WITH- 
 OUT 
 
 'T^ T T T^ 
 
 1 rlii 
 LIME- 
 
 THEATRICAL 
 LIFE AS IT IS 
 
 G«R.SIM!S 
 
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 3tt;ata. ^tta fork 
 
 FROM THE 
 
 BENNO LOEWY LIBRARY 
 
 COLLECTED BY 
 
 BENNO LOEWY 
 
 I8S4-19I9 
 BEQUEATHED TO CORNELL UNIVERSITY 
 
PN 2594.S6T" """"™"* '■"'""' 
 
 ..Without the limelight 
 
 3 1924 026 122 782 
 
The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924026122782 
 
WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
BOOKS BY GEORGE R. SIMS. 
 
 Post 8vo., illustrated boards, 2s. each ; cloth limp, 2S. 6d. each. 
 
 THE RING O' BELLS. 
 
 MARY JANE'S MEMOIRS. 
 
 MARY JANE MARRIED. 
 
 TINKLETOP'S CRIME. 
 
 ZEPH : A Circus Story, etc. 
 
 TALES OF TO-DAY. 
 
 DRAMAS OF LIFE. With 60 Illustrations. 
 
 MEMOIRS OF A LANDLADY. 
 
 MY TWO WIVES. 
 
 SCENES FROM THE SHOW. 
 
 THE TEN COMMANDMENTS : Stories. 
 
 Crown 8vo., picture cover, is. each ; cloth, is. 6d. each. 
 
 THE DAGONET RECITER AND READER : Being Readings 
 and Recitations in Prose and Verse selected from his own Works 
 by George R. Sims. 
 
 THE CASE OF GEORGE CANDLEMAS. 
 
 DAGONET DITTIES. {¥tam TTie Referee.) 
 
 DAGONET DRAMAS OF THE DAY. Crown 8vo., is. 
 
 ROGUES AND VAGABONDS. Crown 8vo., cloth, 3s. 6d. ; post 
 Bvo., picture boards, 2s. ; cloth limp, 2s. 6d. 
 
 HOW THE POOR LIVE, and HORRIBLE LONDON. With a 
 Frontispiece by F. Barnard. Ctown 8vo., leatherette, is. 
 
 DAGONET ABROAD. Crown 8vo., cloth, 3s. 6d. ; post 8vo., 
 picture boards, 2S. ; cloth limp, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Crown 8vo., cloth, 3s. 6d. each. 
 
 ONCE UPON A CHRISTMAS TIME. With 8 Illustrations by 
 Charles Green, R.I. 
 
 IN LONDON'S HEART. 
 
 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT: Theatrical Life as it is. 
 
 London : CHATTO & WINDUS, iii St. Martin's Lane, W.C. 
 
WITHOUT THE 
 LIMELIGHT 
 
 THEATRICAL LIFE AS IT IS 
 
 GEORGE R. SIMS 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 ' HOW THE POOR LIVE,' ' ONCE UPON A CHRISTMAS TIME, ETC. 
 
 LONDON 
 
 CHATTO & WINBUS 
 
 1900 
 
PREFACE 
 
 There are few things about which the 
 public have so many false impressions as 
 they have about the stage. They see it 
 under circumstances which do not help 
 them to form a correct judgment; they read 
 about it only from the outsider's point of 
 view. The inner life of the stage is under- 
 stood only by those who are intimately 
 associated with it. The ordinary novel and 
 the ordinary story dealing with theatrical 
 life are, as a rule, more creditable to the 
 imagination of the writers than to their 
 study of facts. The stage in the full 
 glare of the limelight is open for all the 
 world to see. The stage when the cur- 
 tain is down, and the children of Bohemia 
 who tread it so bravely have become once 
 
vi PREFACE 
 
 more ordinary men and women, who have 
 to feel their own joys and sorrows, to 
 know their own hopes and fears, and to 
 endure their own struggles and misfor- 
 tunes, is a sealed book. The purpose of 
 these sketches is to give the reader some 
 pictures of theatrical life as it is ' Without 
 the Limelight.' 
 
 GEORGE R. SIMS. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I. THE CHRISTMAS FAIRY - I 
 
 II. TWO NEW year's DAYS - 1 9 
 
 III. AT THE agent's - - "37 
 
 IV. A GREAT SUCCESS - - 55 
 V. A SUNDAY JOURNEY - - - 72 
 
 VI. 'RESTING' - - - - - 90 
 
 VII. JONAH - - - - - 107 
 
 VHI. THE JOINT ENGAGEMENT - - 1 25 
 
 IX. AMONG THE WRECKAGE - - 140 
 
 X. THE STORY OF A SCENARIO - - "157 
 
 XI. SHE WOULD BE AN ACTRESS- - 1 74 
 
 XII. 'HEREINAFTER CALLED THE ARTIST' IQI 
 
WITHOUT 
 THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 THE CHRISTMAS FAIRY 
 
 The limelight was full on, for it was the 
 dress rehearsal of the grand Christmas 
 pantomime of * Dick Whittington ' at the 
 Theatre Royal, Northerton. Outside in 
 the gloomy street a cold sleet had made 
 the surroundings more wretched than 
 usual in the little Lancashire town, where 
 the men wear heavy clogs, and the white- 
 faced women of the mills keep their shawls 
 over their heads as if they suffered from 
 perpetual faceache. But inside the theatre 
 the gas-burners were flaring, and the eyes 
 
2 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 of the spectators rested on Fairyland bathed 
 in light. 
 
 There were not many spectators — only 
 a few privileged friends of the manage- 
 ment and the dramatic critic of the 
 Northerton Gazette, who was also the 
 correspondent of the Fiva^ and wanted 
 to get his notice off to London, But 
 the stalls looked gay and bizarre, for the 
 kings and courtiers, the princesses, the 
 pages, the wicked barons and the demons 
 not engaged in the scene had come round, 
 and were moving about chatting together, 
 and watching the proceedings on the 
 boards. 
 
 There was something wrong with the 
 scene, and the stage-manager had stopped 
 the rehearsal, and had called the scene- 
 painter to hun. The change had not 
 worked as well as it should, and a piece 
 of the scenery would have to be reduced. 
 
 While this technical matter was being 
 discussed, the conductor of the orchestra 
 was going over the overture again with 
 his band, stopping every now and then to 
 
THE CHRISTMAS FAIRY 3 
 
 tell the clarionet, or the flute, or the big 
 drum to alter a note in his band part ; but 
 before the musicians had found a lead 
 pencil, the stage -manager had finished 
 with the scenic artist, and was shouting 
 to the conductor, * Now, Mr. Smith, let's 
 get on ; we don't want to be here all 
 night !' as though the stoppage was 
 entirely the conductor's fault. 
 
 A dozen young women in gauzy skirts 
 were standing about the wings. They 
 looked tired out, and were grumbling 
 about the delay, and wondering what 
 time they would get back to their 
 * diggings ' and have their supper. These 
 were the ladies of the ballet, who for the 
 time being were the Fairies of the Silver 
 Dell. 
 
 One of them was crying. She had 
 sent out for fried fish and chips — great 
 dressing-room luxuries — and had acci- 
 dentally greased her tights, and as she 
 was the one girl who was always in hot 
 water with the stage-manager, she was 
 anticipating a pleasant time. Of course, 
 
 I — 2 
 
4 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 fairies ought not to want fried fish, but 
 even fairy queens are partial to it — in 
 pantomime. 
 
 But to associate such an idea with the 
 Fairy Queen on this occasion would have 
 been sacrilege. She was a perfect type 
 of a refined English girl, and her every 
 movement was grace. Everybody agreed 
 that Lottie Summers would be a success, 
 for she had a charming ballad to sing, and 
 she sang it exquisitely. 
 
 * Now then, Miss Summers, come 
 along !' shouted the stage-manager ; and 
 Miss Summers came on from the wings, 
 waving her wand. 
 
 She spoke a few lines, and then the 
 conductor tapped his desk, and the 
 orchestra played the symphony, and Miss 
 Summers sang her ballad. 
 
 It would have had more effect if the 
 stage-manager hadn't kept shouting to a 
 man who was doing something in the flies ; 
 but it was all right, for the author of the 
 pantomime came to the manager of the 
 theatre, and oflfered to bet him that Miss 
 
THE CHRISTMAS FAIRY 5 
 
 Lottie Summers would ' knock 'em sky 
 high.' 
 
 When the Fairy Queen had finished her 
 song, she waved on her attendant fairies, 
 and, leaving them to go through their 
 * grand ballet,' put a woollen shawl over 
 her shoulders, and came and sat down in 
 a draughty stall. She had a long wait, and 
 she was tired, and wanted to get away from 
 the constant chatter of the dressing-room. 
 
 The ballet was over ; the principal boy 
 came on and sang a Vesta Tilley song ; 
 the two low comedians clowned and 
 grimaced, and were as funny as they, 
 could be without a laugh or a hand- 
 clap to encourage them ; and the tired 
 band and the weary pros, worn out with 
 day and night rehearsals, yawned, and the 
 stage-manager looked at his watch. 
 
 * Come along,' he exclaimed, * or we 
 shall be here till three in the morning ! 
 It's twelve o'clock now.' 
 
 Twelve o'clock ! Everybody in the 
 theatre heard the words, and the same 
 thought came to them all. 
 
6 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 It was Christmas Day. 
 
 You must be in the profession, and 
 have a pantomime engagement far away 
 from your home and your kindred, to 
 know what the words meant to the com- 
 pany at the Theatre Royal, Northerton. 
 
 A few of them, not many, were joint 
 engagements — man and wife, or two 
 sisters, or two brothers — but the majority 
 were alone — alone and in uncomfortable 
 lodgings, and the thought of the dull, 
 lonely Christmas Day filled their hearts 
 with a sudden sadness, 
 
 Lottie Summers, the Fairy Queen, 
 thought of it, and her soft brown eyes 
 filled with tears. It was the first time 
 she had been away from her people. 
 During the two years she had been on 
 the stage she had been in chorus and 
 small parts in London. This year she had 
 been out of an engagement for some 
 months, and when an agent offered her 
 the Fairy Queen at Northerton (the lady 
 engaged, being married, had to cancel her 
 engagements owing to domestic circum- 
 
THE CHRISTMAS FAIRY 7 
 
 stances), Lottie had not dared to refuse 
 the three pounds a week. 
 
 Things were not going well at home. 
 Lottie's father, who had commuted his 
 pension when he retired from a Govern- 
 ment office, had invested his ready money 
 badly. Her mother was an invalid re- 
 quiring constant medical attention, and 
 there were six daughters. Lottie was 
 the youngest, and the last to have to 
 * turn out ' and earn money for the 
 family treasury. She had chosen the 
 stage because she had a good voice, and 
 the thirty-five shillings a week chorus- 
 money was much better pay than she 
 would have got as a lady clerk or a 
 governess. 
 
 But her Christmases had all been spent 
 at home, where the whole family were 
 united on the day of days. And now — 
 Lottie closed her eyes and shuddered. 
 She was thinking of the cheerless, com- 
 fortless room up a side-street in Northerton 
 in which she had found shelter. It was 
 the best she could get for the money 
 
8 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 she could afford to pay out of her salary, 
 for she was anxious to help to relieve the 
 strain at home by making a remittance 
 every week. And she was in debt, too, 
 for she had had to borrow. There were 
 several things she had had to buy before 
 she could take the engagement. 
 
 Lottie hadn't been in her lodgings at 
 No. 1 8, Snare Street many hours before 
 she took a dislike to them. She detested 
 her room, the window of which looked 
 out on to a big job-master's in the * black 
 business.' There were always several 
 hearses and mourning-coaches standing 
 opposite Lottie's window, and the men 
 who came out and harnessed the black 
 horses used language which was certainly 
 not respectful to the living, let alone to 
 the dead. 
 
 Then the landlady worried her. Mrs. 
 McGinnis was a fat blonde of forty, with 
 tousled hair and watery blue eyes. Mr. 
 McGinnis, the landlord, had been an 
 athlete in his day, and in a case in the 
 corner of the sitting-room were several 
 
THE CHRISTMAS FAIRY 9 
 
 tarnished silver cups which he had won. 
 But now he was something to do with 
 the spirit trade, and it had made its 
 mark upon him. Mrs. McGinnis had 
 a great deal to do with the spirit trade 
 also, but she transacted her business per- 
 sonally in the jug and bottle department 
 of the Anchor and Hope at the corner 
 of the street. 
 
 Unused as she was to landladies, never 
 having been in rooms before, Lottie had 
 not been with the McGinnises many days 
 before she discovered that both were 
 habitually drunk from six o'clock in the 
 evening until far into the night, when 
 they usually fell asleep after furious quarrels 
 — quarrels which might have been attended 
 with more violence had not both of them 
 been too far gone to do each other much 
 mischief. 
 
 Sarah, a rough girl-of-all-work, was 
 the only friend Lottie had in the place. 
 Sarah took a great liking to the pretty 
 London girl, who spoke to her gently, 
 and treated her as a human being. 
 
lo WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 * Oh, miss,' Sarah would say, ' excuse 
 my vulgarity, but won't you let me cook 
 you something hot for your supper to- 
 night ?' Or, * I hope you'll excuse my 
 vulgarity, miss, but if you've any mending 
 you want done, I'll do it between whiles, 
 and glad.' 
 
 Sarah never made the commonest re- 
 mark to a superior without requesting 
 that her vulgarity might be excused. 
 
 Lottie wrote home to her mother and 
 declared that Sarah had said to her one 
 morning, ' Oh, miss, excuse my vulgarity, 
 but you dropped a shilling on the floor 
 this morning.' 
 
 But for Sarah, Lottie's terror beneath 
 the roof of the drunken McGinnises would 
 have been even greater than it was. Sarah 
 seemed to her a kind of guardian angel. 
 
 And it was with these people that 
 Lottie's first Christmas away from home 
 was to be passed. None of the other 
 girls were living in the house, and she 
 was not on visiting terms with any of the 
 company. It would be a cheerless, awful 
 
THE CHRISTMAS FAIRY ii 
 
 Christmas, and Lottie, shuddering, opened 
 her eyes, and found relief in gazing at the 
 stage Fairyland of which she was the 
 Queen. 
 
 At half-past one in the morning the 
 dress rehearsal was over, except for 
 certain scenes in the harlequinade which 
 had to be run through, and the company 
 filed out of the narrow stage-door and 
 made the best of its way home through 
 the dark, wet streets. A high wind was 
 blowing the sleet before it, and Lottie 
 had hard work to keep an umbrella up. 
 She was cold and wretched and gasping 
 for breath when she let herself in to her 
 lodgings, and found Sarah asleep by the 
 fire, sitting up for her. 
 
 * Oh, miss,' she said, * excuse my vul- 
 garity, but I thought I'd sit up and keep 
 the fire in, and your supper on the table ; 
 and — will you be wanting anything else ?' 
 
 Lottie could have hugged the awkward, 
 coarse-featured girl for the kindness of 
 heart that had prompted her to stay and 
 gvie her a welcome home on Christmas 
 
12 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 morning, but she only thanked her gently, 
 and bade her go to bed. 
 
 As Sarah retired she looked mysteri- 
 ously round, and pointed with her thumb 
 to the kitchen. 
 
 ' Excuse my vulgarity, miss, but don't 
 be frightened if you hear a noise. Being 
 Chrismus, they're on extry to-night.' 
 
 It was not long before Lottie under- 
 stood what Sarah meant. She had got 
 rid of her wet things, and was sitting in 
 a rickety chair in front of the grate, and 
 staring at the forbidding mantelshelf and 
 the brutal wall-paper, when she heard a 
 staggering footstep outside. 
 
 She opened her door, and saw Mrs. 
 McGinnis, who was trying to get upstairs 
 to bed, supported by Sarah. But it was 
 a troublesome job, and before she got half 
 way she sat down and began to scream in 
 a fit of drunken hysterics. 
 
 The occupant of a room above called 
 out to her to stop her row. She shrieked 
 back a volley of abuse, and then Mr. 
 McGinnis, who had partially retired. 
 
THE CHRISTMAS FAIRY 13 
 
 came out and flung his boots over the 
 banisters at Mrs. McGinnis, and one boot 
 hit her on the head. 
 
 That roused the lady to a sense of her 
 wrongs, and she fell in some marvellous 
 way down the stairs, arriving on her feet. 
 She rushed into Lottie's sitting-room, 
 seized the paraffin lamp from the table, 
 and declared she would set fire to the 
 house and burn Mr. McGinnis alive. 
 
 The woman was mad with drink. 
 Lottie, unused to such scenes, and terrified 
 for her life, shrieked to her to put the 
 lamp down. The mad woman turned on 
 her and told her to get out, for she was 
 going to kill everybody in the place, 
 Then she staggered out of the room. 
 
 Sarah came in, red-eyed and gasping, 
 from the kitchen. 
 
 * Let's go, miss,' she said — * let's go. 
 There'll be murder here to-night, and 
 we'll all be burnt in our beds.' 
 
 A minute later there were shrieks and 
 oaths above, and the sound of crashing 
 furniture. 
 
14 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 The Fairy Queen hurried on her hat 
 and her mantle, and Sarah, slipping on 
 her shawl, dragged her out into the street. 
 
 ' Where can we go ?' said Lottie. 
 * It's nearly three in the morning ; every 
 place is shut.' 
 
 • Excuse my vulgarity, miss, but I know 
 the watchman at the stable-yard opposite. 
 He's a sort of sweetheart of mine, miss ; 
 he might do something for us.* 
 
 They groped their way down the dark 
 yard. A light was in one of the stables. 
 They knocked at the door, and a man 
 came out. Sarah explained the situation 
 to her sweetheart. They wanted shelter 
 for the night. The young lady couldn't 
 walk about or lie down in a stable with 
 the horses. 
 
 The man thought a moment, and had 
 a happy idea. He led the way into the 
 coach-house, and opened the door of a 
 mourning-carriage . 
 
 ' You'll be warm and comfortable there,' 
 he said, * with the windows up ; and I'll 
 go and get you a couple of horse-rugs.* 
 
THE CHRISTMAS FAIRY 15 
 
 The tired Fairy Queen, worn out with 
 the long night's rehearsal, curled herself 
 up in a corner of the coach and soon fell 
 asleep. In her dreams she was at home 
 with her dear ones, and the Christmas 
 bells were ringing merrily. 
 
 When she woke it was broad daylight. 
 She heard the Christmas bells, and she 
 wondered where she was. Then she 
 looked about her and remembered. 
 
 She was beginning Christmas Day in a 
 mourning-coach in an undertaker's yard. 
 Presently there was a knock at the window 
 of the coach, and the Fairy Queen let the 
 glass down. It was Sarah. 
 
 * Excuse my vulgarity, miss, but a 
 Merry Chrismus and a Happy New Year 
 to you, and I've brought your letters and 
 made you some coffee in a tin, if you don't 
 mind ; and please have it while it's hot.' 
 
 Lottie was cold, and was glad of the 
 coffee. She took the letters eagerly. She 
 knew they were from home. She undid 
 the envelopes and took out the Christmas 
 cards, with the printed greetings and the 
 
1 6 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 loving messages written on the back, and 
 kissed them for the links of loving thought 
 they made between the absent and herself. 
 
