Belasco, David, 1853-1931; Theater -- United States
“At half-past nine my boys [meaning some members of the technical
staff of the Belasco Theatre and two actors] and I met at the
stagedoor and left for Chinatown, where, by appointment, we met a
very ardent admirer of yours--Mr. ‘Chuck’ Conners, no less! Perhaps
one of the reasons why I like the man is because, in his
unpicturesque, rough, human fashion, he felt and expressed your
sweetness--the quality which will help you so much in this play,
and in all parts. I shall tell you more particularly what he said
about you presently, and if you will translate his primitive
speech into the finer shaded meanings of a cultivated man, I am
sure it will touch your heart as it did mine. But I must get to my
story....
“First we sat in the Chatham Club, and had a few ‘rounds,’--which I
had a hard time to avoid drinking. I don’t know what the others did
with theirs--I was too busy with my own troubles to watch! While
human beings put such stuff inside themselves I can’t wonder at
anything they do. While there, the girls came and did some
‘ragtime’ for us. ‘Chuck,’ I must tell you, was dressed for the
occasion,--‘to kill,’--with a white ’kerchief about his neck and
_one_ shoe polished! The other was a characteristic contrast. We
listened to the same old stories and ‘our hero’ sang the same old
songs. Also, as aforetime, to punctuate his remarks he found it
necessary to _punch_ me in the ribs, and so to-day I find myself
more or less black and blue. The old pianola was set to the wildest
airs, and they had a new one, for our especial benefit, called ‘In
the Harem,’--which is so good that I am going to introduce it in
our play. Do you remember the big, tall girl, with the flat nose
and her poor teeth out? She was still sitting in her corner, more
forlorn than ever, and with her sad ‘lamps’ looking into my very
heart. I gave her another five dollars and told her that if I came
again I should expect to see her wearing a new pair of shoes,--for
her poor toes were peeping out of frayed stockings, through the
impossible boots, and it was all very sad.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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