 laughed and began to flatter me. I got 
 together my clothes and went home. 
 Say, I wouldn't do a thing to that fine 
 figure in the all-black dress, if she'd 
 knock at my door. Why doesn't he 
 come and say good-bye anyway? I 
 should think he'd want to see mother in 
 her new things. 
 
166 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 Later. I'm not going to care; I'm 
 going to make the house rise at me, and 
 I'm going to make him watch " The 
 click of those little wooden shoes on the 
 tiles of Amsterdam." 
 
 Jan. 18th. I've got so much to write 
 I don't feel as if the brain-waves under 
 my gilt roof is resting just easy. I 
 wore my new dress and ate crackers for 
 lunch yesterday. I had on them em- 
 broidered hose, too, but Harry didn't 
 show up. 
 
 Mother said she kind of missed some- 
 thing out of our lives, but she didn't 
 say no more. She went and asked the 
 kid down at the door, with all those but- 
 tons on, if his mother had sewed them 
 on and what Sunday school he went to. 
 But she said he wasn't near as pleasant 
 as those shop-ladies. She said the day 
 we bought those things was the most 
 sociable day she'd had since she came 
 to New York. I took Marmaduke's 
 puppy out on the end of a string to see 
 
THE GOAL KICK 
 
 167 
 
 the Teddy bears in the show cases along 
 the sidewalks, and he didn't see them, 
 but bumped into the glass and nearly 
 
 I had on them embroidered hose, too, but Harry 
 didn't show up. 
 
 broke it. Then he ran round and round 
 in a circle, till I was all wound up and 
 nearly fell to the sidewalk. Then he 
 
168 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 ran and barked at a bulldog, and I took 
 him home. I gave him a bath and put 
 him on a mattress out on the fire escape, 
 to dry, but nothing was no fun no more. 
 
 Then it was time to go to the theater. 
 Poor old " Babes " to-morrow the old 
 show was going on to Boston. I wasn't 
 sure how much the owner knew. I 
 wasn't even sure he'd got a new under- 
 study, or any one to dance in my place. 
 I didn't even know whether he was 
 really going to give me a party or not. 
 I didn't care anyway. I read the con- 
 tract to the " Brigands," and I knew 
 I had to stay. But I didn't have any 
 written contract to get married to 
 Harry Hopper. I knew he was just as 
 free to go off with that lady in black as 
 if he'd never know'd me. It did seem 
 as if business life and careers was all 
 that was up to snuff nowadays. 
 
 They was run on business principles. 
 A career can go right on, whether your 
 heart is dead or not. 
 
 " Listen," says Molly to me, when I 
 
THE GOAL KICK 169 
 
 got there, " he's going to give you a 
 party, sure thing. We're to wear our 
 costumes after the last act, and the sup- 
 per things, including knives and forks, 
 is coming from Shanley's. Just the 
 company's invited, and a few Johnnies 
 and reporters. Ain't it grand? " 
 
 " Is the party for me or for Harry 
 Hopper? " I asked. " Spit it out." 
 
 " Why, for both of you, of course," 
 says Lucille. " Are you jealous of 
 Harry Hopper's fame? " 
 
 " No," I said with my nose in the air, 
 " for I'm famous, too," but I knew I 
 wasn't. And I wondered what they'd 
 all say to me when the hours went on 
 and Harry didn't show up. I wasn't 
 going to give away about the elegant 
 lady in black, not if I died for it. 
 
 " Say, Min, what's the use of getting 
 so pale over a little thing like this?" 
 " Will you keep a buggy? " " Where 
 you can get ermine muffs for fifteen 
 dollars." " Wasn't I always nice to 
 you, nor jostled you any at the dressing 
 
170 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 tables? " " I told him, ' Now Mr. Brown, 
 says I, ' if you want to say one word 
 against Minnie Higgins, you'll have to 
 do it over my dead body,' I said, and he 
 didn't." " Oh, I feel like a hen that's 
 gone back on its feed, just to think of a 
 mere chorus girl being made so much 
 of." "I could a done that dance just 
 as well as she did, if anybody had a 
 given me the chance. There's so much 
 favoritism in this world." ' The Bos- 
 ton press agent's here." " Oh, go along, 
 you're a nice old cup of tea." ' I 
 wouldn't speak to her, Minnie." " Did 
 he really get down on his knees and say 
 my face and my fortune I throw at your 
 feet? " "I've had a great many oppor- 
 tunities to marry, but of course I ex- 
 pect to marry out of the profession." 
 " When Mr. Frick proposed to me he 
 said " With his arm around you, or 
 what? " " Well, before I'd be so stuck 
 up " Say, get me a job in it, will 
 you? " "I bought this rose with my 
 own money for you. No, he didn't buy 
 
THE GOAL KICK 171 
 
 it." " Oh, you dear little old thing. I 
 don't see how I'm ever going to get 
 along without my dear little Minnie." 
 :< Listen, dearie " Ain't she an aw- 
 ful snob." 
 
 I could hear them all talking at once. 
 Success brings them every time. If 
 you're going on up, and they think 
 you've got a big genius to look after 
 your interests, why butter wouldn't 
 melt in their mouths. I mean butter 
 won't melt in anybody's mouth, they're 
 so sweet on you, if you're a success, and 
 if you're a failure, a little yellow dog 
 wouldn't bark at you. 
 
 " My dear," says Miss Wyncote to 
 me, " we've always been such friends, 
 and I hope it will continue. Rully! " 
 
 1 Thanks," says I, as elegant as the 
 " Lady Jane Grey," " it will." 
 
 And will you believe it she tried to 
 give me the high hand-shake. I didn't 
 know what she meant at first. She had 
 the lead on me. 
 
