He had a little money,
"enough for a grub-stake," he said, and all his folks were dead. Then
a college friend of his wrote a rural play called Sweet Peas--"Great
title, don't you think?" he asked--and he put up all the money. It would
have been a hit, he said, but the kid in the play--the one that unites
its parents in the last act just before he dies of tuberculosis--the kid
took the mumps and looked as if, instead of fading away, he was going to
blow up. Everybody was so afraid of him that they let him die alone for
three nights in the middle of the stage. Then the leading woman took the
mumps, and the sheriff took everything else.
"You city folks seem to know so much," I said, "and yet you bring a
country play to the country! Why don't you bring out a play with women
in low-necked gowns, and champagne suppers, and a scandal or two? They
packed Pike's Opera-House three years ago with a play called Why Women
Sin."
Well, of course, the thing failed, and he lost every dollar he'd put
into it, which was all he had, including what he had in his pockets.
"They seized my trunks," he explained, "and I sold my fur-lined overcoat
for eight dollars, which took one of the girls back home. It's hard for
the women. A fellow can always get some sort of a job--I was coming up
here to see if they needed an extra clerk or a waiter, or chauffeur,
or anything that meant a roof and something to eat--but I suppose they
don't need a jack-of-all-trades."
"No," I answered, "but I'll tell you what I think they're going to need.
Pages:
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48