 * It's half-past nine, miss,' said Sarah. 
 'And — er — excuse my vulgarity, but 
 perhaps you'd be liking a wash ; and 
 I think it's safe for to go back, miss. 
 The house ain't burnt down, and they're 
 both fast asleep. I heard 'em snoring 
 heavy.' 
 
 Lottie Summers got out of her strange 
 bedroom, and went across to her lodgings. 
 She washed and changed her clothes, and 
 then, feeling refreshed, she sat down for 
 a moment and wondered where on earth 
 she was going to spend Christmas Day. 
 
 She was anxious not to pass another 
 hour under the roof of the McGinnises if 
 she could help it. They were quiet now, 
 but they would begin drinking again at 
 the first opportunity. 
 
 Once more Sarah came to the rescue. 
 Excusing her vulgarity, she suggested 
 that she could use her sweetheart again. 
 On Christmas Day he was in charge of 
 
THE CHRISTMAS FAIRY 17 
 
 the undertaker's shop, because the regular 
 assistants all went home, and somebody 
 had to be in to take orders for coffins. 
 The undertaker himself lived in a grand 
 house in the suburbs. 
 
 It was the only thing to do, and so 
 Lottie Summers had her Christmas dinner 
 in the little room at the back of the under- 
 taker's shop, where coffins in various stages 
 of manufacture were lying about. Sarah, 
 who had given herself a holiday, and left 
 the McGinnises to their fete, had prepared 
 a dinner for her ' young man.' She cooked 
 a piece of beef, and hotted up a plum- 
 pudding which she had bought in a basin. 
 And that is how the Fairy Queen spent 
 her Christmas Day from home. 
 
 With Sarah's help, she found a more 
 comfortable lodging that night, and in 
 the morning moved her things from the 
 McGinnises. 
 
 ***** 
 
 A great house applauded Lottie Summers 
 on Boxing Night as she waved her wand 
 and sang her ballad in the Silver Dell. 
 
1 8 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 The boys in the gallery whistled through 
 their fingers, and the ladies in the dress 
 circle said she was charming. But no one 
 imagined for a moment that she had spent 
 Christmas Eve in a mourning-coach, and 
 had eaten her Christmas dinner among the 
 coffins. 
 
 But she did. And this is not a story ; 
 it is an incident of theatrical life " with- 
 out the limelight." 
 
 I knew the Fairy Queen. But she is 
 not a fairy queen to-day. She is at a 
 West End theatre, a queen of comic opera, 
 and her photographs this Christmas are in 
 all the shop-windows. 
 
II 
 
 TWO NEW YEAR'S DAYS 
 
 It was New Year's Day, 1894. 
 
 Millie Severn gazed hopelessly up and 
 down a long, dreary, one-sided street in 
 
 C , and began to cry. An icy-cold 
 
 rain was descending in torrents, and Millie 
 shivered in her saturated jacket and skirts, 
 and wondered whether she hadn't better 
 break the window of the milk-shop at the 
 corner, and get locked up. 
 
 Millie Severn, reduced to such desperate 
 straits as this, was just twenty years of age, 
 pretty, graceful, and an actress touring with 
 an opera company and singing principal 
 roles. 
 
 There was no pantomime in the fourth- 
 rate little town in which the company had 
 
 2 — 2 
 
20 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 determined to open for a week with an 
 operatic repertoire on New Year's Day, 
 which was Monday. Here and there a 
 few bills were placarded about the town 
 announcing that Mr. Marmaduke War- 
 laby's celebrated Grand Opera Company 
 would appear that evening in the ' Bohe- 
 mian Girl,' and the name of the celebrated 
 artist who would sustain the role of Arline 
 was Miss Millicent Severn. 
 
 And Millie Severn was preparing for 
 the arduous task of the evening by 
 wandering about the streets wringing wet 
 in search of a lodging. 
 
 If she had had any money she would 
 have gone into the milk-shop and bought 
 a bun and a glass of milk, and made them 
 last until she got her breath and thought 
 things out. 
 
 But all that Millie had in her pocket 
 was a chocolate cream, the remains of 
 the pennyworth which the baggage-man 
 had presented her with on the previous 
 Saturday, partly out of kind-heartedness, 
 and partly as manly homage to her child- 
 
TWO NEW YEAR'S DAYS 21 
 
 like beauty. For Millie was not only 
 sweetly pretty, but, being dainty and 
 petite, she did not look a day more than 
 seventeen. 
 
 For three weeks the company had re- 
 ceived practically no money. They had 
 struck three bad towns, and the wintry 
 weather had been desperately against 
 them. Under these circumstances Mr. 
 Marmaduke Warlaby, having nothing to 
 give, had given it, and had scraped the 
 railway fares together in that marvellous 
 manner the secret of which is only known 
 to the travelling manager who starts with- 
 out capital, and trusts to luck to get his 
 tour through. 
 
 Men of Mr. Marmaduke Warlaby 's 
 stamp are not exactly bogus managers. 
 When business is good they pay; when 
 it is not they encourage the unfortunate 
 artists who have joined them to continue, 
 in the hope of playing to better business 
 in the next town, and then getting the 
 arrears of salary paid up. Very few of 
 the artists, when things have reached this 
 
22 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 pass, are able to leave if they want to. 
 They haven't the money for the fare to 
 London, where their only chance of get- 
 ting another engagement would generally 
 lie. 
 
 The Grand Opera Company had travelled 
 on the previous Sunday as far as the 
 manager had been able to pay the fares, 
 and that was some thirty miles short of 
 their destination. They arrived at the 
 junction about eleven o'clock at night, 
 and there they huddled together on the 
 draughty platform until the kind-hearted 
 station-master, taking pity on them, had 
 the closed waiting-room unlocked, and 
 left them there to pass the night. 
 
 They were very grateful for the shelter, 
 and Millie Severn, who was the pet of 
 the company — most of them old and 
 weather-beaten tramps of the theatrical 
 circuits — ^lay down on the rug by the fire, 
 with the baritone's coat over her, and her 
 make-up box for pillow. 
 
 At daylight the room was unlocked by 
 a porter, who roused the sleeping com- 
 
TWO NEW YEAR'S DAYS 23 
 
 pany, and informed them that they had to 
 get up, as the regular traffic was beginning, 
 and passengers wouldn't like to come in 
 and see a lot of theatrical folks lying about 
 on the seats. 
 
 The Grand Opera Company rose and 
 shook themselves, and Millie Severn 
 opened her dark eyes and looked so 
 pathetically at the porter — a young man 
 — that his heart went out instantly to 
 her, and he said maybe she'd like some 
 tea ; if she would, she was welcome to 
 his. Millie said she would be ever so 
 thankful for a cup, and the porter went 
 out and returned with his tin can, removed 
 the cork, wiped the mouth, and handed 
 it to the prima donna, who drank, and 
 was grateful and refreshed. 
 
 Then the rest of the company, seeing 
 that the young porter was interested in 
 Millie, brought their own batteries to 
 bear upon him, and asked his professional 
 
 advice. They wanted to get on to C 
 
 to fulfil an engagement, and the manager 
 hadn't the money for the fares. 
 
24 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 The manager came forward and assured 
 the porter that it was a fact, and showed 
 him a day-bill of the company's perform- 
 ance in the last town. 
 
 The porter thought things out, and said 
 there was a goods train coming through 
 
 about seven which was going to C . 
 
 If the company didn't mind travelling in 
 the fish-truck, he thought perhaps the 
 station-master might arrange it. 
 
 The manager jumped at the offer, and 
 eventually it was in the fish-truck that 
 the tired members of the Grand Opera 
 Company arrived at C on the morn- 
 ing of New Year's Day. 
 
 In C the search for lodgings had 
 
 not been a success with any of the artists. 
 Their principal luggage had been left 
 behind for rent in the last town, and you 
 can't get confiding landladies to take you 
 in on a hand-bag, especially when you 
 have to go to the regular theatrical 
 lodgings. The proprietors of these estab- 
 lishments get to learn very quickly about 
 a company that is getting its salaries irregu- 
 
TWO NEW YEAR'S DAYS 25 
 
 larly, and tney don't care to run any 
 risk. 
 
 Millie Severn had tried all the places in 
 vain. At one or two she had been treated 
 brusquely, but in the majority of instances 
 the landlady had said, 'Very sorry, my 
 dear. No luggage, and you're with Mr. 
 Marmaduke Warlaby. We've heard of 
 his company. Good-morning.* 
 
 That was Millie Severn's New Year's 
 greeting in C . 
 
 And now she was wet through, the day 
 was wearing on, and she was hungry and 
 tired. To go to the theatre at night and 
 then to wander about in search of a 
 lodging would be hopeless. Her only 
 chance was to get one now. 
 
 Looking about her, Millie saw that at 
 the back of the milk-shop — which was at 
 a corner — there was a yard, and the side- 
 door was open. At the end of the yard 
 was a rough wooden building. No one 
 was looking, so Millie went through the 
 door, and going into the outbuilding, 
 found it was a coal-shed. 
 
26 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 At least this would be shelter from the 
 pitiless rain, so she sat down on a heap of 
 coal, and, feeling utterly depressed, began 
 to cry. Presently there was the sound of 
 footsteps in the yard. The door of the 
 shed was opened, and a woman put her 
 head in and started back. 
 
 ' Good gracious, girl ! what are you 
 doing there ?' asked the woman, and 
 Millie sobbed out an explanation. 
 
 The woman motioned her to come out, 
 and had a good look at her. 
 
 ' Poor little thing !' she said, in a kindly 
 voice. ' So you're a play-actress, are 
 you ?' 
 
 ' Yes,' sobbed Millie. ' I— I'm the 
 leading lady in the Grand Opera Company 
 that's going to open here to-night. Oh, 
 do let me have a room, will you ? I — I'll 
 pay you if I can.' 
 
 The pleading voice of the young girl 
 and the beautiful dark eyes wet with tears 
 went straight to the heart of the motherly 
 soul. She took the little artist by the 
 hand and led her across to the kitchen. 
 
TWO NEW YEAR'S DAYS 27 
 
 * There, my dear,' she said, ' sit ye down 
 by the fire, and I'll go and talk to my 
 husband, and we'll see what we can do.' 
 
 The proprietor of the milk-shop, a 
 burly, good-tempered man, came back 
 presently with his wife and had a look at 
 Millie. 
 
 * Poor little lady !' he said. * Well, 
 I'll tell you what we'll do, missis. The 
 chap upstairs in our top room's been drunk 
 this last fortnight, and he owes a week. 
 We'll get rid of him, and this little lass 
 shall have the room. If we don't get 
 any money out of her, she won't smoke a 
 pipe in bed and burn us out of house and 
 home, and that's what '11 happen if he stops 
 here.* 
 
 Millie could have jumped up and 
 hugged the milkman, but she smiled at 
 him through her tears instead, and said, 
 * Oh, thank you, thank you !' And 
 presently the woman took her upstairs to 
 a Uttle room, and stripped the clothes off 
 the bed, and brought out clean sheets and 
 pillow-cases, and said, * There you are, my 
 
2 8 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 dear; that's your home while you stay 
 here, and we* II settle with Johnson. He's 
 a rough fellow, and not quite right in his 
 head, and we'll have a bit of trouble with 
 him, I dare say ; but that's our look-out, 
 not yours.' 
 
 Millie Severn went to the little theatre 
 that night with a light heart, and she 
 played Arline and sang straight at the 
 milkman's wife, who had come to see the 
 show and her new lodger. And the 
 woman waited for her and took her 
 home. 
 
 When they got to the shop, a big, evil- 
 looking man was standing in the doorway. 
 He stepped out and began to swear at 
 the landlady, and when he saw Millie 
 exclaimed : 
 
 ' Oh, it's you as I've been turned out 
 
 of my room for, is it? By I'll 
 
 make you smart for it ! I'll have your 
 life !' 
 
 The milkman's wife pushed the man 
 aside and opened the door with her key. 
 
TWO NEW YEAR'S DAYS 29 
 
 and Millie, trembling, ran into the passage. 
 Then the woman came in and banged the 
 door to. 
 
 When Millie went to bed that night, 
 she could hear the man cursing and 
 swearing outside. Twice he hammered at 
 the front-door, but nobody took any notice. 
 Then the policeman must have come along, 
 for there were voices in altercation, and 
 presently retreating footsteps and all was 
 still. 
 
 The bad luck which had followed the 
 Grand Opera Company pursued it to 
 
 C , and the attendance was miserable. 
 
 Millie's heart was in her mouth when- 
 ever she came home at night, for the 
 evicted lodger kept up his drinking bout 
 and hung around waiting, as he said, ' to 
 give her one for herself.' 
 
 However, one of the male members of 
 the company, hearing Millie's story, ac- 
 companied her after the show of an even- 
 ing, and stuck to her till the door was 
 opened. But Millie always expected to 
 see a knife flash in the air and to find her- 
 
30 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 self the heroine of a tragedy. The male 
 member was the baggage-man, who also 
 played a small part, and fortunately he was 
 a powerful man, and when it did come to 
 a fight one night, he was able to give 
 Millie's persecutor a sound thrashing. 
 
 Millie didn't wait to see it done, but fled 
 upstairs to her own room, put her head 
 under the clothes, and prayed for the 
 baggage-man. 
 
 When Sunday morning came, the un- 
 happy company, as penniless as ever — 
 Millie had managed by prayers and en- 
 treaties to get eighteenpence out of the 
 manager for her week's work — went on to 
 the next town, which fortunately was only 
 fifteen miles distant. 
 
 There the luck changed, and Millie 
 actually got a whole sovereign as her 
 share. Half of it she put into a pretty 
 letter of thanks and sent to the milkman's 
 wife, and in the excess of her joy at her 
 sudden accession of wealth she spent half 
 a crown of the remainder on a toy for the 
 baggage-man's baby — he was married and 
 
TWO NEW YEAR'S DAYS 31 
 
 travelled with his wife, who was the ward- 
 robe woman — and the baggage-man was 
 so delighted that he patted her cheek and 
 said she was a little princess, and he 
 prophesied that one day she would be a 
 great actress. In the next town, at the 
 theatre a touring manager was in front, 
 and he saw Millie and thought there was 
 * stuff' in her. After the show he offered 
 her an engagement at two pounds a week, 
 to join a comic opera company then 
 playing at Liverpool, and said he would 
 pay her fare. 
 
 So Millie Severn the following Sunday 
 bade the members of the Grand Opera 
 Company an affectionate farewell, and 
 started for Liverpool, having received for 
 eight weeks' tour as prima donna with 
 Mr. Marmaduke Warlaby the magnificent 
 sum of three pounds five shillings and six- 
 pence. 
 
 *^ ^ ^ ^ 
 
 1* ff* T* T* 
 
 It is New Year's Day, 1897. The 
 pantomime at the Prince of Wales's 
 Theatre, L , had proved a great 
 
32 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 success, and the matinee on New Year's 
 Day had brought together a crowd which 
 packed the building in every part. 
 
 When the ' principal boy ' came on she 
 had a magnificent reception. All the 
 
 critics of the L press had declared 
 
 that she was the most fascinating ' principal 
 boy ' that had been seen in their town for 
 years. The male members of the audience 
 had all fallen in love with her, and the old 
 ladies said she was ' a dear little girl,' 
 which, as she was a boy, they ought not 
 to have done. 
 
 In a private box sat four gentlemen, 
 who were attentively watching the per- 
 formance. One was a London manager, 
 two were provincial managers, and the 
 fourth was Mr. Blackmore, the well- 
 known theatrical agent, of Garrick Street, 
 London. 
 
 The pantomime went with a roar ; but 
 the 'principal boy 'was the bright, particular 
 star. Her songs and dances were encored 
 again and again, until at last the young 
 actress, out of breath, had to come on and 
 
TWO NEW YEAR'S DAYS 33 
 
 smile and bow, and, with a charming 
 gesture, crave for mercy. 
 
 After the performance was over Mr. 
 Blackmore went behind the scenes, and 
 knocked at her dressing-room door. 
 
 * Can I see you for a minute. Miss 
 Severn ?' he said ; and Millie, who had 
 completed her toilet during the trans- 
 formation scene, asked him in. 
 
 * I congratulate you. Miss Severn. But 
 I've come to see you on business. Mr. 
 
 , of the Theatre, London, wants 
 
 to know your terms. If they are reason- 
 able, I can offer you the leading part in a 
 new musical comedy which is to be pro- 
 duced at Easter.' 
 
 Millie Severn smiled. 
 
 * I've a lot of offers for tour,' she said ; 
 * but, of course, I should like to come to 
 London. The only thing is, a tour with 
 a success lasts for years, and a London 
 engagement for a part in a new production 
 may only mean a few weeks.' 
 
 Mr. Blackmore shook his head. 
 
34 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 * That's true,' he said ; * but if I could 
 offer you an engagement in London at 
 the for twelve months certain ?' 
 
 * Terms ?' said Millie. 
 
 * What do you ask ?' 
 
 ' I'm offered ten weeks' pantomime next 
 year at forty pounds. If I take a year in 
 London I shall lose that.' 
 
 ' Well, twenty-five pounds, seven per- 
 formances. You'll have a big part in the 
 new piece, and you've never played at 
 the yet, you know.' 
 
 * Thirty,' said Millie, settling her pretty 
 face into a determinedly business-like ex- 
 pression. 
 
 'Very well,' said Mr. Blackmore, 
 smiling ; * you can consider that settled. 
 I'll send you the contract directly I get 
 back to town.' 
 
 *Jf. 4t. 4^ 4^ 
 
 ^P TT TT TP 
 
 At the stage-door a smiling middle-aged 
 lady was waiting ; and when Millie Severn 
 came out they went away together towards 
 Millie's lodgings. 
 
TWO NEW YEAR'S DAYS 35 
 ' Oh, mother, I've settled for the , 
 
 London — thirty pounds a week, and twelve 
 months certain. Now I shall be able to 
 be with you and father again, dear. Oh, 
 how happy I shall be !' 
 
 Millie put up her lips, and her mother 
 stooped down and kissed her tenderly. 
 
 ' That's the best New Year's gift you 
 could have given us, dear,' she said, * to 
 have you with us again always. Ah ! 
 it was terrible when you went away first ; 
 we used to think of you night after night, 
 I and your father, and I know that was 
 what he felt most when the trouble came 
 — that you, our darling, had to go out in 
 the world and lead a wandering life because 
 we were so poor ; and now ' 
 
 ' And now, mother, we're going home 
 to dinner, and we'll send father a telegram, 
 and tell him that I'm to be with you in 
 London for twelve months, and I'm going 
 to make fifteen hundred a year.' 
 
 As Millie spoke her thoughts wandered 
 back to the New Year's Day three years 
 
 3—2 
 
36 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 before, when she sat in a coal-shed, and 
 cried because she was homeless, penniless, 
 and hungry, and a kind-hearted milkman 
 turned a drunken labourer out of his room 
 and took her in. 
 
Ill 
 
 AT THE AGENT'S 
 
 The agent's rooms are in a narrow street 
 running off the Strand. Outside on the 
 pavement a group of closely-shaven young 
 men and pretty young ladies in summer 
 dresses and straw hats are chatting together. 
 They would go inside, but the narrow 
 staircase is blocked with their professional 
 brothers and sisters. 
 
