I was out to supper with a couple of
gentlemen--Wilbur and an-another gent. We were so busy talking things
over that I didn't get to the theater until the middle of the first act.
My, I never saw a man so peevish as that stage manager. I had no more
than exchanged the courtesies of the day with the stage doorkeeper and
asked after his sick child than that mut-faced sneeze that calls himself
a stage manager had the nerve to rush up an fine me five dollars. Wha'da
you think of that?
"I told him that I positively refused to appear the rest of the evening.
Then he told me that I was fired? What do you know about that? I said,
calm and dignified, like the perfec' lady I am, 'All ri', you can do as
you please with your old show, I don't care, I don't care, nothing
bothers me,' and with those kind words I caper up to the dressing room
and take that expensive gown I wear in the third act and stuck it in the
wash bowl and turned on the water. It needed cleaning anyway. Then I put
a few things that oughta belong to me in my makeup box and beat it.
"I had to kiss everybody in the company goo' bye and that made the stage
wait and the manager came chasing around without any goat and tol' me
never to darken his door again. That's all ri' with muh. His blooming
door was dark enough anyway. Then I waltz back to where Wilbur and the
gentleman are and break the news. Wilbur gets sore, for since I
commenced wearing those pink tights he doped out a great dramatic career
for me.
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