uptown theatre
Miserably,
Despite glowing reviews in all the dailies. 
But this come-back
At a Broadway theatre, with electric lights, and transient crowds
That would save it—­
Was the universal verdict. 
During the first week there was a tremendous fight
Between the two factions for the
Distribution of credit, and some critics said
The League of Public Spirited Women was responsible
For bringing the play back, because they had bulletined it,
And others said it was the astute manager. 
But no audience came to the play after the second week. 
And it went to the storehouse. 
No one fought any longer for
The distribution of credit.

TEARS

Beads of perspiration on a hot summer’s afternoon,
A hurry call from the Ritz,
Thoughts of plastering the city in half an hour,
With twenty-four sheets and large heralds,
And a page or two in all the dailies.... 
She sat in a sumptuous suite at the Ritz,
Discussing with her husband,
Who had just returned from the beagles in South Carolina
Her new pet charity;
And she had called me in at this very moment,
Because she had struck a snag. 
This was her charity: 
She related with tears in her eyes,
What was she to do about it? 
She received no response from the American public. 
The poor assistant stagehands of the Paris theatres
They were out of work—­destitute—­
The theatres closed—­and all the actors at the front. 
But what could be done for them, the poor Paris stagehands? 
That was her query. 
And tears welled up in her eyes, as she spoke
While her husband chased the Angora from under the sofa—­
I sat and discussed the question. 
And tears came to my eyes,
But my tears were wept for another reason.

PHOTOGRAPHS

I had ordered the photographs of the prima donna. 
They are lovely and beautiful to behold and they are printed before me in magazine. 
Her madonna like face sheds radiance on the prospective box-office patron;
He is dazzled by her sun-like head of hair;
He loses his heart and his pocket-book when he glances on them. 
I felt happy that I changed photographers. 
I felt that my discovery of a new artisan of the sensitized plate
Would bring glory and money to many. 
I sit by the rolltop desk and pull out again the objects of my praises. 
The telephone bell rings and awakens me from my reveries,—­
It is the voice of the beautiful prima donna herself;
But the melodious notes the critics have praised are changed. 
There is a raucous, strident tone in the voice;
It sounds like the rasping bark of the harpies. 
“How dare you use those terrible photographs?”
“What do you mean by insulting my beauty?”
There is a slam down of the telephone receiver,—­
I turn to my work of writing an advertisement about the prima donna’s voice.