“But there is still another problem the manager must solve.  ‘Variety’ is vaudeville’s paternal name—­vaudeville must present a varied bill and a show consisting of names that will tend to have a box-office appeal.  No two acts in a show should be alike.  No two can be permitted to conflict.  ‘Conflict’ is a word that falls with ominous meaning on a vaudeville performer’s or manager’s ears, because it means death to one of the acts and injury to the show as a whole.  If two famous singing ‘single’ women were placed on the same bill, very likely there would be odious comparisons—­even though they did not use songs that were alike.  And however interesting each might be, both would lose in interest.  And yet, sometimes we do just this thing—­violating a minor rule to win a great big box-office appeal.

“Part of the many sides of this delicate problem may be seen when you consider that no two ‘single’ singing acts should be placed next each other—­although they may not conflict if they are placed far apart on the bill.  And no two ‘quiet’ acts may be placed together.  The tempo of the show must be maintained—­and because tragic playlets, and even serious playlets, are suspected of ‘slowing up a show,’ they are not booked unless very exceptional.”

These are but a few of the many sides of the problem of what is called “laying out a show.”  A command of the art of balancing a show is a part of the genius of a great showman.  It is a gift.  It cannot be analyzed.  A born showman lays out his bill, not by rule, but by feeling.

3.  The Writer’s Part in a Vaudeville Show

In preparing the raw material from which the manager makes up his show, the writer may play many parts.  He may bear much of the burden of entertainment, as in a playlet, or none of the responsibility, as in the average dumb act.  And yet, he may write the pantomimic story that pleases the audience most.  Indeed, the writer may be everything in a vaudeville show, and always his part is an important one.

Of course the trained seals do not need a dramatist to lend them interest, nor does the acrobat need his skill; but without the writer what would the actress be, and without the song-smith, what would the singer sing?  And even the animal trainer may utilize the writer to concoct his “line of talk.”  The monologist, who of all performers seems the most independent of the author, buys his merriest stories, his most up-to-the-instant jests, ready-made from the writer who works like a marionette’s master pulling the strings.  The two-act, which sometimes seems like a funny impromptu fight, is the result of the writer’s careful thinking.  The flirtatious couple who stroll out on the stage to make everyone in the audience envious, woo Cupid through the brain of their author.  And the musical comedy, with its strong combination of nearly everything; is but the embodied flight of the writer’s fancy.  In fact, the writer supplies much of the life-blood of a vaudeville show.  Without him modern vaudeville could not live.