 You, gentle reader, have business with 
 the agent to-day, because you are coming 
 with me to assist at the engagement of the 
 chorus for a new musical comedy. You 
 will find it a hard job to force your way 
 through the crowd of gentlemen and ladies 
 who fill the staircase ; but with a little 
 diplomacy and half a dozen * I beg your 
 
38 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 pardons,' you will eventually accomplish 
 the task, and reach a door on the landing 
 marked * Manager's Room.' 
 
 We push the door open and enter, for 
 we are expected. The chorus-ladies and 
 gentlemen have assembled specially for us. 
 Some have been written to by the agent, 
 but a large number have heard in some 
 mysterious way that voices are wanted 
 and a manager is making engagements. 
 In an easy-chair near the window sits the 
 composer of the new musical comedy. In 
 another chair near the window sits the 
 author of the libretto. The manager who 
 is going to run the show is at a table with 
 a sheet of paper in front of him. 
 
 If the ' show ' was to be a London one, 
 all these ladies and gentlemen would be 
 sent to the theatre. A piano would be 
 placed on the stage, and the aspirants for 
 chorus honours would sing to the manage- 
 ment, who would be seated in the stalls. 
 
 But this production is to take place in 
 the provinces, and, no theatre being avail- 
 able, the voices will be tried in the agent's 
 
AT THE AGENT'S 39 
 
 room. The pianist is at the piano ; the 
 agent, a tall, good-looking man, is leaning 
 against the mantelpiece. He is arranging 
 preliminaries with the management. 
 
 Presently he opens a side-door, and you 
 catch sight of a big room crowded with 
 ladies and gentlemen. 
 
 He looks round the room, and says, 
 ' Sopranos first. Come along. Miss Jones.' 
 
 Miss Jones enters with a certain amount 
 of assurance. She explains that she has 
 just finished an engagement, and that she 
 has a cold. She hands a song to the 
 pianist, and is ready to begin ; but the 
 composer stops her and asks her if she 
 would mind putting up her veil. It is 
 a peculiarity of the chorus-lady that even 
 at rehearsal she prefers to sing through a 
 veil. One stage-manager, recognising this, 
 has even gone so fer as to add the words 
 ' veils up ' to the * call ' at the stage-door. 
 
 Miss Jones's cold is not apparent, and 
 her voice is excellent. The composer 
 nods to the manager, and the lady's name 
 is taken down. 
 
40 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 'This is for the provinces, my dear/ 
 says the agent. ' Eight weeks' tour 
 certain, and three weeks' rehearsal — thirty- 
 five shillings a week. Will that suit 
 you ?' 
 
 Miss Jones shakes her head. She 
 doesn't want to leave town if she can 
 help it. 
 
 * There's nothing in town, my dear ; 
 you'd better take this. Think it over, 
 and come back in an hour.* 
 
 Miss Jones hesitates. If she takes it, 
 could she have a small part — or an under- 
 study ? 
 
 The author says there are some small 
 speaking parts of a few lines. Yes ; she 
 can have one. 
 
 Miss Jones is thereupon requested to 
 step into an adjoining room and ' sign ' 
 the usual contract. 
 
 Outside several young ladies she knows 
 are waiting. She informs them that she 
 has * a part,' and passes on to the office 
 of the lady typist, who gives her the con- 
 tract and sees it signed. 
 
AT THE AGENT'S 41 
 
 And Miss Jones departs with a lighter 
 heart than she had when she came to 
 the agent. It is only June, but she has 
 * settled for the autumn.' It is a fortnight 
 before rehearsal commences. Then she 
 has to give three weeks' rehearsal for 
 nothing, and has to play for a week 
 before she gets the first thirty-five shil- 
 lings. When the eight weeks have run 
 she will have earned exactly fourteen 
 pounds, out of which she will have had 
 to pay for board and lodging, and the first 
 week's salary she will have to give to the 
 agent. 
 
 Another young lady is introduced — a 
 pretty, dark girl, quietly dressed. She is 
 nervous, and there is an anxious look in 
 her face. She sings admirably. The 
 composer is delighted with her voice. 
 
 ' It is for tour, my dear,' says the agent 
 — * eight weeks.' 
 
 He stops suddenly. The girl is trem- 
 bling, her face is pale. 
 
 * For tour ? I thought it was London. 
 I'm very sorry — I — I can't take it — I can't!' 
 
42 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 There is a little gasp ; the girl turns to 
 go, but her feelings overcome her. She 
 sinks into a chair and sobs violently. 
 
 The four men in the room look uncom- 
 fortable. One tries to say something 
 reassuring. The poor little girl is hys- 
 terical, and she sobs out her story. She 
 has been for two months out of an en- 
 gagement. She has a mother at home — a 
 mother who is dangerously ill. She and 
 her mother are alone in the world. She 
 cannot leave her, but — she wants the 
 money ; she wants it badly. 
 
 The scene is one of genuine pathos. 
 The men understand what it means, and 
 their hearts go out to the weeping girl. 
 The agent, used as he is, and must be, to 
 this ' without the limelight ' side of the 
 theatrical profession, comes to the rescue. 
 He knows of something in town. He 
 will use his best endeavours to get it 
 for her. 
 
 The girl dries her tears, and with a 
 great effort pulls herself together. She 
 holds out her hand to the agent, and 
 
AT THE AGENT'S 43 
 
 thanks him. And then, with a quiet 
 bow to the other witnesses of her pathetic 
 little breakdown, she drops her veil over 
 her tear-stained face and passes out. 
 
 All the sopranos wanted are engaged. 
 Most of them are well dressed, bright, 
 smiling girls, with whom the world is 
 going well. But before the selection has 
 been made there have been plenty of 
 rejections. 
 
 You can soon tell how fortune has 
 treated the artist by the song she brings 
 with her. The bright, merry girls, con- 
 fident and cheery, generally produce a song 
 that is fairly new in appearance ; but the 
 girls who have come day after day and 
 sung to manager after manager, and are on 
 the borderland of despair, bring a song 
 that is tattered and torn and broken with 
 months of folding up. Oh, the tragedy 
 of that battered and broken old song ! 
 Sometimes it will hardly hold together 
 sufficiently for the pianist to stick it up 
 in front of him in order to play the ac- 
 companiment. 
 
44 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 You glance from the song to the boots, 
 to the hat, to the face of its owner. In 
 all these is the same story of weary wait- 
 ing and the heart grown sick with hope 
 deferred. If those old songs could speak, 
 they could many of them tell a tale of 
 brave but vain endeavour that would bring 
 tears to the eyes of the listener. 
 
 After the sopranos have been fixed, the 
 contraltos troop in one by one, and 
 presently all the ladies wanted are 
 engaged. 
 
 The manager opens the door and calls 
 out, ' No more ladies wanted,' and you can 
 almost hear the sigh of disappointment 
 that runs round the big room, which is 
 still crowded. 
 
 But the boys and girls of the stage are 
 brave-hearted and accustomed to conceal 
 their emotions. They keep their sorrows 
 to themselves, and stroll out into the sun- 
 light with a jaunty air though their hearts 
 are heavy. They buoy themselves with 
 the hope that in a day or two — or 
 perhaps in a week or two — their chance 
 
AT THE AGENT'S 45 
 
 will come, and the haunting terror of being 
 ' out for the autumn ' will be banished 
 from their thoughts by day and from their 
 dreams by night. 
 
 I am not writing here of the bright 
 particular stars of the chorus world, who 
 are always at one West End theatre or 
 another. I am writing of those who are 
 less fortunate. There are many of them 
 ladies by birth — girls who have had an 
 excellent musical education, and who are 
 using their one gift because a reverse of 
 fortune has compelled them to add to the 
 small income at home. Some of them, of 
 course, were practically born in the pro- 
 fession, and belong to theatrical families ; 
 but there are a very large number who are 
 the daughters of broken-down professional 
 men, or of officers who have died and 
 left a widow and children ill provided 
 for. 
 
 To most of them the ordeal of singing 
 at the agent's is a terrible one. In their 
 nervousness they fail to do themselves 
 justice, and when they get their first 
 
46 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 engagement for a provincial tour on a 
 salary of thirty-five shillings a week there 
 is often another ordeal which is quite as 
 painful. Unused to the life, they have to 
 learn how to live (shifting constantly from 
 town to town) in theatrical * diggings ' on 
 their salary, and save ' something ' to send 
 home if they can. 
 
 But one moment more before we re- 
 luctantly leave the ladies, and commence 
 to engage the chorus gentlemen for the 
 new musical comedy. 
 
 ' You're sure you've got all your 
 sopranos ?' says the agent. * Miss So- 
 and-So hasn't signed yet. There's one 
 young lady I should like you to see.' 
 
 He goes out and returns with a charm- 
 ing little girl who looks about eighteen. 
 She is sweetly pretty, and the fair childish 
 face wins all hearts at once. 
 
 She sings fairly, but the composer is 
 indulgent, it is such an exquisite little 
 face and figure. 
 
 * It's for tour, my dear.' 
 
 ' Oh, is it ?' says the little lady 
 
AT THE AGENT'S 47 
 
 nervously. ' Then I — I shall have to 
 ask permission.* 
 
 * Permission— of your mother ?* 
 
 * No — er — of a gentleman. He's in the 
 next room — ^may he come in ?* 
 
 ' Certainly.' 
 
 The girl goes out, and returns with a 
 good-looking young fellow, who may be 
 two-and-twenty. He is a little bashful, 
 but he attacks the situation boldly. The 
 little girl is his wife. They were married 
 yesterday. They want a joint engage- 
 ment. 
 
 The child — she really looks one — casts 
 a loving look at her young husband, and 
 asks the composer if he will hear him 
 sing. He will take chorus to be with 
 her. 
 
 The lad sings, but it isn't quite the 
 voice the composer wants, and so the 
 young couple are politely bowed out. 
 
 Half an hour later, if we go up Bed- 
 ford Street, we shall see them walking 
 arm-in-arm, proud of each other and 
 happy in their newly-wedded love. They 
 
48 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 are going to another agent's to wait there. 
 The day after we shall meet them again, 
 and for many days to come, still looking 
 for their 'joint engagement.' Now it does 
 not matter. They have youth and hope, 
 and the world is before them, but in the 
 years to come that ' joint engagement * 
 may mean the ruin of two careers. There 
 is more than one tragedy to be told which 
 has been the outcome of the desire of the 
 actor-husband and the actress-wife to tread 
 the boards together. 
 
 The chorus gentlemen are engaged more 
 quickly than the ladies. Their appearance 
 is not studied by the management so 
 closely as that of the fair sex. If a man 
 has a good voice he may be short or tall, 
 plain or handsome. But though basses 
 and baritones are fairly plentiful at the 
 agent's, there is a difficulty in getting 
 tenors. For some extraordinary reason, 
 tenors, when they are good, are generally 
 too short or too fat. 
 
 But this morning there are not quite 
 enough baritones. The agent opens the 
 
AT THE AGENT'S 49 
 
 door of the waiting-room and looks round. 
 There are only two baritones left in the 
 crowd. It is his business as an agent to 
 give them a chance, so he introduces them 
 in turn. 
 
 The first is a young gentleman dressed 
 in the height of horsy fashion. He 
 bounds into the room with a cheery smile 
 and a nod to the company. 
 
 * I think you've never been on the stage 
 before,' says the agent. 
 
 The young gentleman laughs, and says, 
 
 * No ; must have a beginning, don't you 
 know.' 
 
 * Brought a song ?' 
 
 * Eh ? No ; didn't know I should be 
 wanted to sing. But what would you like ?' 
 
 The composer smiles and says he isn't 
 particular. 
 
 The young gentleman asks the pianist 
 if he knows so-and-so, or so-and-so, or so- 
 and-so, and the pianist shakes his head. 
 The young gentleman says he'll sing 
 
 * God save the Queen.' Dash it all ! the 
 pianist must know how to play that ! 
 
 4 
 
50 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 It ends by the young gentleman running 
 up the scale and being excused from any 
 further vocal efforts. The would-be 
 ' artist ' is one of the young men who, 
 having nothing particular to do and a 
 little private money, want to go on the 
 stage because they fancy ' it must be such 
 doocid good fun, don't you know.' 
 
 And then there enters the only remain- 
 ing baritone. He is a tall, thin man of 
 about fifty-six. He has a fine professional 
 face, but the jaws are sunken, and the hair 
 brushed back from the forehead is thin and 
 gray. His clothes hang loosely on him and 
 tell their own tale. 
 
 The manager, the author, and the com- 
 poser look at him sympathetically but 
 doubtfully. The manager shakes his head. 
 
 ' I am afraid you're too tall,' he said. 
 * You see, we want our chorus gentlemen 
 pretty much of a height. It is a military 
 piece.' 
 
 The man sighs. 
 
 ' Ah,' he says, ' I'm sorry for that. 
 Will you hear me sing ?' 
 
AT THE AGENT'S 51 
 
 The composer shakes his head. 
 
 * I'm afraid it wouldn't be any use,' he 
 says kindly. ' You're too tall.' 
 
 * And too old, I suppose,' says the man, 
 shrugging his shoulders. ' I'm always too 
 something now.' 
 
 ' Where were you last ?' asks the 
 agent. 
 
 * Canary Islands — for a month.' 
 
 * Ah ! And before that ?' 
 
 * Out for six months. I caught a cold 
 sleeping in the fields at night, and I was 
 laid up.' 
 
 The author pricks up his ears. 
 
 * Sleeping in the fields ? What on 
 earth did you do that for ?' 
 
 * Because I had to. I was one of the 
 
 poor devils that that villain took out 
 
 last winter. It was the old game, " Join 
 at Jarrow." You know what that means, 
 sir.' 
 
 The author nods his head. He knows 
 that it meant some poor out-of-work artist 
 paying his own fare from London to the 
 North to play for perhaps three or four 
 
 4—2 
 
52 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 weeks, and then to be told, that the tour 
 terminates, say, at Sunderland — which 
 means that the artist has to pay his own 
 fare back again to London. 
 
 ' But it was more than the old "Join at 
 Jarrow " game he played us,' says the old 
 baritone. ' He took us out and we only 
 played a fortnight, and then he left us 
 stranded high and dry, and bolted, owing 
 us all our salaries, and there we were up 
 in the North of England. Some of our 
 people managed to find the fare and get 
 home, but I was down on my luck and 
 I hadn't a friend in the world. The 
 Association have helped me twice, and I 
 was too proud to ask them again, and so I 
 set out to tramp, and I walked the whole 
 distance to London with a shilling in my 
 pocket to keep me in bread till I got to 
 town. 
 
 ' I wouldn't go into the casual wards to 
 sleep — I couldn't do that — so I slept in the 
 open air, behind haystacks, in cart-sheds, 
 when I could find them, and when I 
 reached London — where I'd a relative who 
 
AT THE AGENT'S 53 
 
 I knew would help me a bit — I'd got 
 rheumatics and a chill that turned my 
 blood to ice. I went in the hospital then, 
 and it was a blessing in its way, for I didn't 
 know hunger and I did sleep under a roof. 
 And then I got the trip to the Canaries, 
 and that set me up a bit, but I've been out 
 of work since then, and if I don't get into 
 something quick I don't know what I 
 shall do.' 
 
 * Well,* said the agent kindly, * come in 
 and see me the day after to-morrow. I'll 
 try if I can't fix you somewhere — I'm 
 afraid you won't do for this.' 
 
 The old chorister folded up his tattered 
 song and thrust it into his pocket. Then, 
 buttoning his threadbare coat across his 
 breast, he saluted the company with the 
 dignity of an old-time tragedian, and went 
 out into the sunshine. Where ? 
 
 God knows ! It is a mystery how the 
 wreckage of the profession exist, how year 
 in, year out, when they only get an 
 engagement now and then — and that too 
 
54 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 frequently merely for a week or two only 
 — they manage to live and still look for- 
 ward to the future with the hope that 
 springs eternal in the Bohemian breast 
 that ' something will turn up.' 
 
IV 
 A GREAT SUCCESS 
 
 There was no doubt that the play was a 
 great success. The house had been 
 enthusiastic, and the manager's face was as 
 shining as his shirt-front. Behind the 
 curtain, as the audience crowded out into 
 the street, the actors and actresses shook 
 young Mr. Laurence Ainslie warmly by 
 the hand and congratulated him. 
 
 * Do you really think it was a go ?' said 
 the author, nervously tugging at his 
 moustache, as the character comedian, all 
 smiles, bore down upon him, mopping the 
 perspiration from his brow. 
 
 • Go ?' replied the comedian — * I wish I 
 had it for the provinces ! Why, look 
 how it went ; they ate it.' 
 
S6 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 The young author, too nervous to be 
 satisfied even with this assurance, forgot 
 in his anxiety to return the politeness of 
 the company, and to assure them in- 
 dividually, as he should have done, that he 
 was their debtor for life for the admirable 
 assistance they had rendered him. But in 
 the fulness of his heart he took a couple of 
 sovereigns from his pocket and asked the 
 stage-manager to kindly give them to the 
 stage hands for * drinks.' 
 
 Then, as the stage grew empty, and the 
 fireman came on with his lantern to look 
 round, and the dusty boards and the bare 
 brick walls deprived the scene of the last 
 vestige of romance, Laurence Ainslie went 
 through the pass door into the deserted and 
 gloomy theatre, which was by this time 
 swathed in the holland sheeting which 
 protects the upholstered seats from dust. 
 
 * Hulloh, old chap !' rang out a cheery 
 voice from the back of the circle, ' we've 
 been wondering where you'd got to. 
 Come along : we're going to the club to 
 have some supper.' 
 
A GREAT SUCCESS 57 
 
 The cheery voice was the property of 
 the gentleman responsible for the manage- 
 ment of the theatre to the Lord Chamber- 
 lain. The young author stumbled up the 
 dark staircase leading from the stalls to the 
 circle, and was immediately surrounded 
 by the members of the syndicate who 
 were * running the show,' and who were 
 all loud in their delight at the way in 
 which the play had gone. 
 
 Laurence Ainslie nervously acknow- 
 ledged the compliments of the syndicate, 
 and they filed out of the theatre with him 
 in a body. But directly they got into the 
 street he took the manager's arm and drew 
 him a little ahead. 
 
 ' How did the critics seem to take it ?' 
 he asked anxiously. 
 
 * Magnificently, my boy. Scott was 
 rolling about in his box,' 
 
 * Did you see Archer ?' 
 
 ' Yes ; he was in the stalls.' 
 
 * Of course he didn't roar ?' 
 
 * No ; but he liked it. I'm sure he'll 
 give us a good notice. My sister-in-law 
 
58 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 sat just behind him, and she heard him say 
 to Walkley, of the Star^ that the dialogue 
 had a distinctly literary flavour.' 
 
 Laurence Ainslie's pale face flushed with 
 pleasure. His great desire was to have 
 the admiration of the literary school of 
 critics without sacrificing the commercial 
 approval of the general public. He 
 wanted to be looked upon as a cultured 
 writer for the stage, but at the same time 
 he wanted to make money because he had 
 a wife and child, and his pen was his sole 
 source of income. 
 
 * Did you hear anybody else say any- 
 thing ?' he asked, after a pause. 
 
 ' Yes ; Boyle Lawrence shook hands 
 with me as he went out, and said, 
 " Capital !" We shall be all right in the 
 Daily Mail' 
 
 'And the public ? What did they 
 seem to think as they came out ?' 
 
