And all the time the plain, perhaps the elderly man is speaking, he is shielding her from the eyes of the other people, and from her very soul she is grateful to him, and she holds up her head and smiles bravely.

Not long after, perhaps, she does get a chance, and with joyous eyes she watches for the coming of the man who comforted her, that she may tell him of her good luck.  And his pleasure is plain, and he assures her that she will succeed.  And he, an experienced actor, waits in the entrance to see her play her small part, and shakes her hand and congratulates her when she comes off, and even tells her what to do next time at such a point, and her heart warms within her and is filled with gratitude for this “sympathetic friend,” who helps her and has faith in her future.  The poor child little dreams that temptation may be approaching her, softly, quietly, in the guise of friendship.  So, all unconsciously, she grows to rely upon the advice of this quiet, unassuming man.  She looks for his praise, for his approval.  By and by their companionship reaches beyond the walls of the theatre.  She respects him, admires, trusts him.  Trusts him—­he may be worthy, he may not!  But it would be well for the young actresses to be on their guard against the “sympathetic friend.”

Since we are speaking about absolute beginners, perhaps a word of warning may be given against pretended critics.  The young actress trembles at the bare words “newspaper man.”  She ought to know that a critic on a respectable paper holds a responsible position.  When he serves a prominent and a leading journal, he is frequently recognized as an authority, and has a social as well as a professional position to maintain.  Further, the professional woman does not strongly attract the critic personally.  There is no glamour about stage people to him; but should he desire to make an actress’s acquaintance, he would do so in the perfectly correct manner of a gentleman.  But this is not known to the young stranger within the theatrical gates, and through her ignorance, which is far from bliss, she may be subjected to a humiliating and even dangerous experience.  I am myself one of several women whom I know to have been victimized in early days.

The beginner, then, fearing above all things the newspaper, receives one evening a note common in appearance, coarse in expression, requesting her acquaintance, and signed “James Flotsam,” let us say.  Of course she pays no attention, and two nights later a card reaches her—­a very doubtful one at that—­bearing the name “James Flotsam,” and in the corner, Herald.  She may be about to refuse to see the person, but some one will be sure to exclaim, “For mercy’s sake! don’t make an enemy on the ‘press.’”