Suppose our average actress is lucky, and her letter of introduction gains her a small part in the London production.  Into her three lines she tries to crowd all she can of what she has learned from teachers and experience.  It is her opportunity.  She has stepped forward amongst those fortunate ones whose names are mentioned in the programme.  She starts for rehearsal happily enough from the little room in Bloomsbury, passes the door-keeper without question, and takes up her stand in the wings.  There she stays three hours.  She has companionship in hushed whispers, and the right to exist.  At two o’clock her act has not yet been reached, and the artists are allowed to leave the theatre for half an hour to get lunch.  As she is not paid for rehearsals, she cannot afford more than sixpence for a meal; so her repast is necessarily a light one.  At five, rehearsal is dismissed, and she has gone through her part twice.  Five minutes would cover her actual acting for the day; and having stood about for nearly six hours she walks back home to her room.

As the play nears production, the rehearsal hours lengthen, and the lunch times shorten.  Her own hoard of savings offer her less and less to spend on food, and when finally the play is produced—­let us face the worst—­it not infrequently occurs that the run of the piece may end in three weeks.  She has rehearsed for four weeks, has been glad to accept L2 for her tiny part, and out of that short run, which represents L6, she must save enough to tide her over the next few weeks, or perhaps months, until she gets her next engagement, more unpaid rehearsals, and perhaps another short run.  There is always wearing anxiety, and the unpleasing, thankless, humiliating searching for work, under the most distasteful conditions possible.

There is now an effort being made by a few of the London managers to pay a percentage on salaries for rehearsing.  The movement, I think, is partially due to the Insurance Act, which, of course, touches all the low paid labour in the theatre.  This effort, though obviously of importance, can hardly as yet be considered as quite satisfactory.  The payments for five weeks’ rehearsals are 6s. on the L1, 1s. salaries, which include dancers, walkers-on, etc.:  and 12s. 6d. a week on salaries of L3.  In each case, of course, the threepence insurance has to be deducted, and it must be quite clear that no woman can live on 5s. 9d., much less make a good appearance, unless she has other means of support.

She may get an engagement to tour for a limited number of weeks.  If so, she gazes in despair at her small wardrobe, trying to puzzle out three costumes to be used in the play, for actresses going on tour have usually to provide their own dresses.

A friend of mine played the leading part on the tour of a West End production.  She had to find all her own dresses, hats, shoes, stockings, etc., and her salary was L3, 10s. a week.  In a “boiled-down” version she played twice nightly for L5 a week, and found four dresses, two hats, an evening cloak, besides the shoes, stockings, gloves, etc., incidental to a well dressed part.  Another soubrette on a salary of L2, 5s. paid her fare both on joining and leaving the company, and was obliged to provide two dresses, one evening dress and cloak, shoes, stockings, etc.