 * There wasn't a dissentient voice, my 
 boy. Don't you worry. This is all right. 
 Why, if one man's congratulated me to- 
 night, fifty have. George Musgrove 
 
A GREAT SUCCESS 59 
 
 slapped me on the back, and said, " You've 
 got a gold-mine !" Stephen Gatti nodded 
 to me as he went out, and said, " Splendid ! 
 couldn't be better." Charley Frohman 
 was enthusiastic. I'll bet you a fiver you 
 have an offer for America in the morning. 
 I only heard one man say he didn't like it, 
 
 and ' 
 
 The young author's face fell instantly. 
 
 * Who was that ?' 
 
 * Oh, ; but he never likes any- 
 thing. If I had my way, I wouldn't have 
 him in a theatre on a first night. He's 
 always got something objectionable to say. 
 But what's the use of bothering about 
 him ? I tell you, to-night the piece is an 
 immense success, and the box-office will 
 tell you so to-morrow. You're going 
 to make a lot of money, and so are 
 we.' 
 
 Laurence Ainslie asked no more ques- 
 tions during the short walk to the club. 
 He was thinking over the terms of his 
 contract and reckoning up how much a 
 week his percentages on the gross receipts 
 
6o WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 would bring him in if the house was 
 crowded every evening. 
 
 He hadn't driven quite as good a 
 bargain as he might have done had he 
 been an old hand, because the manage- 
 ment had argued about the terms, and he 
 was afraid that by standing out he might 
 lose the opening. But he had taken the 
 advice of a dramatist of his acquaintance, 
 a man of long experience, and he had 
 finally stood firm upon the following 
 scale : 
 
 Five per cent, on the gross weekly 
 receipts up to five hundred pounds on the 
 week, seven and a half per cent, on all 
 over five hundred pounds up to eight 
 hundred pounds on the week, and ten per 
 cent, on the gross receipts when over 
 eight hundred pounds on the week. 
 
 At the club several of the members who 
 had been present came up and con- 
 gratulated the manager, and were duly 
 introduced to the author, who was as un- 
 known to them as he was to almost every- 
 body else in London except the editors 
 
A GREAT SUCCESS 6i 
 
 who had occasionally published his short 
 stories, and his landladies. 
 
 Ainslie's face flushed with pride as he 
 listened to the compliments showered 
 upon him. But he had the greatest diffi- 
 culty in preventing the tears welling up 
 into his eyes. He was thinking of the 
 sweet, patient little wife at home, who 
 would be waiting so anxiously for the 
 news. She had not dared to come to the 
 theatre. He had not urged it — ^he had 
 been at first nights himself, and he knew 
 what happens sometimes to the work of 
 an unknown author. He knew that if 
 anything went wrong — if the * dissentient 
 voices ' made themselves heard — the shock 
 would be terrible to his loving, gentle- 
 hearted wife. 
 
 # # # # # 
 
 At half-past one in the morning Ainslie 
 put his latchkey in the door of the little 
 house at Brixton in which he occupied 
 three rooms. His wife, who had been 
 listening for every sound, came out on 
 
62 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 the landing above, and peered over the 
 banisters. 
 
 ' Lorrie, is that you ?' she cried. 
 
 • Yes, darling — it's all right ! Success ! 
 Success ! Success !' 
 
 He ran lightly up the stairs and caught 
 his wife in his arms, and pressed his lips 
 tenderly to hers. 
 
 ' Oh, Lorrie, I prayed for it — I prayed 
 for it ! When the clock struck nine and 
 I knew the curtain was going up, my 
 heart almost stood still. Once I thought 
 I must put on my things and come down 
 to the theatre — not to come in, dear, but 
 to ask someone outside — the commis- 
 sionaire, the policeman, anybody. I felt 
 if I didn't do something my brain would 
 give way ! And then, Lorrie, I went into 
 the bedroom where baby was asleep, and 
 I took his little hand in mine, and I knelt 
 down and prayed that it might be a 
 success. It wasn't wicked, Lorrie — it 
 wasn't wicked, was it ?' 
 
 Laurence Ainslie shook his head gently 
 and smiled. The girl he had married 
 
A GREAT SUCCESS 63 
 
 came of a Puritan stock, who looked upon 
 the theatre as an evil thing, and though 
 Kate Ainslie had long ago left those ideas 
 behind her, he understood how even now 
 it might seem to her disrespectful to the 
 Almighty to ask His help for a farcical 
 comedy. 
 
 ' Dear heart,' he said, ' it can't be 
 wicked to pray for our daily bread, and 
 that is what this play means to us ; but I 
 think there will be some butter with it, 
 too. I've been reckoning up. The theatre 
 can hold two hundred pounds a night. 
 With a fair season that will mean at least 
 a thousand pounds a week, and if we take 
 a thousand my fees will be a hundred 
 pounds.' 
 
 * A hundred pounds a week ?' 
 
 • Yes, my darling, a week.' 
 
 Kate Ainslie put her hand to her head. 
 She was trying to make herself understand 
 that this was not a wild dream, but a sober 
 reality. They were in the tiny sitting-room 
 now, and the young husband leant against 
 the mantelpiece and scrutinized the lodging- 
 
64 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 house furniture and the lodging-house 
 pictures with a quiet smile. 
 
 The dream he had dreamed so often 
 was about to be realized. There were to 
 be no more lodgings, with the eccentric 
 landlady, the piano-banging ground-floor, 
 the irritating servants, and the hundred 
 and one little worries that are inseparable 
 from 'furnished apartments,' trifles, perhaps, 
 to ordinary people, but hair shirts to the 
 nervous, sensitive, overstrung literary man. 
 
 All this was ended now. He and his 
 wife were to have their own home — a 
 sweet little place, artistically furnished, 
 with a lovely garden, and a sunny nursery 
 for baby, and all the joys of the world were 
 to be theirs. 
 
 Laurence Ainslie gave a deep sigh of 
 satisfaction, and, taking his wife's hand, 
 they went into the room where the little 
 one lay, and the new dramatist stooped 
 down and kissed his child, and with 
 reverent lips thanked God for the great 
 happiness that had come at last. 
 
 "fp tF tt tt t(* 
 
A GREAT SUCCESS 65 
 
 The notices were excellent. The 
 smiling manager said he had never read 
 anything like them. Laurence Ainslie 
 read them aloud to his wife, and his wife 
 took them upstairs to the little room they 
 called the nursery, and read them aloud to 
 the baby. 
 
 Then she went out to a registry office 
 to engage a nurse. They had had to give 
 their one maid up because short stories 
 didn't bring in enough to justify the 
 luxury. The young wife had been tied 
 to her home in consequence ; but now — 
 ah ! now she would be able to go about 
 with Lorrie everywhere, just as they used 
 to do before baby came. 
 
 Baby's papa went to the theatre twice a 
 day to see how the booking was going on. 
 It wasn't particularly great, but the manage- 
 ment told him it never was at first. 
 
 That consoled him, and he went out and 
 looked at his name on the hoardings, and 
 stood in front of them and felt proud. 
 Then he saw a bus with his name on it, 
 and he got up on the bus and leant over 
 
 5 
 
66 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 when no one was looking and patted that 
 advertisement kindly. He laughed at the 
 idea that came to him. He was riding on 
 the top of an omnibus with his name in 
 large letters on the side of it. It was such 
 an odd idea, and so novel, that he laughed 
 out loud, and everybody, including the 
 driver, turned to stare at him. 
 
 At night he went to the theatre in 
 evening dress, and was delighted to find 
 it fairly full. 
 
 ' Good house ?' he said to the acting 
 manager, as he passed him in the entrance 
 hall. 
 
 * Yes, we've dressed it for to-night ; 
 second night of a play's always flat, you 
 know.' 
 
 * Dressed it !' 
 
 * Yes, put a bit of paper about ; but 
 they're all good people, you know.' 
 
 At nine o'clock the manager showed 
 him the returns. Twenty-seven pounds ! 
 Laurence Ainslie's face fell, but the 
 smiling manager laughed. 
 
 ' That's all right, my boy — why, no- 
 
A GREAT SUCCESS 67 
 
 body's heard of it yet. Take a day or 
 two, you know. London's a big place.' 
 
 The next night the young author went 
 to the house again. Thirty pounds ! 
 
 ' That's a good sign, isn't it ?' said 
 the cheery manager. * Going up, my 
 boy ! I always like to see a piece go up 
 — it's a healthy sign. Come into my 
 room.' 
 
 The young author went into the 
 manager's room and found some members 
 of the syndicate there. They were not 
 quite so jubilant as they were on the 
 opening night, but they agreed with the 
 manager that it was only a question of 
 time. With such notices the piece 
 must go. 
 
 Outside the theatre that evening Ainslie 
 met his dramatist friend, and, seizing his 
 arm, questioned him eagerly. What did 
 the experienced dramatist think ? 
 
 The dramatist shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 ' Capital play, my boy, but this is an 
 unfortunate house. It's been left a bit 
 lately. If you'd brought this out at the 
 
 5—2 
 
68 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 or the you'd have run for a 
 
 year ; but here — well, we shall see.' 
 
 On Saturday night the house was 
 crowded, and as Laurence Ainslie looked 
 round he thought that the tide had turned 
 at last. * This is all right !' he exclaimed, 
 as the manager came in late from a dinner- 
 party. 
 
 * Yes ; looks well, doesn't it ? I've put 
 the paper about right and left. Must 
 have a big house the first Saturday, you 
 know.' 
 
 When Laurence Ainslie got home he 
 found his little table piled with letters. 
 Dozens of people he had never heard of in 
 his life wanted something from him on 
 account of his * great success.' The beg- 
 ging-letter writers of the profession had 
 not waited till then to crave a little 
 pecuniary assistance, but here were people 
 actually asking him for loans of twenty 
 and fifty pounds. He flung the letters 
 into the waste-paper-basket and set his 
 teeth. 
 
 But when his wife came in he tried to 
 
A GREAT SUCCESS 69 
 
 smile. Business, he explained, wasn't 
 good yet, but it would be all right next 
 week. The manager said so. 
 
 The next week the business was worse. 
 Somehow or other the great public hadn't 
 rolled up to the theatre. 
 
 The third week the management sent 
 for the author and told him politely that 
 the syndicate had decided to take the play 
 off unless he would forego his fees. If he 
 did that, with a reduction of salaries to the 
 company, they might be able to carry on 
 — and wait. Of course, if the play came 
 off now there was no chance of a country 
 tour. 
 
 The young author at once consented to 
 go feeless. Anything was better than the 
 withdrawal of the play and the public 
 announcement of a failure. 
 
 The play ran for another month with- 
 out bringing a farthing to the author, and 
 the last nights were announced. The 
 house closed ' for important structural 
 alterations,' and the young author balanced 
 his accounts on the back of an envelope. 
 
70 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 He had spent during the month of 
 rehearsal and on the first night, and in 
 various ways in connection with the play, 
 thirty-five pounds. He had received from 
 first to last in fees twenty-eight. Counting 
 nothing for the time he had devoted to 
 the writing of the play, he was out of 
 pocket in hard cash seven pounds. 
 
 * -y- -U- 41, 4f, 
 
 TT TT TP TT 
 
 Laurence Ainslie, his wife and baby, 
 are still in furnished apartments, and he 
 has temporarily taken to short stories 
 again, because the landlady, and the 
 butcher, and the baker expect to be paid. 
 But the new nurse has had to go, and the 
 pretty house with the artistic furniture 
 and the lovely garden are as far off as 
 ever. 
 
 But Laurence Ainslie is a brave-hearted 
 young fellow, and he means to try again. 
 But the things that annoy him now are 
 the weather-stained posters which still 
 hang dirty and disfigured to the walls, and 
 the fly-blown window-bills which he still 
 occasionally comes upon in the side-streets 
 
A GREAT SUCCESS 71 
 
 of London, and which announce that 
 his comedy is played * Every evening 
 at nine.' 
 
 I met the young author the other even- 
 ing at the club for which he had allowed 
 himself to be put up on the strength of 
 his splendid prospects, and he showed me 
 a letter he had just received. It was 
 from an old school-fellow who had gone 
 to America and had bad luck. This is an 
 extract from it : 
 
 * Awfully glad to read out here that 
 you had made such a huge success. You 
 must be rolling in ready, old chap. If 
 you could lend me a hundred till times 
 get better you'd be doing me a real service. 
 Once more congratulating you on your 
 great success, 
 
 * Your old school-fellow, 
 
 *Jack Sanders.' 
 
 I handed the letter back to the un- 
 fortunate author, and he folded it up and 
 groaned. 
 
V 
 
 A SUNDAY JOURNEY 
 
 It is eleven on Sunday night. The 
 train which has brought the * Little Maid 
 Marian' Company from the North to a 
 Midland riverside town steams slowly into 
 the deserted station. The company are 
 worn out. They have been travelling all 
 day, and Sunday travelling with closed 
 refreshment - rooms is not conducive to 
 comfort or cheerfulness. 
 
 All day long the rain had been coming 
 down, hopelessly, drearily, blotting the 
 landscape into a leaden-hued splodge, and 
 the dispirited artists had not even been 
 able to raise their spirits by admiring the 
 scenery. 
 
 To look out of the window was only 
 
A SUNDAY JOURNEY 73 
 
 to accentuate the misery of the situation, 
 and so the company, having exhausted 
 their usual topics of discussion, and read 
 such books or papers as they happened 
 to have with them, had fallen back upon 
 abusing the manager for giving them an 
 eight hours' journey. 
 
 Dates cannot always be fitted in in such 
 a way as to avoid a long run between the 
 towns, but it stands to reason that a 
 manager would make the journeys short if 
 he could, because he would save a consider- 
 able sum in fa.Tes. 
 
 The company, who are the real sufferers, 
 must, however, be excused if they grumble 
 at the long Sunday journeys. 
 
 The day of rest for them does not exist. 
 All the week the touring companies work, 
 and Sunday they spend in the train. So 
 long as they get into the next town in 
 decent time they take matters with a fairly 
 good grace. But when, as sometimes 
 happens, the train arrives late at night, 
 then their wrath descends upon the only 
 person whom they can by any process of 
 
74 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 argument make responsible. And that 
 unfortunate individual is the acting 
 manager. 
 
 He ought to have done this and he 
 ought to have done that. He ought to 
 have arranged for a train starting earlier. 
 Of course, they would have grumbled if 
 they had been asked to be at the station 
 at nine — an actor always grumbles at 
 having to be anywhere before eleven in 
 the morning. But they forget that, and 
 as the day wears on and the night descends 
 and the special crawls its slow length 
 along, and pulls up and waits at a 
 wretched junction for an hour to be 
 • joined ' by another special with another 
 touring company, their indignation in- 
 creases in volume. 
 
 At the junction where their wait is, the 
 ' Maid Marian ' Company turn out eagerly, 
 only to discover that the refreshment- 
 room is closed and all the waiting-rooms 
 are locked up. 
 
 Then they pace up and down the 
 draughty platform, and speculate as to 
 
A SUNDAY JOURNEY 75 
 
 what time they will arrive at their 
 destination. 
 
 Some of the members have secured 
 their rooms in advance, and are fairly 
 philosophical. But some who have written 
 have failed to find accommodation, and 
 they will have to go round the theatrical 
 diggings when they get in, and trust to 
 fortune to find a comfortable roof beneath 
 which to lay their weary limbs. 
 
 Miss Dora Fane, the prima donna of 
 the ' Maid Marian ' Company, is in 
 despair. She has not secured her rooms. 
 This has been on her mind, and she has 
 deplored her helpless position again and 
 again to the soubrette who • travels with 
 her ' — that is to say, shares her compart- 
 ment on the railway journey. 
 
 Some leading ladies insist on a compart- 
 ment to themselves, but others are glad to 
 have a companion. 
 
 ' I shall get a cab directly we get in, 
 and drive off and find something/ says 
 Miss Fane, as the ladies gather together 
 on the junction platform. 
 
76 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 * It isn't a good town for diggings, my 
 dear,' says the ' old woman ' of the com- 
 pany. * I've had no end of bother often. 
 You ought always to write and secure your 
 place beforehand.' 
 
 ' I did write,' replies Miss Fane. ' I 
 wrote for the rooms I had the last time I 
 was there, but they were taken, and nobody 
 could tell me of any others that were likely 
 to be vacant.' 
 
 ' Oh, you'll be all right,' says the low 
 comedian, ' don't begin to worry. I wish 
 to goodness I could get a drink and some- 
 thing to eat. My landlady offered to cut 
 me some sandwiches this morning, but I 
 quite forgot to ask for them. I'm as 
 hungry as a hunter.' 
 
 Suddenly there is a little spurt of excite- 
 ment. The special with the ' Dead Man's 
 Oath ' Company, which is to join the 
 * Maid Marian ' train here, is coming in. 
 
 The * Dead Man's Oath ' Company 
 turn out upon the platform. One or two 
 of the * Maid Marians ' know one or two 
 of the ' Dead Men,' but there is not a 
 
A SUNDAY JOURNEY 77 
 
 general hand-shaking. Musical comedy 
 artists and melodramatic artists are not, 
 as a rule, old acquaintances. A few of the 
 men are on speaking terms, because they 
 have met at the Green Room or the 
 Eccentric in London ; but the ladies look 
 at each other, and criticise each other's 
 appearance, and do not drop into general 
 conversation. 
 
 At last the trains are joined up, and the 
 guard says, * Now, please ; we're off !* and 
 the travellers, thankful even for the short 
 break to the monotony of the journey, get 
 leisurely into their compartments. 
 
 The night falls and the dulness becomes 
 intense. The lamps are too dim for any- 
 body to read by, and gradually the 
 travellers settle themselves into corners 
 or stretch themselves out on the seats and 
 fall asleep ! 
 
 ***** 
 
 At eleven o'clock the ' Maid Marian ' 
 Company arrives at its destination. The 
 * Dead Man's Oath ' Company is going 
 fifty miles farther South, and only alights 
 
78 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 in the vain hope of getting something at 
 the refreshment-room. But it is 'after 
 hours,' and again the hungry and thirsty- 
 theatrical crowd is balked in its natural 
 desires. 
 
 The rain is coming down in torrents 
 
 at O . The porter who assists Miss 
 
 Dora Fane to alight informs her that it's 
 been pouring cats and dogs all day. 
 
 * Get me a cab,' says the leading lady 
 crossly. 
 
 • No cabs, miss — they're all gone 
 home.' 
 
 Once more the acting manager is 
 fiercely declaimed against. He ought to 
 have told the agent in advance to send 
 cabs up. 
 
 But the acting manager knows by ex- 
 perience that it is not always safe to order 
 cabs for the company. If it is wet the 
 company don't mind the two shillings, 
 but if it is fine the company walk away, 
 and the acting manager has to settle for 
 the cabs himself. 
 
 The actors and actresses nod to each 
 
A SUNDAY JOURNEY 79 
 
 other, and make their way out of the 
 station. You don't worry about your 
 luggage on tour unless you are very 
 particular. You carry a small bag with 
 what you want for the night, and the 
 baggage-man delivers your ' basket * on 
 Monday morning. 
 