 Then we merry-merry trooped on 
 
172 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 and the lights and the music was gay. 
 Poor old Babes, I thought, poor old 
 Pickaninnies, poor old " New York 
 Peaches," you won't see me no more, 
 and the old times how I'll miss them. 
 When the company get on the Hi alto 
 again in a month or two, I can just hear 
 myself saying, " How's the old crowd? 
 Do they josh in the same old way? " 
 
 " Minnie," says I to myself in the last 
 act, " head up, and nose up, and eyes 
 haughty-like," says I, " for the awful 
 moment's coming, when that supper's 
 ready to be give me, and no Harry 
 Hopper here," says I, " don't you let 
 them know you care. Be a sport," 
 says I. 
 
 Then I acted " There's many a 
 peach on Fifth Ave-noo, but never a 
 lemon there." I acted funny in it for 
 the last time. I was just as rediculous 
 in it! I thought what a little greenie I 
 was when I first acted it, and that I now 
 knew the world. When I came off 
 some of the chorus had tears in their 
 
THE GOAL KICK 173 
 
 eyes. I don't know why. I was just 
 rotten funny, especially when I walked 
 like the peaches on Fifth Avenoo. I 
 thought of myself walking there with 
 Marmaduke's puppy next spring, in 
 my new Altman suit. 
 
 " Now," says Old Bill, " everybody 
 keep on their costumes. Clear out to 
 the dressing-rooms till the stage is 
 ready." Everybody giggled and sang, 
 and whistled, me a-humming along 
 with the rest in my great big hat like 
 the Waldorf-Astoria lamp shade, with 
 the violets over one ear and the ribbon 
 over another, and the skirts to my 
 knees, and my little blue slippers. I 
 heard somebody say, " Oh, she'd marry 
 anybody to get a raise," and I says, 
 " Fame is sweet." The owner had sent 
 me a bunch of roses as long as my arms. 
 I smelled them and I knew the awful 
 moment was coming. Everybody 
 would know he'd gone back on me, in a 
 few minutes they'd know, and I would 
 be dashed from my pinnacle of fame. 
 
174 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 We all marched out. Gee, it was a 
 grand scene. There was tables spread 
 on the stage, and a seat for everybody. 
 Even Mr. Orden was there, in a fur- 
 lined overcoat. 
 
 " Here's your flowers," says Molly, 
 nudging me. " Don't act like a mummy 
 just out for a toddle." 
 
 I went and took the seat they showed 
 me, at the head of the table. On the 
 other side of me was the star. He 
 grinned. Everybody sat down. Every- 
 body looked at the empty seat next to 
 me. All was quiet. The awful mo- 
 ment was come. 
 
 " Where is Mr. Hopper, Miss Hig- 
 gins? " said the owner of the show. 
 " Has he forgotten the date? " 
 
 " You may search me," I says. 
 
 Then somebody telephoned for him, 
 and some ate and some giggled, and I 
 did neither. The star began to look 
 coldly at me. 
 
 Then you may knock me down with 
 a feather Harry Hopper came run- 
 
THE GOAL KICK 175 
 
 rung down the aisle and jumped on the 
 stage and took the seat next me. They 
 all clapped and jollied. He looked at 
 me. 
 
 " Well, how's every little thing with 
 you this evening, darling? " he whis- 
 pered. 
 
 " Oh, so, so," says I, trying to keep 
 my chin up. And there was a kid with 
 some flowers Harry bought me. I took 
 them. 
 
 " I've been having a heap of trouble," 
 he whispers to me, holding my hand 
 under the table. 
 
 " Poor boy," says I, before I could 
 help myself. " Have you? " I wiped 
 away a real tear. 
 
 " Min," says he, " are you squeam- 
 ish? " 
 
 " Oh, not so very," says I, airily; 
 " I'm just an ordinary chorus girl- 
 like all the rest." 
 
 " Oh, get under the carpet! " says he. 
 " Do you know what alimony is? " he 
 asks just like that. " Just think of a 
 
176 DIARY OF A SHOW-GIRL 
 
 chorus girl who is young enough not to 
 know all about alimony. Well, I'll 
 never let you find out. But say, dear, 
 my divorced wife's been troubling me 
 unjustly about more money." 
 
 " Does she wear black? " I hit out 
 for a come-back. It was a bull's-eye. 
 
 6 Yes, she does," says he. " And she 
 ought to. She was a mistake of mine. 
 When she wants me to show up in court, 
 she comes after me, if she can get in, 
 and she says, ' Will you meet me there 
 or shall we go together? ' She'll have 
 her little joke till she dies, but I've fixed 
 it all up. Take it from me, she'll never 
 bother me again," he said. 
 
 And the lights was up and larks 
 was in the air, and Harry Hopper 
 sang: 
 
 " Don't be mean, my little Dutch Queen, 
 
 But name our wedding day. 
 When you're near, my heart feels queer, 
 
 Half dead with love I am, 
 When I hear the click of your little wooden 
 
 shoes 
 On the tiles of Amsterdam. " 
 
THE GOAL KICK 177 
 
 And I said, " Not yet, but soon." 
 There was lafter, and giggles, and 
 songs, and flowers, and love, and lively 
 feelings, and all of a sudden I pinched 
 myself to see if it was really me. It 
 was. " Boston papers please copy! " 
 says Harry. Her nibs, who is to do my 
 dance, was there. Jim was there, too, 
 with the Idiot Child. He said, " Stage 
 life is a mockery." 
 
 Jan. 19th. Harry says I can act 
 more than I can sing, where I'm differ- 
 ent from Fritzi Scheff, but he says I 
 have a lovely voice. He sure is good to 
 me. It doesn't seem as if I deserve 
 it all, somehow. He says in me the 
 stage shall have one of its brightest 
 ornaments. 
 
 THE END 
 
PS3517.R865D5 
 
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