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Newspaper Page Text
THE COPPER ERA, CLIFTON, ARIZ., DEC. 14, 1899.
3 LIFE'S WAYS. The ways are long I valk alone The fields are dull and-dreary: My paths are set with thorn and aton- My heart Is worn and weary. But skies are all a tender blue. And filled with sunny weather. When In the paths of Joy we two Walk, hand hi hand, together. I hear the happy thrushes tune Their song in bush and bower; I hear the bees their story croon From honied flower to flower. The music stirs me with distress I cannot kindly bear It; For, O there is no Joy unless Tour ear with mine may share It. O come with me and glad the way With eyes of beauty smHtng, December seems as glad as May In your divine beguiling. For, though we stray through gardens fair. Or weary wastes of heather. The paths are good and golden where We two may walk together. Nixon Waterman, In L. A. W. Bulletin. 1 A Theater Diplomat 3 1 By William Armstrong S laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaasi THE first act was almost over wEen the tenor, the soprano and the contralto got together in the wings and decided if the manager failed to arrive as he had telegraphed and set tle up the pay-roll, now overdue, they would not siug the opera out. When the news spread, as it quickly did, the chorus with slight dissent agreed in the plan. Many of them had been stranded before and the prospect was far from exhilarating, but the chance of getting even in some small way had the pleasure of novelty. The plan was in consequence tacitly agreed upon. The basso, not in the original pro nunciamento list, told the call boy that he need not bring the customary beer from around the corner after the sec ond act. As this meant that he would go after it in person no doubt was left in the minds of those concerned as to what course he would pursue. Faces that a few moments before had appeared anxious now grew bright at the prospect of excitement. The audience in front, not a bad one as the audiences of the new opera went, was in ignorance of the projected sur prise. The soubrette, usually the most in consequent member of the company, alone was depressed. "I tell you you don't know what you are about. As loDg as people think you are. engaged, whether you get your money or not, there's a chance that they'll trust you, but if they know the company's disbanded there's no more chance about it." As in the world at large the voice of the philosopher went unheeded. Not disconcerted the soubrette spread out her costume for the third act on the steam radiator and left the door of her dressing-room wide open that all might see as they passed by. Clear ly she was not with the majority. But Miss Casey had more at stake than the majority. She was engaged to Victor Laquine, a tenor in the chorus. They were to be married in the spring and would go into vaudeville in a hap py domestic way. A disbanding of the company on Christmas eve and their first engage ment together booked for a summer garden in. May made scarcely a pleas ing prospect. Engagements that year had been hard enough to get at any time and in mid-season would be scarcest of all. At the very best it meant different companies and separation, and that in turn meant good-by to matrimony and vaudeville. Miss Casey had been en gaged before, she knew the sex. On the stage the company guyed each other and the audience as only an un paid company can. Miss Casey alone was too preoccu pied to pay any attention to it. .Now and then she cast her eyea toward the rear of the theater hoping to see the manager's fur-decked overcoat mov ing about behind the last row of seats. "I knew he wouldn't come!" every one said as they faced each other on the stage when the curtain had rung down. "He'll come yet," said Miss Casey, with firmness. "Maybe his train's late; this heavy snow would stop anything, and if he comes and finds the theater dark when the third act ought to be on, I wouldn't give much for the tick ets he'd give you to get home on." There was logic in this, but the so prano pierced it. "How do you know his train isn't in?" she inquired with dignity and a look at the interfering soubrette that would have silenced her, had she not been Miss Casey with much depending on her. "Send the stage manager to the box office telephone to see about it," put in the contralto. "How do you know what road he is on? There are half a dozen or more. He may be on his way here now in a cab! He may step on the stage any minute and find everyone refusin' to go on instead of dressin' as we should. Any minute he may be rushin' in, I say!" Miss Casey was excited into the vernacular. Her words tumbled over each other and even those famil iar with the go she put into her songs and dances would have been surprised at the energy she put into her prog ress to the dressing-room. It seemed to sweep the whole flank of chorus girls with it. "Bring my beer," said the basso to the call boy, as his eyes followed Miss Casey's figure. Clearly he.meant to sing the third act. The tenor, the soprano and the con tralto looked at each other and then at their retreating colleagues. Presently the stage-hands, who had been interested auditors, began to set the scene for the third act. Miss Casey was back in an Incred ibly short time. A critical eye might have found fault with her general ap pearance, but she was not thinking of critical eyes just then. The fate of that performance, and her own as well, depended upon her and she knew it. She knew furthermore that the task of getting this act on was mere play to what the Lext would be, unless the manager arrived. Never before had this third act seemed so long. She had a great dial to do. and it generally passed quickly, for she enjoyed her work. To-night she could scarcely act for casting ber eyes toward the back of the theater. Once she forgot her lines entirely and her song ended with a little croak that was the nearest ap proach to an involuntary sob. The soprano, still smarting under a recollection of Miss Casey's "inter ference," guyed her to the entertain ment of the entire cast and the front rows in the parquet. Miss Casey, how ever, heeded nothing but the back row of chairs, behind which the manager, when he did make his appearance if that happy moment were fated to come would lounge importantly. But never a sign there was of him, and by the time the soubrette got to her scene with the comedian it might have been high tragedy instead of low comedy as far as Miss Casey was con cerned. For all his guying and in difference, the comedian had not reached a point when he could calmly see people get up and walk ostenta tiously out in the midst of his best chance in the opera. If he failed to tell heT so the mo ment the descending curtain pole raised a lirttle puff of dust on the stage it was because he could not get within hailing distance. Mis Casey seemed a moveable axis about which her col leagues revolved. Now she was at one side of the stage and the next mo ment at the other insisting that the manager would certainly come in the