 If you Want your luggage at once there 
 are generally one or two men about to 
 wheel it for you on a barrow. These 
 men attend the station regularly for 
 theatrical luggage, and know what time 
 the special is expected. 
 
 When Dora Fane heard that there were 
 no cabs, she felt inclined to cry. Instead 
 of doing that she stamped her foot. 
 
 * What on earth shall I do ?' she said to 
 the proter. 
 
 ' Well, miss, one of them chaps will 
 take your luggage.' 
 
 * I can't walk about in the wet looking 
 for rooms at eleven o'clock at night.' 
 
 * Oh, haven't you got 'em, miss ?' 
 ' No ; do you know an address ?' 
 
 It is by no means uncommon for the 
 
8o WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 porters at the station to know of theatrical 
 lodgings. Miss Fane had a faint hope 
 that this particular porter might help her 
 out of her difficulty. 
 
 He considered for a moment, and then 
 he said he thought he did know an 
 address. 
 
 * Comfortable rooms ?' asked Miss Fane 
 anxiously, for she was living alone — that 
 is, she was not sharing rooms with another 
 lady of the company — and she was rather 
 nervous. 
 
 * Oh yes ; you'll find 'em all right.' 
 
 * Far ?' 
 
 ' Well, about a mile. Hulloa, here's a 
 cab come into the station, miss.' 
 
 * Get it for me ! Get it at once !' cried 
 Miss Fane, ' and then I can take my basket 
 with me.' 
 
 The porter secured the cab, put the 
 basket on the roof, assisted Miss Fane in, 
 and touched his cap in acknowledgment of 
 the sixpence with which, in her gratitude, 
 she had presented him. 
 
 ' I've given him the address, miss,' he 
 
A SUNDAY JOURNEY 8i 
 
 said. ' I think you'll find 'em all right.' 
 He nodded to the cabman. The cabman 
 whipped up his horse, and Miss Fane, 
 delighted to have found rooms, and to 
 have been saved a wet walk about the 
 town, leant back in the cab and heaved a 
 sigh of relief. 
 
 It was a good mile, for the clock was 
 striking the half-hour as the cab stopped 
 with a sudden jerk. Miss Fane, who had 
 been dozing, opened her eyes, lowered the 
 cab window and looked out. All she 
 could see was a light glimmering in a 
 cottage just below a bridge on which the 
 cab had stopped, and a broad black line 
 which she presumed was a river running 
 under the bridge. 
 
 * Can't go no further, miss,' said the 
 cabman, ' 'cus it's on the towpath, but 
 I'll carry your basket down the steps if 
 you'll just stand by my boss — he's a bit 
 fidgety.' 
 
 The prima donna of the ' Maid Marian ' 
 Company got out trembling and gasping. 
 The idea of the cottage by the towpath 
 
 6 
 
82 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 seemed terrible in the blackness and loneli- 
 ness of the night. But the cabman had 
 already disappeared down the steps with 
 her basket. 
 
 She went and stood in the pouring rain 
 by the horse's head. She didn't put up 
 her umbrella, not knowing if, being 
 fidgety, the animal might not resent it. 
 As she stood ' minding the cab ' in the 
 muddy road, with the rain beating down 
 upon her, she laughed aloud in sheer 
 desperation. If she hadn't done that she 
 would have had hysterics. 
 
 The situation was terrible — but it was 
 absurd. There was no mention in her 
 contract of minding horses at midnight. 
 
 The cabman returned and told her the 
 landlady was waiting at the door. 
 
 Miss Fane paid the man his fare, and 
 then, with hesitating feet, went down the 
 slippery stone steps that led from the road 
 to the towpath. 
 
 At the door of the cottage a miserable- 
 looking woman, with her head tied up in 
 flannel, was waiting for her. 
 
A SUNDAY JOURNEY 83 
 
 ' Come in, dearie ; I'll make you as com- 
 fortable as I can,' she said. ' It's very 
 good of you to come — very good of you.' 
 
 Dora Fane wondered what the woman 
 meant, and she felt decidedly afraid, but 
 she was bound to go in. . It was just on 
 midnight. She couldn't have returned and 
 
 wandered lodgingless about O then. 
 
 So she passed through the open door into 
 a miserable brick-floored kitchen that had 
 only a table and two chairs in it, and 
 evidently suffered from the damp. 
 
 ' Sit down, dearie, and I'll make up the 
 fire a bit,' said the woman, * and you can 
 dry yourself while I go and see to your 
 bed.' 
 
 ' Yes, thank you ; but can I have some 
 supper ? I've only had some sandwiches 
 all day.' 
 
 * Ah, if I'd known you was coming ! 
 But I ain't had no lodgers lately. There's 
 nothing in the house, but I'll get in some- 
 thing for breakfast in the morning, dearie.' 
 The poor little prima donna did cry this 
 time, but she didn't let the woman see 
 
 6—2 
 
84 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 her. She had her cry while her * land- 
 lady ' was upstairs seeing to her bed. 
 
 The bedchamber was a miserable, ill- 
 furnished cupboard of a place, and smelt 
 musty and damp. The woman left the 
 candle, said good-night, and went out. 
 
 ' Whatever did the porter mean by 
 sending me here ?' thought Dora. ' These 
 can't be theatrical lodgings — there are no 
 signs of such a thing about.' 
 
 You can always tell theatrical lodgings. 
 The portraits of former guests are on the 
 mantelshelf, and on the table, and on the 
 piano, and in every available place in the 
 room. And the landlady knows the habits 
 of her guests, and has always something 
 for ' supper,' which is the great theatrical 
 meal. 
 
 But Dora was tired out, so she took off 
 her wet jacket and skirt, and, not liking 
 the look of the bed, lay down on the 
 outside of it in her petticoats, and wrapped 
 the blanket round her. 
 
 # * * * * 
 
 It was nearly nine o'clock in the morn- 
 
A SUNDAY JOURNEY 85 
 
 ing when Dora Fane opened her eyes. 
 At first she wondered where she was ; 
 then she got up and looked at the miser- 
 able room, and remembered. 
 
 She went to the window, and raised the 
 coarse blind and looked out. The rain had 
 ceased ; the morning was bright. Below 
 her lay the towing-path and the river. 
 
 There was no bell, so Dora went out on 
 to the little landing and called downstairs. 
 There was no answer, so she put on her 
 dress and went downstairs to get some hot 
 water, and see if she could get a bath of 
 any sort. 
 
 The kitchen was empty, so she went 
 upstairs again, thinking the landlady might 
 be in her bedroom. 
 
 She saw a door on the landing next to 
 her own, and she opened it cautiously. 
 Then she started back with horror. 
 
 A coffin was laid out on trestles. In 
 it lay a dead body, and the landlady was 
 weeping over it. 
 
 As Dora Fane gave a little cry, the 
 landlady looked up. Her head was still 
 
86 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 wrapped in flannel, and her eyes were 
 red and swollen. 
 
 ' Oh, dearie,' she said, ' I'm sorry 
 you've seen it — I didn't want you to. 
 It's my poor husband, dearie. You see, 
 we had the brokers in last week, and they 
 took away everything except our bed, as 
 you've got, and the table and the two 
 chairs downstairs ; and it upset my poor 
 dear, and he hung himself on a hook in 
 the kitchen.' 
 
 Dora was speechless. She could only 
 groan ; she wanted to shriek. 
 
 ' Yes, dearie, I came in and fpund him, 
 and I fell in a swoon ; but somebody 
 come and cut him down, poor dear ! He 
 was took away for the inquest, but they 
 brought him back last night just afore 
 you come, and the funeral's to-day.' 
 
 Dora Fane backed out of the landlady's 
 room, and returned to her own and shut 
 the door. Then her overwrought nerves 
 gave way. She fell on her knees by the 
 bed, and burst into hysterical tears. 
 ***** 
 
A SUNDAY JOURNEY 87 
 
 As soon as she could find a cab in the 
 neighbourhood, Dora Fane secured it, and 
 brought it back to the cottage, and told 
 the man to come with her and get her 
 basket. 
 
 She explained to the landlady that she 
 was very sorry, but the lodgings wouldn't 
 suit. She paid her for the night's accom- 
 modation, and set out in search of * dig- 
 gings ' where the accommodation was 
 superior and the surroundings less tragic. 
 
 That afternoon, when she was out in 
 the town, a -hearse passed her, followed by 
 a single mourning-coach, in which sat a 
 woman with her face tied up. The 
 woman put her head out of the window, 
 and gave her a sad little nod of recogni- 
 tion. 
 
 It was the funeral of Miss Fane's de- 
 ceased landlord. The prima donna of 
 the * Maid Marian ' Company looked at 
 it and shuddered. It brought her mid- 
 night adventure back vividly to her mind. 
 She almost felt inclined to ask her new 
 landlady to allow her to look in the room 
 
88 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 next to hers, to make sure there wasn't a 
 tragedy there. 
 
 ^ ^ ^ 'If V 
 
 When Sunday came round again, and 
 the * Maid Marian ' Company were at the 
 station getting into the train for their next 
 town, Miss Fane looked about the plat- 
 form for the porter who had given her an 
 address. 
 
 She didn't discover him until just as the 
 train was starting. She beckoned him to 
 the carriage door, and he came and touched 
 his hat. 
 
 * Lodgings all right, miss ?' he asked 
 doubtfully. 
 
 ' No, they were not,' replied Miss 
 Fane, with some asperity. * They were 
 all wrong. Why did you recommend 
 them to me ?' 
 
 'Well, you see, miss,' said the porter, 
 * I knew the poor woman as keeps the 
 place had had a lot of trouble, what with 
 the brokers and her husband killing him- 
 self, and I thought your bit o' money for 
 the rent 'ud be a godsend to her.' 
 
A SUNDAY JOURNEY 89 
 
 The train started, and Miss Fane s4t 
 back in the carriage and stared at vacancy. 
 The man had evidently known what had 
 happened in the place, and yet had sent 
 her to it. * It was very kind to the poor 
 woman,' she muttered to herself, 'but 
 what price me ?' 
 
 The members of the company to whom 
 Miss Fane had told her story on Monday 
 night thought she was romancing ; but 
 some of them went down and found the 
 cottage on the towing-path, and knew 
 that she had spoken the truth. 
 
 This weird experience of theatrical life 
 ' without the limelight ' happened to a 
 young lady who is now a member of one 
 of Mr. William Greet's touring com- 
 panies. If I mentioned her name, every 
 playgoer in the provinces would know it. 
 
VI 
 
 ' RESTING • 
 
 In the advertisement pages of the Fra^ 
 among the ' Actors' Cards/ your eye, as 
 you scan the column, might or might not 
 be caught by this intimation : 
 
 ' Mr. Frank Ellerton — Resting.' 
 
 Resting does not mean the same thing 
 to everybody, but Mr. Ellerton's idea of 
 this pleasant occupation — if the w^ord may 
 be used in connection with doing some- 
 thing which is doing nothing — was cer- 
 tainly peculiar. 
 
 He had paid for the advertisement out 
 of the small sum still remaining over 
 from the little money he had managed 
 to save during his last engagement. As 
 
'RESTING' 91 
 
 his salary had been two pounds ten a 
 week for playing a character part in a 
 not too successful melodrama during a 
 spring tour which commenced late in 
 March and ended early in June ; and 
 as he had now been out for a month, 
 these savings had grown smaller and 
 beautifully less. He was now visiting 
 the agents daily, in the hope of getting 
 something to do, waiting on the crowded 
 stairs, sitting in the crowded rooms, 
 walking every day from his lodgings 
 to the Strand, pacing the Strand in 
 between whiles, and walking home again. 
 His evenings were passed in melancholy 
 broodings, his nights in sleepless anxiety. 
 But in the advertisement columns of the 
 Era he was ' resting.' 
 
 There is something aristocratic to the 
 professional eye in the word * resting.' 
 That is why young actors and actresses 
 occasionally use it in preference to the 
 more truthful * disengaged.' 
 
 Sometimes the word is used in its 
 correct sense. Once it appeared under 
 
92 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 circumstances that imparted a peculiar 
 pathos to the announcement. The week 
 that Adelaide Neilson's sudden and painful 
 death in the Bois de Boulogne sent a 
 shock through the theatrical world, her 
 advertisement, which there had been no 
 time to withdraw, came out in the Era : 
 
 ' Miss Neilson — Resting.' 
 
 On the day that his announcement 
 greeted the eyes of theatrical managers 
 and his brother and sister artists, Frank 
 Ellerton, like Ariadne, paced the dreary 
 Strand, only his locomotion was less 
 graceful and his appearance less poetic. 
 It was a blazing hot day, and the baking 
 pavement scorched his feet through the 
 shabby patent-leather boots, worn thin at 
 the sole by the constant tramping to and 
 fro in search of a theatrical engagement. 
 
 In another sense Frank was engaged. 
 In a fit of temporary insanity, brought on 
 by a violent attack of love-fever, he had 
 proposed to a dear little girl in the country, 
 the daughter of an old friend of his father's. 
 
* RESTING ' 93 
 
 The engagement was now two years old ; 
 but all that the lovers had to feed their 
 love upon were rapturous letters, and 
 occasionally, when Frank was desperately 
 hard-up, a post-card, on which the ardent 
 lover had to content himself with a quiet 
 * God bless you, dear,' instead of indulging 
 in those tender expressions which are too 
 sacred for the eyes of anyone but the girl 
 you adore. 
 
 This made the struggles of Frank's 
 professional career more terrible than they 
 would, perhaps, otherwise have been. 
 The years were going on, and he had 
 failed to achieve anything like a position 
 which would enable him to take a wife. 
 When the wife is in the profession both 
 are bread-winners ; they may occasionally 
 get joint engagements. But the wife who 
 is not on the stage is a terrible responsi- 
 bility to the actor with a small salary, 
 who has frequently to face weeks, and 
 sometimes months, of idleness. 
 
 Frank had been out since the second 
 week of June ; now it was the second 
 
94 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 week of July, and he was beginning to 
 despair, although the summer months 
 are notoriously bad for the profession. 
 By the middle of July the engagements 
 are generally completed for the autumn 
 tours commencing on Bank Holiday, a 
 date at which most of the good shows 
 take to the road again. 
 
 Frank had done the weary round of the 
 agents, and had met with the stereotyped 
 reply, ' Nothing for you to-day.' He 
 had heard that there was a new drama 
 coming on at the Princess's, and had tried 
 to see the manager, who was on the stage. 
 He had waited at the stage-door with a 
 dozen other professionals, bent on a similar 
 errand, and had not even succeeded in 
 getting his card sent in. After waiting 
 two hours, the assistant stage - manager 
 came out to get a drink. One man 
 in the crowd knew him, and stopped him. 
 
 * Any chance ?' he asked. 
 
 • No earthly,' was the reply. * It's not 
 a bit of good you ladies and gentlemen 
 waiting. Everything's full up.' 
 
'RESTING' 95 
 
 The weary and depressed little crowd 
 broke up, and the members went their 
 various ways. 
 
 Frank bit his lip, and turned to go too ; 
 but in his desperation an idea came to 
 him. He had heard that the author of 
 the play was a good fellow, who saw 
 everybody, and wasn't rude or brusque 
 to anybody. He would go round to 
 the front and see the author. He knew 
 by experience that the stage-door ' Every- 
 thing full up * is often only an excuse 
 to get rid of the little uninvited crowd, 
 and that now and again there are small 
 parts being kept open until the author 
 and the manager can find the person to 
 suit them. 
 
 So Frank went round into Oxford Street, 
 and, going up to the box-office, asked if 
 his card could be sent through to Mr. 
 
 Before he could be answered, the author 
 himself came through, talking to the 
 manager. 
 
 ' I'm just going out to get something 
 to eat,' he said to the box-office-keeper. 
 
96 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 * Back in a quarter of an hour, if anybody 
 wants me.' 
 
 Frank EUerton knew the author by 
 sight, and he stepped boldly forward. 
 
 * I beg your pardon,' he said, • but 
 if there are any parts ' 
 
 ' Parts, eh ? — parts ?* replied the author, 
 looking the actor up and down. * Awfully 
 sorry, old fellow, everything gone.* 
 
 ' I wouldn't mind a small part,' said 
 Frank, * if I could understudy.' 
 
 The author thought a minute. He was 
 a sympathetic man, and there was a look 
 in Frank's face that told its tale to the 
 experienced eye. 
 
 'Well, I don't think there's anything,' 
 he said. * But I must go now. Dash it ! 
 I've hardly a minute to spare. Wait here 
 till I come back, and I'll see if I can do 
 anything for you.' 
 
 And then he went off quickly to join 
 the manager, who was waiting in the 
 doorway. 
 
 Frank's spirits rose. After all, there 
 might be a chance, and it would be London. 
 
' RESTING ' 97 
 
 It was half-past two when the author 
 went out. Frank, determined not to miss 
 him, waited at the front-door. He 
 waited half an hour — an hour — and still 
 no author appeared. He waited two 
 hours, knowing that authors occasionally 
 sit down and smoke after eating, and let 
 the rehearsal go on for a bit without them. 
 But when it came to five o'clock, he 
 thought he would make inquiries. So 
 he went round to the stage-door. The 
 author might have gone in that way. He 
 had, but he had only stayed an hour, and 
 the rehearsal was now over for the day. 
 
 At eleven the next morning Frank was 
 at the theatre. He waited at the stage- 
 door, because he was told Mr. — '• — always 
 came in that way. 
 
 The author drove up in a cab, and 
 Frank was on to him in a moment. 
 
 * I met you yesterday,' he said. 
 
 * Did you ? Ah ! Where ? What 
 about?' asked the author, feeling in his 
 pocket for the silver for his cab. 
 
 ' You told me to wait' 
 
 7 
 
98 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 ' Eh ! Did I ? Of course ; I remember 
 now. Awfully sorry. Let's see, what 
 was it you wanted ?' 
 
 • A part.' 
 
 ' Ah ! a part. Well, I believe every- 
 thing really is full, but there's just a doubt 
 about one. Wait here for ten minutes and 
 I'll see the manager.' 
 
 Frank EUerton waited an hour. Then, 
 worked up to desperation, he rushed wildly 
 along the passage, pulled open the swing- 
 door at the end, and walked on to the 
 stage. 
 
 The author was standing in front of the 
 T piece, evidently in a bad temper. The 
 stage-manager was walking up and down, 
 also evidently in a bad temper. The 
 leading lady was putting on her hat, and 
 looking in the dark corners for her parasol. 
 She also was very evidently in a bad 
 temper. 
 
 The stage-manager suddenly left off 
 walking up and down and faced the 
 leading lady. 
 
 ' Come, Miss ,' he said, ' do be 
 
' RESTING 99 
 
 reasonable. This is the third time you've 
 thrown up the part, and it's getting silly- 
 Are you going to play it or not ?' 
 
 • Certainly not. Never — I'd die first ! 
 I won't be spoken to like a schoolgirl, and 
 I do know my words, and if I don't, I 
 shall — I — I — I'm not a parrot, I'm an 
 actress.' 
 
 ' My dear girl, you promised three 
 days ago to come letter-perfect' 
 
 ' So I am — at least, I was yesterday. 
 It's the constant alteration of the business 
 — ^it puts everything out of my head.' 
 
 The author, who had been working 
 himself up, now let himself go. 
 
