“Well I hope I may never look a lobster in the face again.  No, I am not speaking of this party.  But I hope I may never look a lobster in the face again if he didn’t swell all up, prance into the eat hut and say careless like over his shoulder to the waiter, ‘A bottle of that Brut.’  Just like that.  I tried the concentration gag on him for a pearl ring he had on, thinking I had him under the gypsy curse, but there was a person who had the nerve to call herself a lady who had been saying things about me sitting at another table with a Harry who had led me to believe that I was his own little Star of Hope, and I just couldn’t get my mind centered.

“Honest to goodness, I don’t know what I’ll do unless I find work.  My suite of apartments is reduced now to one hall room and a closet, and the Dennett & Child’s circuit is beginning to look like K. & E. booking.  The only thing I can think of for me to do is to get engaged and hock the betrothal ring for a meal ticket.

“Me for roller skates.  Here I’ve been hunting a job until I wore out two pair of these Sorosis things and not a bush shakes.  Can’t even sign a contract for a Friday night amateur contest.  By gum, I’d take a job barking for a snake race.  I had an offer to go into vaudeville.  What do you know about that?  The act hasn’t any time yet, but it will get time as soon as it makes good, and to make good all its needs is a trial performance, and the backer thinks he knows where he can get a trial performance, and to get ready for the trial performance will require about five weeks’ rehearsal at nix per week.  Do you think a stunt like that is worthy of my attention?  Adversity does sure land on the poor chorus doll with both feet at every stage of the game.

“I was reading in the paper the other day that some old pappy guy out in Chi was making a noisy fuss that the chorus ladies stay up too late nights.  I wish somebody would show him to me, that’s all I ask, just show him to me.  I suppose old Pink Whiskers was a chorus man once himself and has got all the dope on the subject.  So we stay up late, do we?  I suppose he will be wanting us to read helpful books instead of making up, next.  To my mind, of course I may be wrong, but to my mind the staying up late nights ain’t half as bad as getting up in the morning.  Of course, I don’t know who or what this old wop is that made this crack, but if he thinks we spend most of our time in sinful idleness he’d better copper his bet.  All we do is rehearse all morning, matinee all afternoon, performance all evening and travel all night.  The rest of the time we have to ourselves, and he thinks we frivol.  Why, he ain’t wise to half the privations they force on us.  Would you believe it?  I have gone forty weeks without never even catching a glimpse of Broadway, and once went for ten without even a cheese sandwich to bring gladness to my heart.  Can you beat that?  And then he goes and turns loose a rebel yell because when