* * * * * There is only one Chicago. Other cities--Pittsburgh and Cincinnati notably--may be commonplace or vulgar, but Chicago is the epitome of commonplace vulgarity. It struck me forcibly as I looked over the first-night audience. The men are commonplace; the women vulgar. The women impress one as ex-waitresses from cheap eating houses or sales-"ladies" who have married well. Few of the male population appear to own a dress-suit. The women wear ready-made suits with picture hats and a plentiful sprinkling of gaudy jewelry. Some of them "make-up" atrociously. Their manners are as breezy as the wind from the lake and they "make you one of them" the first time you meet. If there is a cultured set in Chicago the actor never meets them; it probably resides in Chicago through force of circumstances, not through choice. The middle class is super-commonplace. The smart set isn't smart; only fast and loose. Chicago is a good "show-town." It might be better if managers kept their word to send out the original companies. The Western metropolis resents a slight to its dignity. Will's management, therefore, played a trump card when it sent the New York production and players. The house was sold out for weeks in advance. It was evidenced on the opening night that Will had left a good impression in Chicago from former visits. He received a hand on his entrance. When a supporting actor is thus remembered it proves his popularity. After the performance we went to the College Inn with some friends of Will's. Everybody who is _anybody_ goes to that ill-ventilated hole below stairs; one gets a sort of _revue_ of the town's follies. Chicago is hopelessly provincial. There is a profound intimacy with other people's affairs. Such purveyors of privacy as the Clubfellow and Town Topics must find it no easy matter to get copy which is not already common property, with the edge taken off. Our host and hostess of the evening kept up a running fire of gossip concerning the people about us. At a table near-by sat a gross looking woman with a combative eye. Her escort was a pliable, colourless youth, who, I assumed, was her son. This person was on bowing terms with many of the _habitués_ of the Inn. A number of actors lingered at her table and laughed effectively at her sallies. When Will told me she was a certain female critic on a Chicago newspaper I understood the homage paid her. I did not understand, however, her reason for marrying the youth I assumed was her son. Our hostess said something about the "grateful age" which I didn't understand. The lady critic wrote with a venomous pen when mood or grudge impelled her. Many an actor writhed under her lashes. It was rumoured, however, that her bark was a great deal worse than her bite and that if one approached her "in the right way" "she would eat out of your hand."