 ' Mr. ,' he shouted to the stage- 
 manager, * please dismiss the rehearsal. 
 We can't keep these ladies and gentlemen 
 
 here wasting their time while Miss 
 
 lectures the management. I'm sick of it ! 
 Good-morning.' 
 
 The company looked black. The stage- 
 manager knitted his brows; the leading 
 lady sank into a chair and began to sob 
 hysterically ; and the author, banging his 
 
 7—2 
 
loo WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 hat on his head, strode towards the stage- 
 door. 
 
 Suddenly he came face to face with 
 Frank Ellerton, who was wondering 
 whether he could speak now. 
 
 The author stared. 
 
 ' Good Lord ! man,' he said, * am I to 
 be pursued by you everywhere ? Dash it I 
 I shall find you sitting on my doorstep 
 presently.' 
 
 * But, Mr. , you told me ' 
 
 • Oh, go to Jericho !' yelled the enraged 
 author, as he strode off. 
 
 And poor Frank Ellerton, knowing that 
 his chance at the Princess's was now 
 entirely lost, didn't go to Jericho, but back 
 to his lonely lodgings, wondering whether 
 a header over Waterloo Bridge wouldn't 
 be the best way out of his trouble after all. 
 « ^ « ^ « 
 
 Frank Ellerton sat in the little room he 
 rented in a street off Soho Square. His 
 head was buried in his hands and his 
 elbows were on his knees. 
 
 Things were getting desperate. He had 
 
'RESTING' loi 
 
 kept a little money to pay his rent, but 
 there were several things he wanted, and 
 he was weak and hungry. His landlady 
 supphed him with tea and bread-and- 
 butter in the morning, but he had to 
 
 * dine out.* He had, until the money 
 began to run down, * dined 'at a little 
 shop round the corner, where the buns 
 were particularly indigestible. But even 
 after two buns he felt a craving for food 
 before bedtime. He tried scones and 
 found them more substantial — after scones 
 it took him longer to get hungry again. 
 
 But lately he had made a great discovery. 
 He had found a shop in Tottenham Court 
 Road where you could get three oatmeal 
 cakes and a pat of butter for twopence. 
 These oatmeal cakes were more filling 
 than anything he had yet tried, and for 
 several days past they had furnished his 
 
 * dinner.* 
 
 He had * dined * before coming back to 
 his room. When he got in there was a 
 letter for him on the hall table. 
 
 It was from his sweetheart. It was a 
 
102 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 sad, sweet little letter, but it cut the young 
 actor to the heart. It was three months 
 since he had seen his poor little girl. 
 Heaven knew when he would see her 
 again ! 
 
 As to marrying, that seemed farther ofF 
 than ever. How could he ever hope to 
 marry and keep a wife ? If he got an 
 engagement now and then, these awful 
 weeks between without a farthing of money 
 left him penniless, often in debt. 
 
 This is no romance, no invention of a 
 story-writer ; it is a page torn from the 
 book of theatrical life. The position of 
 the small-salaried actor, who is entirely 
 dependent on his profession, and has no 
 relatives who can make a home for him 
 while he is * walking about,' is often an 
 absolutely painful one. It is no question 
 of talent, industry, or sobriety. The best 
 and the worst have constantly to face the 
 * out of a shop ' difficulty, and to live and 
 eat and dress like ladies and gentlemen on 
 nothing a week. 
 
 If once an actor or an actress begins 
 
'RESTING' 103 
 
 to let their ' hard-upness ' show, they 
 are materially injuring their prospects. 
 No matter how painfully the shoe may 
 pinch, they must keep a bright face, 
 and carry themselves with a jaunty air, 
 and to their comrades, and the managers, 
 and the agents they must convey the 
 impression that the world is going well 
 with them. 
 
 Frank Ellerton sat down that evening 
 and wrote a heartbroken letter to his 
 sweetheart. Then he read it, and the 
 tears ran down his cheeks ; but he deter- 
 mined that they should not run down 
 hers, so he tore it up again, and, flinging 
 himself down on his knees, prayed to God 
 to have mercy on him, and show him one 
 ray of light in the darkness that compassed 
 him in. 
 
 #Jb Jb J^ Jb 
 
 TP W W W 
 
 The next morning he went, heavy- 
 hearted, to the agent's. He had no hope 
 of anything, but he went. The rooms 
 were all full, and the faces of the artists 
 were nearly as long as his own. All the 
 
I04 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 tours were filled, so the agent said, and 
 there was nothing new coming on in 
 London until September, except the 
 Princess's, and there the cast was com- 
 plete. 
 
 Frank took a look round the room, 
 chatted for a moment with one or two of 
 the people he knew, and then turned to 
 go downstairs again. As he reached the 
 door he ran up against, and nearly knocked 
 over, a gentleman who was coming in. 
 
 * Well, I'm hanged !' exclaimed the 
 gentleman, picking up his hat, which 
 had been knocked off in the collision. 
 
 It was the Princess's author. 
 
 Frank apologized, but the author 
 laughed. 
 
 ' It's fate,' he said. * I'm bound to 
 have you ; there's no getting away from 
 you. Where were you last ?' 
 
 * I played Jim Halibird in * A Man's 
 Revenge,' said Frank eagerly, ' and before 
 that I played ' 
 
 ' Oh, all right ; I think you'll do,' 
 said the author. * You look like the 
 
'RESTING' 105 
 
 part that's wanted. The chap who's 
 rehearsed it till now has found something 
 better, and left us in the lurch. Come 
 along ; jump into this cab with me, and 
 I'll take you back. You'll rehearse on 
 approval, I suppose ?' 
 
 Frank Ellerton dared not refuse a 
 chance, so he agreed to the author's 
 suggestion. He rehearsed excellently, 
 and his engagement was settled for the 
 run of the piece. 
 
 The piece was a success, and one night 
 Frank, who understudied the villain, got 
 his chance, and scored heavily. 
 
 To-day he is in receipt of an excellent 
 salary, and his name is rarely absent from 
 the London bills. 
 
 And he has married his sweetheart. 
 
 *4U J^ Jj^ ^ 
 
 W W TP TP 
 
 All the actors who have to face the 
 fearful ordeal of * resting ' arc not so 
 fortunate as Frank Ellerton. 
 
 Many of them, after getting to the end 
 of their resources, are reduced to some- 
 thing even less satisfying than oatmeal 
 
io6 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 biscuits, and have to part with portions 
 of their wardrobe until their chance 
 comes, and they once more know the 
 blessed word ' Treasury.' 
 
 Even then, with many a good, hard- 
 working artist, the trouble is not over. 
 You may, after being out for several 
 weeks, get an engagement at a London 
 theatre, give three weeks' rehearsal, and 
 find yourself out of a shop again at the 
 very worst time of the year, owing to the 
 play in which you were engaged failing 
 to attract the public. 
 
 When the * improvidence ' of the pro- 
 fession is made a text on which to hang a 
 sermon, I often wonder how the preachers 
 would manage to be provident themselves 
 on a six weeks' * rest,' three weeks' re- 
 hearsal without salary, a fortnight's run, 
 and then another * rest ' of five or six 
 weeks. You can't save much out of a 
 fortnight's salary when you have to spread 
 it over sixteen weeks ! I couldn't. 
 
VII 
 
 JONAH 
 
 There are men and women in the 
 theatrical profession, admirable actors and 
 actresses, who have an unenviable reputa- 
 tion. They are acknowledged to be care- 
 ful, conscientious artists, and some of them 
 never play a part without getting excellent 
 notices. 
 
 But when the manager of a theatre 
 discusses with the author the casting of 
 a new play, and the name of one of these 
 artists is mentioned, there is always 
 hesitancy, and in nine cases out of ten 
 the name is dismissed from further con- 
 sideration. 
 
 Two of the most artistic actors who 
 have trodden the English stage during the 
 
io8 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 last quarter of a century are known as 
 Jonahs to the entire profession. 
 
 Neither of them ever played a part 
 badly in his life, and some of their imper- 
 sonations have been hailed by the press 
 as triumphs of histrionic art. But at the 
 reading of a new play, when the company 
 sit around in chairs like Christy Minstrels, 
 and listen to the nervous author en- 
 deavouring to act all the parts himself, 
 and to give to each a distinct characteriza- 
 tion, you would generally find that if 
 either of the * Jonahs ' had been present, 
 the actors and actresses were anything but 
 sanguine of success. 
 
 ' It's a good play,' Brown would say, 
 
 * and it might have a chance, but is 
 
 in it. That's quite enough to ruin it.' 
 
 If a young man not versed in theatrical 
 superstition asked why should handi- 
 cap a play to the point of failure, he would 
 be enlightened in this way : 
 
 *Why, dear boy, because no play that 
 he acts in ever makes a red cent, for the 
 management. I've known him for twelve 
 
JONAH 109 
 
 years, and I've never known him in a big 
 go yet' 
 
 * Then why is he engaged ?* 
 
 * Because he's such a fine artist — because 
 there isn't an actor breathing who could 
 play the part he's cast for like him. But 
 it's no good. You mark my words, the 
 play won't run a month.' 
 
 The * Jonah ' idea is one of the strongest 
 of stage superstitions. It has as many 
 adherents as the association of bad luck 
 with peacocks' feathers. 
 
 I have heard managers who write about 
 the drama in high-class reviews, and lecture 
 on the drama before grave and reverend 
 assemblies, say of an admirable artist who 
 
 was a Jonah, * Engage ! I wouldn't 
 
 have him in my theatre if he'd pay me 
 fifty pounds a week.' 
 
 So much by way of introduction, which 
 
 is the preface to the story of a theatrical 
 
 Jonah whom I once knew intimately. 
 
 The last green curtain hides him now 
 
 from the eyes of the world for ever, and 
 
 so nothing that I write can give him pain. 
 # # * # # 
 
no WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 * Billy ' Bertram was a low comedian 
 and a general favourite in theatrical circles 
 from three in the afternoon until six, and 
 from twelve o'clock at night until three in 
 the morning. 
 
 In the Strand, at the Gaiety bar, at the 
 theatrical clubs, everybody thought him 
 the funniest fellow in the world. When 
 he entered the club-room after the shows 
 there was always a chorus of welcome. 
 Actors always spoke of him as the best of 
 good fellows. 
 
 But when I first made Billy's acquaint- 
 ance his popularity was already dormant 
 between the hours of seven and eleven in 
 the evening. None of his brother pro- 
 fessionals were anxious for the pleasure of 
 his company on the stage. He had slowly 
 but surely acquired the reputation of being 
 a Jonah. 
 
 I saw him play in several short engage- 
 ments in the days before his reputation 
 had quite solidified. He was admirable in 
 his part, and convulsed the scanty audience 
 with laughter. The Times gave him 
 
JONAH III 
 
 twenty lines to himself. Clement Scott, 
 in the Daily Telegraph, wrote about him 
 so enthusiastically, that Billy cut the 
 notice out and stuck it on cardboard, and 
 put it in an envelope and carried it about 
 with him ever afterwards. 
 
 Oh the times I saw that notice pro- 
 duced in the months that followed Billy's 
 last engagement ! * There,' he would say, 
 * that's what Scott says of me ! That ought 
 to be good enough, oughtn't it ? and yet 
 I can't get an engagement.' 
 
 I don't think poor Billy Bertram ever 
 understood the reason of his &ilure to 
 secure a part in any of the new produc- 
 tions. From the conversation in the club, 
 and by reading the theatrical papers, he 
 knew of everything that was coming on, 
 and he used to interview the author and 
 the management, and write letters and 
 refer to his notices and do all that mortal 
 man could do, but the answer was in- 
 variably the same, ' Very sorry ; the only 
 part that would suit you is already 
 filled.' 
 
112 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 In those days I was thrown into frequent 
 contact with Billy, and he made a confidant 
 of me. He told me how things were 
 getting with him, and as he knew that 
 I had a good deal of influence in a certain 
 theatre for which I had written two or 
 three plays, he begged me to speak to the 
 manager on his behalf at the first oppor- 
 tunity. 
 
 The opportunity occurred. A new 
 drama was about to be produced ; there 
 was a character in it which Billy could 
 play splendidly. 
 
 I called on the manager and asked him 
 to give Bertram a chance. 
 
 ' Poor old Billy !' was the reply ; 
 * nothing would give me greater pleasure 
 than to do him a good turn, but I daren't 
 risk it — he's such an awful Jonah.' 
 
 * He's had the bad luck to be in several 
 non-successes,' I said, • but that's not his 
 fault. If the play is good, an actor's luck, 
 or whatever you like to call it, doesn't 
 interfere with its prospects.' 
 
 ' I don't know,' replied the manager. 
 
JONAH 113 
 
 who was then, and is still, one of our 
 most popular actors. * Some of the plays 
 Billy was in were not at all bad.' 
 
 • I don't believe in your " Jonah " idea,* 
 I said. * When a good play fails it is 
 because there is a combination of circum- 
 stances against it. Some of these plays 
 that ought to have been successes were 
 produced at unlucky houses.' 
 
 'Why say "unlucky houses" if you 
 don't believe in " Jonahs "? Surely, if a 
 theatre can bring ill-luck an actor can. If 
 Billy's hard up, and he'll have a benefit, 
 I'll go in with pleasure and do all that I 
 can ; but I'm not going to risk the success 
 of my new production by having him in 
 it. Why, the minute he walked on to the 
 stage the hearts of the entire company 
 would go down in their boots.' 
 
 I went back to the excellent low 
 comedian with the reputation of being ' a 
 child of misfortune,' and told him that I 
 had failed. A day or two afterwards I 
 broached the other subject. 
 
 * Billy,' I said, * you have had bad luck 
 
 8 
 
114 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 lately. Why don't you let us get you up 
 a benefit ?* 
 
 Billy Bertram shook his head. * I want 
 the money, goodness knows,' he said ; * but 
 I don't like the idea. I'm only just forty 
 — I've always pleased my managers and 
 my public — I've had magnificent notices. 
 Look at the one Scott gave me. I don't 
 want a benefit. I want an engagement.' 
 
 * But, after all, a benefit will be a help 
 to you — and it will bring you before the 
 public again.' 
 
 * Yes, it will do that, but in what way ? 
 I shall be advertising the fact to the world 
 that I cannot get an engagement, that 
 nobody wants me as an artist, and so they 
 are giving me something out of charity. 
 No ; if I were ill — ^if I had met with an 
 accident — the benefit would be all right; 
 but a benefit to an actor because he can't 
 get anything to do is a benefit which 
 means the end of his professional career. 
 I'll rub on as I can, and hope for the luck 
 to change.* 
 
 And so Billy rubbed on, and in the 
 
JONAH 115 
 
 process a good deal of Billy rubbed off. 
 He began to look rather shabby, and his 
 face fell away, and there came a look into 
 his eyes that was not pleasant to see. 
 
 He turned up at the club still in the 
 afternoons, and men stood him drinks and 
 handed him their cigar-cases, but it never 
 occurred to anyone to ask him to eat. 
 
 But one day a remarkable thing hap- 
 pened. A new play was in rehearsal at a 
 theatre in the Strand. Billy, as usual, had 
 applied to the management for a part with- 
 out success. Three days before the date 
 announced for the first production the low 
 comedian put his kneecap out at rehearsal, 
 and had to be taken home. The doctor, 
 who was sent for at once, ordered him to 
 bed, and informed him that he would pro- 
 bably be unable to use the injured knee for 
 several weeks. 
 
 The management was in a fix. Some- 
 body suggested Billy Bertram ; he was a 
 quick study, and the part would fit him 
 like a glove. 
 
 The manager hesitated. Billy was so 
 
 8—2 
 
n6 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 unlucky; but there didn't happen to be 
 anybody good available at the moment, 
 and so Billy was sent for, engaged, and 
 given the part. 
 
 When the name of William Bertram 
 wzs inserted in the day-bills and the ad- 
 vertisements clever people shook their 
 heads. 
 
 * That w^on't run long,' they said ; * poor 
 old Billy Bertram's in it* 
 
 But the company had convinced them- 
 selves that the play was actor-proof. 
 Everybody shrieked at rehearsals, and on 
 the night of the dress rehearsal the band 
 was in convulsions. 
 
 When the band laughs at the dress re- 
 hearsal the actors go home happy, and 
 the author begins to buy house property 
 with his fees. 
 
 Billy came into the club after the last 
 rehearsal jubilant. He looked ten years 
 younger. The lines had gone from his 
 face, and in a moment of forgetfulness he 
 ordered his own drink. 
 
 He was full of the new play. The 
 
JONAH 117 
 
 situations were magnificent, the lines 
 sparkled with epigram ; his own part was 
 terrific. If it wasn't a big go he would 
 eat his head. 
 
 The pky was produced, and in some 
 extraordinary way it fizzled. Nobody 
 could quite understand why. It ought to 
 have been a success. The critics and the 
 regular first-nighters, talking to each other 
 between the acts, all agreed that with 
 ordinary luck the play ought to have a 
 run. But one or two awkward things 
 happened. In the first act a looking-glass 
 fell and put people's nerves wrong. In 
 the second act, just as a situation had been 
 worked up to, there was a stage wait, 
 and then that terrible person, the gallery 
 wit, took hold of an unfortunate line (one 
 of those questions tempting a rude reply, 
 which the careful dramatist cuts out the 
 moment it strikes his ear), and made a 
 remark which caused the whole audience 
 to scream with laughter in the wrong 
 place. 
 
 At the fall of the curtain there was no 
 
ii8 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 opposition, but the author, who had been 
 upset, had left the house, and when he 
 was called did not appear ; and the 
 manager, instead of coming on quickly 
 and explaining matters, rushed about after 
 him, and so the people stopped applauding 
 and went out. 
 
 The notices the next day were sympa- 
 thetic. The critics tried to account for 
 the play not having hit the bull's-eye, and 
 didn't do it any good in the process. But 
 everybody agreed that Billy Bertram had 
 played splendidly. 
 
 * How is it,' asked Mr. Joseph Knight, 
 in the Ghbe, * that we so rarely have an 
 opportunity of seeing this excellent come- 
 dian V ' Had all the actors attacked their 
 scenes with the same dash and go as 
 Mr. Bertram,' said Mr. Moy Thomas, in 
 the Daily News, ' the success of the play 
 would never have been in doubt for a 
 moment.' 
 
 Some of the actors came on to the club 
 after the performance. They were not 
 enthusiastic. Billy Bertram was elated 
 
JONAH 119 
 
 with his own success. An actor always 
 knows when he has held and pleased his 
 audience ; if there are only two people in 
 the theatre, and they are at the back of 
 the pit, he knows whether he has *got 
 them ' or has failed to ' get them.' Billy 
 was sure he had made a personal success, 
 but about the play he had to confess that 
 he was doubtful. It hadn't gone as it 
 ought to have done. The accident with 
 the looking-glass had upset everybody, to 
 begin with, and the stage wait had made 
 matters worse, but he thought when it 
 played closer it would work up into a 
 success. 
 
 But the other actors shook their heads. 
 They didn't think it would turn out a 'goer.' 
 
 One of them left early. He was going 
 my way, and I walked with him. 
 
 * What do you think is the matter with 
 the play ?' I asked. 
 
 * Think !' exclaimed the actor ve- 
 hemently. * It doesn't want any thinking. 
 
 How could it be a success with that d 
 
 Jonah, Billy Bertram, in it ?' 
 
