These same people who appear grotesque, and out of the pale of ordinary every-day existence on the stage, are nearly always the most unromantic and realistic-looking folks in the world when you meet them on the street. The extraordinary metamorphosis they go through to arrive at an appearance suitable for presentation before the foot-lights is a secret of the dressing-room. In the privacy of this carefully guarded apartment street clothes are laid aside, and what is more wonderful still, faces, eyes, and hands and lower limbs, too, very frequently, are subjected to processes that produce the most remarkable results. Anybody who has seen Nat Goodwin, of "Hobbies" reputation, will readily understand that it takes a pretty extensive transformation to change his appearance from that of the man to that of _Prof. Pygmalion Whiffles_, the eccentric character that makes "Hobbies" the laughable and popular play that it is. Mr. Goodwin is young--not more than twenty-four--but I saw him slip out of his youthfulness into the bald-headed, red-wigged and merry old professor one night in almost as short a time as it takes a boy to fall through a four-story elevator shaft. I accompanied him to his dressing-room one night. He had just a few minutes to get ready, and was in proper shape in time to make his appearance at the upper entrance, amid the crash that always accompanies his first appearance in the play, and gives him an opportunity to make some remarks about _Maj. Bang's_ dog, which has ripped his "ulster" up the back. Well, Goodwin went to work the moment he was inside the door. Off came the everyday clothes, and in a jiffy on went the one white and black stocking that will be remembered by all who have seen "Hobbies." The shirt, coat, pantaloons, linen duster and hat that forms the rest of his toilet, were carefully laid upon a side table. The shirt was flapped over his head in a second, the pantaloons went on like lightning and then bending towards a looking-glass he dipped his fingers in red and black color boxes, and soon had the necessary painting done upon his face. The velvet coat followed the making-up of the face; then the torn linen duster, finally the red wig with its charming bald spot, was clapped upon his head; the white hat was gracefully tilted over it, and with a call to the man who played _Arthur Doveleigh_ for his cane and an "I'll see you later" to his visitor, he bounded up the stairs, and the next moment, as I left the stage door, I could hear the hand-clapping and the howls of delight with which a crowded house was greeting their favorite. [Illustration: BALLET GIRLS DRESSING-ROOM.]