120 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 The play, of which there had been such 
 great expectations, ran a month to in- 
 different houses ; then the manager, having 
 nothing else ready, revived an old success 
 of the theatre, and the receipts went up by 
 leaps and bounds. 
 
 Poor Billy had expended his month's 
 salary in a new outfit and the payment of 
 certain arrears of rent at his lodgings, and 
 when he was once more on ' the walking 
 list * he was as hard up as ever. 
 
 ' Dash it all !' he said, with something 
 very like tears in his eyes, * I did think I'd 
 got into a success at last.' 
 
 The at last was eloquent. It was the 
 justification of all that his brother pro- 
 fessionals had said about the ill-luck which 
 always associated itself with him in the 
 theatre. 
 
 #jf. 4^ 4t 4t 
 
 ^ TT <r "B* 
 
 For twelve months Billy Bertram tried 
 in vain for another engagement. The last 
 failure had been talked about more than 
 any other. His reputation as a Jonah was 
 now absolute and complete. If you 
 
JONAH 121 
 
 suggested his name to a manager, the 
 manager made certain cabalistic signs 
 which are supposed to ward ofF the 
 powers of the Evil One. 
 
 Towards the end of the year, I found 
 Billy alone one night in the club. He 
 was terribly depressed, and I sympathized 
 with him. In a moment of expansion he 
 told me how terribly the shoe was 
 pinching. 
 
 He had relatives who had helped him a 
 little, and with this he had managed at 
 first to pay the rent of his rooms, but now 
 he had fallen hopelessly in arrears. The 
 house where he lodged was kept by two 
 dear old maiden ladies, and they had been 
 goodness itself. 
 
 * Every morning,' said Billy, * they send 
 me up a cup of tea and a plate of bread- 
 and-butter, and they wait patiently for the 
 rent, but I can't go on imposing on the 
 dear good-natured old souls. They'd 
 never turn me out, I know ; but I must 
 go — I'm ashamed of myself that I've stayed 
 so long.' 
 
122 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 ' What are you going to do ?* I 
 asked. 
 
 ' Goodness knows ! Anything to give 
 me a bed and the day's food, and enough 
 to pay the old ladies.' 
 
 ' Are you going to give up the profes- 
 sion ?' I said. 
 
 Billy looked at me with astonishment. 
 * Give it up ? — the profession ?' he ex- 
 claimed. * I shan't have to — the profession 
 has given me up !' 
 
 That was the last day any of us saw 
 Billy Bertram at the club, or in the 
 Strand, or at any of his old haunts. He 
 ' dropped out,' and was gradually for- 
 gotten. 
 
 ***** 
 
 A long time afterwards I was passing 
 through the Borough on a Saturday night, 
 and the name of * Theo. Bertram ' caught 
 my eyes over the top of a small under- 
 taker's shop. 
 
 I remembered Billy telling me that he 
 had a brother named Theophilus, and that 
 he was in the black business. 
 
JONAH 123 
 
 I thought I might hear news of my old 
 friend, so I stepped into the shop and 
 asked if Mr. Bertram was in. The assis- 
 tant went into a back office or parlour — I 
 don't know which it was — and the under- 
 taker came out. He was dressed in his 
 professional black, and had a heavy brown 
 beard and whiskers, which almost covered 
 his face. 
 
 I thought he started a little when he saw 
 me, but I put that down to my imagination. 
 
 * I beg your pardon,' I said, ' but I am 
 inquiring after someone of your name. 
 Did you ever have a brother named 
 William ?' 
 
 The undertaker smiled, hesitated, and 
 then held out his hand. * I am William,* 
 he said ; ' come into the office.' 
 
 In the office my old friend Billy ex- 
 plained how it was I found him playing 
 such a novel character for a low comedian. 
 
 When he gave up the stage he went to 
 his brother, and his brother, who was then 
 ill, said that he might assist him in the 
 business if he liked, and he would give 
 
124 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 him what he could afford. Billy hesitated 
 for a little at first, but he had no choice, 
 and finally he accepted. He soon got the 
 ' hang of the thing,' as he called it, and 
 when his brother died he kept the connec- 
 tion together, and went into partnership 
 with his brother's widow. 
 
 ' But keep it dark, old chap,' he said. 
 * If it got about it would ruin the business. 
 We don't do a high-class trade, but even 
 the customers round here wouldn't like the 
 idea of being buried by a low comedian.' 
 
 A year or two ago I heard that Billy 
 had followed his brother to the grave, and 
 that the business had been sold, and was 
 carried on under another name. 
 
 It is not often that a clever comedian, 
 through the persistent ill-luck which 
 follows him, has to turn undertaker. But 
 when you get the reputation in the pro- 
 fession of being a Jonah you never know 
 what you will come to. 
 
VIII 
 
 THE JOINT ENGAGEMENT 
 
 Grant Aston was a leading man, and his 
 wife was a leading lady. They had played 
 together in the best West-End theatres, 
 and had commanded big salaries. Theirs 
 was a love-match ; for Grant had fallen 
 madly in love with pretty Kate Barton in 
 the days when marriage between them was 
 impossible. 
 
 Grant Aston, a handsome young actor 
 of thirty, the admired exponent of the 
 brave young heroes of West-End melo- 
 drama, had in his foolish youth made an 
 unhappy marriage. He had discovered, 
 when it was too late, that his profession 
 was utterly repugnant to the woman who 
 had promised at the altar to love, honour. 
 
126 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 and obey him. Mrs. Aston had not only 
 no sympathy with her husband's art, 
 but she was intensely jealous, and on one 
 or two occasions caused the utmost annoy- 
 ance by exhibiting her failing in public, 
 and taking no pains to conceal from the 
 astonished company the identity of the 
 actress of whom she was jealous. 
 
 There was not the slightest foundation 
 for the wife's suspicions. The young 
 actress whom Mrs. Aston pointedly attacked 
 was a lady of the highest reputation, and 
 the gentleman to whom she was engaged 
 was present at the gathering at which the 
 outrage took place. 
 
 Grant Aston, shamed and humiliated, 
 and burning with indignation, publicly 
 apologized to the lady and hex fiance ; then, 
 taking his wife by the arm, dragged her 
 from the room. 
 
 The next day he went to the manager 
 of the theatre and begged him to accept 
 his resignation. After what had taken 
 place he felt that it would be cowardly of 
 him to remain the leading man in a theatre 
 
THE JOINT ENGAGEMENT 127 
 
 in which the leading lady was the actress 
 whom his wife had so grossly insulted. 
 
 He did not mention the matter again to 
 his wife, for he refused to speak to her. 
 The wife brooded over the matter, but 
 would not try and convince herself that 
 she had made a mistake. In her self- 
 inflicted misery she gave way to a habit 
 which she had previously developed, and 
 became a hard drinker. One night Aston 
 came home from the club and found his 
 wife was not in the house. 
 
 He sat up for her, and at one o'clock 
 in the morning a knock came at the door. 
 When Grant Aston opened it he found 
 himself face to face with a policeman, 
 who informed him that a lady who said 
 she was Mrs. Grant Aston, and had given 
 Mr. Aston's house as her address, had 
 been taken to the police-station, charged 
 with being drunk and disorderly in the 
 streets. 
 
 Grant Aston went to the station, 
 obtained his wife's release, and brought 
 her home. But the charge had been 
 
128 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 entered, and she had to appear the follow- 
 ing morning at the police-court. 
 
 The case got into the papers, and every- 
 body sympathized with the actor. He 
 paid the fine imposed upon his wife, took 
 her home, and begged her seriously to con- 
 sider the situation. If she would promise 
 to reform, he was prepared to forget the 
 past, and to do everything in his power 
 as a husband to restore domestic peace. 
 
 The woman cried hysterically, and 
 promised ; but from that day she became 
 a confirmed drunkard, and after six months 
 of misery Grant Aston made her an allow- 
 ance, separated from her, and accepted a 
 professional engagement in the United 
 States. 
 
 He was absent for a year. On his 
 return he reappeared at the West End, and 
 then his troubles began again. Night 
 after night a woman in a state of maudlin 
 drunkenness endeavoured to force her way 
 past the stage-door-keeper, explaining that 
 she was Mrs. Grant Aston, and she wanted 
 to see her blackguard of a husband. 
 
THE JOINT ENGAGEMENT 129 
 
 The stage-door-keeper, who knew some- 
 thing of the actor's domestic troubles, 
 refused to admit her, and so she waited 
 outside and made the little court ring 
 again with her abuse of the man whose 
 name she bore. 
 
 The stage hands and the people who 
 pass in and out of a stage-door during the 
 performance listened and were edified, and 
 brought back the story to the theatre, and 
 it quickly spread through the company. 
 Everybody pitied Aston, and when the 
 actors and actresses went out after the per- 
 formance, and were accosted by this woman, 
 they refused to stay and listen to her. 
 
 Grant Aston himself, warned of the fate 
 that awaited him, went out through the 
 front of the house. 
 
 But that sort of thing couldn't go on for 
 long. It became a nuisance to the people 
 at the theatre, and Grant Aston grew 
 desperate. The position for him was one 
 of ghastly humiliation. He must either 
 take some energetic means to stop the 
 persecution or give up his profession. 
 
 9 
 
I30 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 To know night after night while you 
 are acting that a drunken woman, who 
 loudly proclaims herself your wife, is 
 causing a disturbance and making an un- 
 seemly exhibition of herself at the stage- 
 door is utterly disastrous to your nerves 
 and your peace of mind. 
 
 One night Grant Aston, goaded almost 
 to madness by the woman's persistent 
 annoyance, rushed out of the stage-door 
 between the acts and fiercely ordered his 
 wife to go away or he would give her in 
 custody. 
 
 The woman replied by striking him 
 heavily across the face with her umbrella. 
 
 The curtain had to be kept down for 
 ten minutes longer than usual while the 
 actor's face was made presentable to the 
 audience. 
 
 But he was unable to play at all^ and 
 the understudy went on. The understudy 
 played all the week, and then the actor, 
 whose nerves were thoroughly unstrung, 
 finding himself unable to face the ordeal 
 of the persistent persecution, once more 
 
THE JOINT ENGAGEMENT 131 
 
 resigned his position, and remained out of 
 an engagement. 
 
 But matters were becoming desperate. 
 Unless he did something his professional 
 career in town was at an end. 
 
 He consulted a solicitor, who gave him 
 excellent worldly advice. A watch was 
 kept upon the movements of Mrs. Grant 
 Aston, and eventually the actor obtained a 
 divorce and was a free man. 
 
 The woman's position was altered, and 
 if she annoyed him or interfered with him 
 in any way, there need not be the slightest 
 hesitation in appealing to the law. 
 
 The woman appreciated the altered 
 circumstances sufficiently to keep away 
 from the theatre of an evening, but she 
 devoted her extra time to the worship of 
 Bacchus, and twelve months after the 
 divorce proceedings she died of alcoholic 
 poisoning. 
 
 Six months later Grant Aston married 
 the lady with whom for the last two years 
 he had been in love — charming Kate 
 Barton, an actress who had been on the 
 
 9—2 
 
132 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 boards from her childhood, and who was 
 one of the most delightful comediennes on 
 the English stage. 
 
 After their marriage Mr. and Mrs. Aston 
 always acted together. They sought for 
 and easily obtained joint engagements, 
 and their salary was one which enabled 
 them to live in excellent style. But 
 neither of them was particularly young 
 when they married. Grant was thirty- 
 three, and his wife was twenty-eight. 
 
 Some actors are young at fifty ; some 
 actresses retain their youthful figure and 
 appearance to long past forty. Fate was 
 not so kind to the Astons. The public 
 taste changed, and the husband's pro- 
 nounced style became old-fashioned. The 
 years went on, and the wife lost the slim- 
 ness and the gracefulness which are required 
 for the heroines of both domestic drama 
 and comedy. 
 
 Then came the first trouble. The 
 Astons found a difficulty in getting a 
 joint engagement. Grant might have had 
 a good part still in certain plays, but in 
 
THE JOINT ENGAGEMENT 133 
 
 these there was no part for his wife now 
 she could no longer play the leading r61e. 
 She could have had engagements for certain 
 matronly parts, but the managers did not 
 want her husband. 
 
 The Astons had had joint engagements 
 in leading business for so long that they 
 looked upon it as a slight that they should 
 be offered anything else, and they refused 
 at first to separate. 
 
 But eventually, after being out of the 
 bills for a year, they found that salary is 
 a considerable aid to housekeeping. Then 
 London engagements were no longer 
 offered them. They could go on tour, 
 but not together. 
 
 Now, for a husband and wife to accept 
 engagements in two different touring 
 companies means a very long separation 
 indeed. I have known a loving husband 
 in the profession who only caught sight 
 of his devoted wife once in ten months, 
 and that was at a railway-station. At 
 Derby they had ten minutes together, and 
 then they separated, only to meet again 
 
134 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 for two days in London before they went 
 to their pantomime engagements, one for 
 ten weeks to Liverpool, and the other for 
 eight weeks to Plymouth. 
 
 Immediately the pantomimes were over 
 their tours began again, and after one day 
 together at Brighton — they had no time to 
 get to London, where their home was — 
 they parted, not to meet again for five 
 months more. 
 
 That is how married life frequently 
 arranges itself in the profession, when the 
 husband and wife are on the stage, and in 
 constant work. There is a holiday in the 
 summer, and then there is an opportunity 
 for domesticity ; but if the couple are in 
 highly successful plays the summer holiday 
 does not commence till the end of June, 
 and it finishes at the end of July. 
 
 The Astons refused the ofi^er of separate 
 engagements on tour because they were 
 still in love with each other, and to be 
 parted would mean misery for both of 
 them. 
 
 It was foolish — under the circumstances 
 
THE JOINT ENGAGEMENT 135 
 
 it was insane — but it happened. There 
 are many things in the professional 
 temperament which do not at once ex- 
 plain themselves to the cold logic of the 
 commercial mind. 
 
 I have known an actor harassed for 
 money refuse an engagement because the 
 terms offered were less than those he had 
 been in the habit of receiving. His idea 
 was that, if he once played for a lower 
 salary, he would never get back to his old 
 position again, and that would mean that 
 his value as an artist was decreasing. 
 
 The Astons remained obstinate, until 
 from a position of ease and comfort they 
 had descended to one of straitened means. 
 Then came a ray of hope. An Australian 
 manager came to London in search of 
 novelties and artists. Grant Aston had the 
 offer of the Australian rights of a play 
 which he thought would suit himself and 
 his wife. He saw the Australian manager, 
 and the manager engaged to tour them and 
 star them in Australia. He went back 
 after arranging preliminaries, promising to 
 
136 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 cable them when to start, and to send them 
 a draft for their passage out. 
 
 The Astons sold up their house and 
 paid their creditors, and moved into 
 lodgings. In the lodgings they patiently 
 waited for the cable and the remittance, 
 and neither came. 
 
 Things were growing desperate — how 
 desperate only their most intimate friends 
 were ever allowed to guess, for Grant 
 Aston went about with a brave face, and 
 held his head high before his comrades. 
 
 Once only he broke down badly, and 
 that was when on Christmas morning he 
 called at the house of a friend. The 
 children of the house were playing with 
 their presents, and one of them said, 
 ' Oh, but you should see the lovely present 
 that papa has given mamma. What have 
 you given Mrs. Aston for Christmas ?' 
 
 It was only a chance question, but it 
 brought the tears to the eyes of Grant 
 Aston — great big tears which could not be 
 restrained, but flowed down his cheeks. 
 The father of the children came in and 
 
THE JOINT ENGAGEMENT 137 
 
 saw the tears, and afterwards, when the 
 truth was known, he understood them. 
 
 Another month of waiting went by, 
 and the Astons had parted with every- 
 thing but the luggage they would have 
 to take with them if they went to Australia. 
 
 But the cable came at last. It was 
 short and to the purpose : 
 
 * Regret cannot arrange tour.* 
 
 * * * m * 
 
 An old friend of the Astons heard one 
 morning at the Savage Club that the 
 Australian engagement upon which they 
 had been relying had not come off. He 
 was a man with a good deal of influence 
 in the profession, and he made up his 
 mind — knowing how serious the blow 
 would be — to try and do something for 
 the unfortunate couple. 
 
 He saw several managers, and at last he 
 succeeded in obtaining for Grant Aston a 
 short engagement which would at any rate 
 relieve matters until something better 
 turned up. 
 
 He told me what he had done, and that 
 
138 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 he was going to write that night to Aston 
 and tell him the good news. ' I tried to 
 get an engagement for his wife, but I 
 couldn't manage that,' he said. ' I'm 
 afraid they'll have to be separated, after all.' 
 But they never were. 
 
 The letter containing the offer of an 
 engagement was delivered at the house at 
 which the Astons were lodging at eight 
 o'clock the next morning. 
 
 At ten the landlady took it from the 
 hall-table and went upstairs with it to her 
 lodgers' bedroom. 
 
 She knocked, and received no answer. 
 She knocked again loudly, and still there 
 was silence. She tried the handle, and 
 found that the door was locked. She 
 knocked again, this time with all her 
 force. Still there was the silence of death. 
 
 Thoroughly alarmed, she called to her 
 husband and told him what had happened. 
 He knocked, and, obtaining no answer, 
 decided to force the door open. 
 
 ^ yp Ttf T^ 
 
 Grant Aston and his wife lay side by 
 
THE JOINT ENGAGEMENT 139 
 
 side on the bed. Both were dead. On 
 the dressing-table was a note in the man's 
 handwriting. 
 
 * We couldn't bear this torture any 
 longer. I killed my wife, and now I am 
 about to take my own life. God knows 
 what we have suffered, and will forgive us. 
 
 * Grant Aston.' 
 
 Grant Aston and his wife were not 
 separated, after all. They had made a 
 joint engagement with Death. 
 
IX 
 
 AMONG THE WRECKAGE 
 
 Business with Sir Augustus Harris took 
 me some years ago behind the scenes of 
 Drury Lane Theatre while the great Battle 
 scene in one of his autumn productions 
 was in progress. 
 
 Sir Augustus, being called away from 
 the stage, left me at the wings, and I 
 waited until the battle was over, and the 
 curtain had fallen after a glorious victory 
 of the British troops over a dusky foe. 
 
 When the curtain fell, it always had to 
 be raised again in obedience to the frantic 
 clamour of the delighted audience. 
 
 During the short interval the dying and 
 the dead mostly kept their places. The 
 effect would have been lost if, when the 
 
AMONG THE WRECKAGE 141 
 
 curtain went up again, the corpses had 
 been cleared off the ground. 
 
 A corpse lying near me nodded to me 
 while the curtain was down. I didn't 
 recognise him in his make-up, nor did I 
 when, the return curtain having been 
 taken, he got up and came towards me, 
 and put out his hand. 
 
 But when he spoke I recognised his 
 voice, and instantly grasped the proiFered 
 hand. It was my old friend Tom Hales 
 (naturally, I am not giving the real name), 
 whom I had known for a good many years 
 as a London theatrical manager. 
 
 * Why, Tom,' I said, * what are you 
 doing here ?' 
 
 * Playing a soldier. One line to speak, 
 then bang! I get a bullet in the chest, 
 and roll over with a lot of supers.' 
 
 * Not a big part for you, Tom, is it ?' 
 I said sympathetically, for my memory 
 went back to the days when Tom Hales 
 was a popular London lessee and a favourite 
 actor. 
 
 ' No, it's not a great part,' said the 
 
142 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 one-line actor sorrowfully, ' but I was 
 jolly glad to get it. It was the best 'Gus 
 could do for me, for the rehearsals had 
 begun before I was able to get out of bed 
 and crawl down to the theatre.' 
 
 * What's been the matter with you, 
 Tom?' 
 
 • Throat trouble — lost my voice com- 
 pletely. I'm hoarse now, and I don't 
 seem to get any better.* 
 
 Then I remembered having heard that 
 poor old Tom Hales, whose luck had 
 been out for some little time past, had 
 lost his voice, and with it his income, and 
 that he was very much under the weather. 
 
 When I knew Tom Hales first he had 
 two theatres, and both of them were 
 drawing excellent houses. At one he 
 played all the leading characters himself, 
 and at the other he ran second-class melo- 
 drama. He was generally supposed to be 
 a man who had saved plenty of money, 
 and was still making it. 
 
 But appearances must have been de- 
 ceptive, for gradually Tom dropped out of 
 
AMONG THE WRECKAGE 143 
 
 management, and soon after he was trying 
 for an engagement. 
 
 He got one or two, but his style was 
 old-fashioned for the West End, and he 
 went on tour till throat trouble began, and 
 he had to come to London for professional 
 treatment. While the throat trouble was 
 on he caught a severe chill, and had a 
 sharp attack of pleurisy. When at last he 
 was able to leave the house, his means 
 must have been exhausted, for he came to 
 Drury Lane and accepted the only thing 
 Sir Augustus could give him to do — a 
 one-line part and a corpse on the battle- 
 field. 
 
 The actor's instinct was strong in the 
 old man. He managed to get a little bit 
 of fat even out of the scanty material he 
 had to work on. When he was shot he 
 didn't fall down all at once like a super. 
 He staggered before he fell, and after he 
 had fallen he writhed on the ground and 
 did a little business which was certainly 
 effective. Unfortunately for Tom, the 
 stage -manager wouldn't stop the battle 
 
144 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 for him for a minute or two, and other 
 corpses fell around him, and the low 
 comedian had a line which got a roar, and 
 so Tom's death scene went for nothing. 
 
 While I was talking to Tom another 
 warrior came up and wished me good- 
 evening. As he was a British soldier, and 
 his face was not stained like Tom's, who 
 was an Afghan or something of that sort, 
 I recognised him at once. 
 
 It was that fine old-time tragedian 
 Charles Martin (again, of course, I invent 
 the name), who not many years ago was 
 a theatrical manager in London, and had 
 seven or eight highly-successful com- 
 panies touring the provinces with London 
 successes. 
 
 He also was playing a small part, but 
 he had three lines, and he killed two 
 Afghans, so that he was better off than 
 Tom. 
 
 When Sir Augustus joined me again, I 
 expressed my surprise at finding two old 
 London managers among his small-part 
 people. 
 
AMONG THE WRECKAGE 145 
 
 * Oh, my dear fellow, that's nothing !' 
 exclaimed the famous impresario. * If I 
 were to give you a list of the old London 
 favourites who come to me when I've got 
 a big production, and are willing to take 
 anything to earn a couple of pounds a 
 week, it would open your eyes consider- 
 ably. Men come to me, and women, too, 
 who were big stars in the days when I 
 was very small potatoes myself, and they 
 make me feel quite uncomfortable. Of 
 course, I can't put them all on the salary 
 list. I do the best I can, but I often have 
 to refuse, and it's very painful. I had one 
 poor old boy only this week who begged 
 me with tears in his eyes to let him come 
 on and super, and I remember him when 
 he could get his twenty pounds a week 
 anywhere, and that was before the days of 
 big salaries, too.' 
 
 While the popular lessee was talking, 
 I remembered an incident in connection 
 with the National Theatre which was a 
 telling illustration of the whirligig of 
 Fate. There was in one of Sir Augustus's 
 
 10 
 
146 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 pantomimes a procession of Shakespeare's 
 characters. Hamlet, Macbeth, Romeo, 
 King Lear, FalstafF, Ophelia, Desdemona, 
 Juliet — all were there. It was a pro- 
 cession merely, and the impersonators came 
 down in twos to the front, and passed on 
 silently. The actor who played King 
 Lear in this pantomime procession had 
 some years previously played the real King 
 Lear on the boards of the same theatre. 
 
 I finished my business with Sir Augustus, 
 and went out of the great theatre into the 
 street. The atmosphere was dull and 
 heavy, and a drizzling rain had begun to 
 fall. The surroundings were not cheerful, 
 and I fell into a melancholy reverie. I 
 thought of the cases within my own 
 knowledge, in which lives of brave en- 
 deavour crowned for a time with success 
 had come to disaster at the close. 
 
 Not often had the disasters in the cases 
 I knew been brought about by careless- 
 ness or evil courses. Ill-health, family 
 trouble, financial reverses, misfortunes — 
 there are a dozen dangers lying in wait 
 
AMONG THE WRECKAGE 147 
 
 even for the successful men and women 
 in the theatrical profession. In the course 
 of my wanderings in search of copy, I 
 have met the favourites of my young play- 
 going days in many a strange place. 
 
 I found my favourite pantomimist in a 
 lunatic asylum, still agile, still in full 
 possession of everything but his reason. 
 I came upon him sitting in one of the 
 wards of Caterham Asylum, with his hand 
 clasped in that of a poor clergyman, whose 
 features were slowly being destroyed by 
 lupus. The old clown and the clergyman 
 were inseparable. They consoled each 
 other in their misfortunes. It was the 
 most pathetic illustration of the association 
 of Church and Stage that could possibly 
 be imagined. 
 
 Some years back a man and a woman 
 in rags glided out of a recess on Waterloo 
 Bridge as I stopped to look over at the 
 dark waters of the Thames. 
 
 The lamplight was shining on my face, 
 and they had recognised me. They came 
 up and asked for assistance. The man 
 
 10 — 2 
 
148 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT. 
 
 had in days gone by been my colleague 
 on a weekly newspaper. A brilliant 
 scholar, a magnificent writer, the curse 
 of drink had brought him to his present 
 degradation. The woman by his side — 
 the woman who had shared his wretched 
 life for years — was in her time a well- 
 known burlesque actress. In the days of 
 her youth and beauty I had written many 
 a pretty compliment about her in the 
 paper which allowed me to be its under- 
 study dramatic critic, and I had admired 
 her greatly. She wrote me shortly after 
 that meeting on Waterloo Bridge a piteous 
 letter in which she explained the circum- 
 stances which had ruined her professional 
 career and brought her to the miserable 
 condition in which I had seen her. 
 
 The letter was dated from Camberwell 
 Workhouse. 
 
 In Regent's Park we have a certain 
 portion which is the haunt all day long of 
 a little camp of outcasts who are known 
 as the * park dossers.' These men and 
 women are homeless wretches in the last 
 
. AMONG THE WRECKAGE 149 
 
 state of destitution. They are turned out 
 of the park at closing time. When day- 
 light dawns and the park is open again, 
 you will find the * park dossers ' waiting to 
 go in. Winter and summer you will see 
 them on their old camping-ground — men 
 and women, miserable, dirty, and ragged, 
 sheltering under the hedge which marks 
 their pitch. 
 
 I have seen them slink out of the gates 
 in summer at nine o'clock at night. I 
 have seen them at four in the morning 
 waiting patiently for the park to open at 
 five. 
 
 One wet miserable night there was a 
 stir in the park up by the hedge. I asked 
 a keeper what was the matter, and he 
 told me that one of the 'dossers' — a young 
 woman — seemed to be very ill. None of 
 the other * dossers ' knew who she was, as 
 she had only come there that day, and so 
 the keeper had decided to take her to the 
 workhouse infirmary. 
 
 At the infirmary, when the poor crea- 
 ture's dress, caked with mud, had been 
 
I50 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 removed, and the grime washed from her 
 face, the doctor was astonished to find 
 that his patient was a delicate and refined- 
 looking young woman, with the hands of 
 a lady. 
 
 Something in her features struck him 
 as familiar. The patient was wrong in 
 her head, and muttered and babbled. The 
 babbling was not like poor old FalstafF's, 
 of green fields, but of the green-room. 
 
 When her clothing was searched, an old 
 envelope and a handkerchief found in her 
 pocket furnished the identity of the new 
 * park dosser.' 
 
 She was a young actress, at one time a 
 London star. The poor girl's reason from 
 some cause had broken down. She had 
 wandered away from her home, and in her 
 madness had gone aimlessly from place to 
 place without food, without shelter, until 
 at last she drifted to the park, and flung 
 herself down among the outcasts who 
 were sleeping under the shelter of the 
 hedge. 
 
 Only a few months previously she had 
 
AMONG THE WRECKAGE 151 
 
 been leading lady in a West-End London 
 theatre, and the press had eulogized her 
 performance as delicate and artistic in the 
 extreme, and at that time there were para- 
 graphs in the press to the effect that she 
 was likely ere long to have a theatre of 
 her own. 
 
 The story was so strange, the fate of a 
 favourite artist so sad, that the great 
 generous heart of the profession went out 
 to their afflicted sister directly the news 
 was known, and all that loving-kindness 
 could do to relieve the shattered health 
 of the sufferer was done. 
 
 And it is a generous profession — an ex- 
 travagantly generous one, perhaps — ^but 
 there are no people in the world so ready 
 to respond to the call of charity as the 
 playerrfolk. They give their time, they 
 give their money, and, better than all, 
 they give their sympathy. 
 
 No one not inside the profession knows 
 how numerous are the victims who fall 
 out of the ranks desperately wounded in 
 the great battle for success. 
 
152 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 The well-known artists who have suf- 
 fered reverse or fallen on evil days have 
 their benefits that are fully advertised. 
 The players give their services and their 
 money, and the public fight for seats, 
 because of the ' great array of talent,' as 
 the music-hall advertisements have it. 
 But the public knows nothing of the 
 wreckage that drifts constantly to the 
 stage-door, not only in London, but in 
 every provincial town. 
 
 It is here that the generosity of the 
 players is seen at its best, for there is no 
 advertisement, no public list of subscrip- 
 tions — only a putting of the hand in the 
 pocket, a hurried collection made in the 
 dressing-rooms, and a little sum handed to 
 the unfortunate brother or sister stranded 
 in a provincial town, left behind through 
 illness, perhaps, or, as still happens some- 
 times, by a bogus manager. 
 
 The victims of misfortune who drift to 
 the stage-door and ask for help — and 
 nearly always get it — have probably had 
 their pride rudely shaken before they can 
 
AMONG THE WRECKAGE 153 
 
 bring themselves to it. (I am not dealing 
 with the professional ' prosser,' who is a 
 plague and a pest.) But there is another 
 class, and perhaps the most deserving of 
 all, who suffer in silence, and keep their 
 sorrows from the world until the very last. 
 
 It is only the manager or the author 
 who gets to know these cases as a rule. 
 They come for engagements — come with 
 an effort to appear well and prosperous, 
 and hide the despair that is gnawing at 
 their hearts. They fail — as they have 
 failed, perhaps, day after day for months — 
 and then the strong man breaks down, the 
 weak woman's nerve gives way, and the 
 truth is out. 
 
 What can they do when the tide has 
 turned, these men and women who have 
 given their lives to the public, who have 
 not joined the ranks as amateurs with a 
 private income, but as young men and 
 women willing to serve an apprenticeship 
 in the art by which they hope to live, on 
 which they hope to marry and rear and 
 educate their children ? 
 
154 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 They are most of them unsuited for any 
 other calling or work or employment, and 
 they have been crowded out of their own 
 profession. 
 
 In their utter despair they frequently 
 do something which means the abandon- 
 ment of the last hope of ever regaining 
 the position they once held. But the need 
 is dire; the home is going, the children 
 are suffering, and the fatal step is taken. 
 
 Some time ago Mr. Ivan Caryll had 
 written the music for a short negro 
 operetta for the Moore and Burgess 
 Minstrels. One or two more men were 
 wanted. I was present when the composer 
 came to the hall to make the engagements. 
 
 One by one the candidates for the parts 
 were introduced. As some of them came 
 in Mr. Caryll looked at me with astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 There were men whom we had both of 
 us known a few years back filling first- 
 class engagements in comic opera. One 
 had been the principal tenor in an opera 
 that ran in London many hundreds of 
 
AMONG THE WRECKAGE 155 
 
 nights. He stepped upon the stage and 
 sang — sang excellently — and the composer, 
 when he had finished, took him aside. 
 
 * What on earth do you come here 
 for?' 
 
 • I must do something,' he said ; ' I've 
 been out for months. I've tried every- 
 where. Give me a chance here. Let me 
 sing under another name. I want the 
 money, but I can't '* black up " — I carit 
 do that — not in my own name !' 
 
 The composer said he would see what 
 could be done. Something happened. It 
 was found that a member of the company 
 already engaged could take the part — a 
 man used to blacking up and a good actor. 
 The part was given to him. When the 
 operatic artist called again the composer 
 was not there, but the manager informed 
 him that the part was filled. 
 
 The bad luck must have followed the 
 ill-starred artist. A short time afterwards 
 he took a violent poison, and died in the 
 most terrible agony. 
 
 Not a bright side of theatrical life, this ; 
 
156 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 but these pictures are intended to be 
 * Without the Limelight.' It is well that 
 a word of warning should be given to the 
 hundreds of young men and women who 
 are rushing to the stage to-day under the 
 belief that it is a profession of ease and 
 enjoyment, that behind the footlights lies 
 a Tom Tiddler's ground upon which fame 
 and fortune are to be picked up by all and 
 sundry. 
 
THE STORY OF A SCENARIO 
 
 In the long years ago when I was a 
 student at Bonn I wrote my first play — 
 my first real play. It was an adaptation, 
 or, to speak truthfully, a translation of * Dr. 
 Wespe,' the famous comedy of Benedix. 
 
 A too pronounced partiality for the 
 roulette- tables of Ems and Wiesbaden led 
 to the shortening of my Bonn career, and 
 I came back to London and went into the 
 City. 
 
 There I filled in the time that I was 
 supposed to be devoting to the interests 
 of the firm by writing stories and verse, 
 which I sent to almost every periodical in 
 London without the slightest success. 
 
 In those days I was a constant visitor 
 
158 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 to the theatre, and night after night as 
 I sat in the pit, and watched the vast 
 audience moved to tears and laughter by 
 a dramatic story, I felt that if I could only 
 write a play and get it produced I should 
 be the happiest man in the world. 
 
 So in the day-time in the City and at 
 night-time at home I sketched out the 
 scenario of a melodrama. 
 
 But I knew no one well in the theatrical 
 profession, and had not the slightest idea 
 of how to get an interview with a 
 manager. 
 
 The scenario lay at the bottom of my 
 desk for two or three years, and I had 
 almost forgotten its existence, when sud- 
 denly my chance came. 
 
 I was introduced by some well-known 
 amateur actors, whose acquaintance I had 
 made, to a theatrical club. At the club I 
 constantly met actors, acting managers, 
 stage-managers, and occasionally a real 
 live lessee. 
 
 It was at this club that I met Mr. 
 H. B. Farnie, who, when Mr. Charles 
 
THE STORY OF A SCENARIO 159 
 
 Wjmdham wanted an English adaptation 
 made of a French play, recommended me 
 for the commission, and the result was 
 * Crutch and Toothpick,' which Mr. Wynd- 
 ham passed on to Mr. Edgar Bruce, 
 who produced it at the Royalty Theatre, 
 where it ran some two hundred and forty 
 nights. 
 
 When I had made a success in farcical 
 comedy, I remembered the scenario of the 
 melodrama, and I thought that I might 
 as well see if I could not get a commission 
 to write the play. 
 
 I wrote to two or three managers, and 
 offered to send the scenario, but I got 
 nothing but a courteous acknowledgment 
 of my letters, and an expression of regret 
 that their future arrangements were already 
 complete. 
 
 But at the club I had succeeded in 
 interesting a well-known actor, who was 
 stage-manager of a West-End theatre and 
 the 'adviser' of the lessee — a gentleman 
 who for the purposes of this narrative I 
 will call Wyckham Royce. 
 
i6o WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 The low comedian stage - manager, 
 familiarly known as Tommy Hickson, 
 surrendered himself to me one cold 
 winter's afternoon, and up in the little 
 card-room, which looked out into Holy- 
 well Street, I read him my scenario. I 
 remember that reading distinctly, though 
 it is more than twenty years ago, because 
 the fire smoked and we had to keep 
 opening the window and shutting it again, 
 and invariably when I got to the dramatic 
 climax of an act and wanted to impress 
 my solitary auditor, he jumped up, either 
 to shut the window or to open it, or to 
 poke savagely at the fire, in a vain attempt 
 to stir the sulky coals to a blaze. 
 
 Hickson said that he thought there was 
 something in my plot, and he would make 
 an appointment for me to see Mr. Wyck- 
 ham Royce one day that week. 
 
 Three days later I received a letter 
 asking me to go to the theatre at one 
 o'clock, and after a little delay I was 
 ushered into the presence of Mr. Wyck- 
 ham Royce, a small, gentlemanly young 
 
THE STORY OF A SCENARIO i6i 
 
 man with a pale, refined face and a diffi- 
 dent, nervous manner. 
 
 Mr. Tommy Hickson was with his 
 chief, and after a few minutes' preliminary 
 conversation we plunged into business. 
 
 The lessee was rather busy then : he 
 had several important matters to attend 
 to, and an appointment with his solicitor 
 later on. He had heard from Mr. Hick- 
 son of my scenario, and he would like to 
 hear me read it and to have a chat about 
 it. Would I make another appointment ? 
 
 I said I would do anything that suited 
 Mr. Wyckham Royce's convenience. 
 When should I come to the theatre 
 again ? 
 
 Mr. Wyckham Royce thought a little, 
 and then he said that he was always being 
 disturbed at the theatre — there were so 
 many people continually coming into his 
 office about one thing or the other — per- 
 haps I wouldn't mind coming to his 
 private house in Regent's Park. 
 
 I said that nothing could give me 
 greater pleasure. 
 
 1 1 
 
1 62 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 * Then,' said the manager, ' let us say 
 next Friday.' 
 
 I shook my head and explained that I 
 wouldn't read a scenario on a Friday for 
 a hundred pounds. 
 
 Eventually the meeting was arranged 
 for Saturday. I was to dine with the 
 lessee at five o'clock — his wife was an 
 actress and in the evening played at 
 another West-End house — and after dinner 
 I could read my scenario. 
 
 I left the presence of Mr. Wyckham 
 Royce slightly envious. He was a young 
 man about my own age, but he was the 
 proprietor of a theatre in which he could 
 do as he liked, and was understood to be 
 a wealthy man, who had a good deal of 
 valuable property, and the chance of suc- 
 ceeding to more. 
 
 At the house in Regent's Park my 
 estimate of the young lessee's position was 
 fully confirmed. Everything was sugges- 
 tive of wealth, and when after an excellent 
 dinner I sat in my host's charmingly- 
 arranged library, and an aristocratic foot- 
 
THE STORY OF A SCENARIO 163 
 
 man had brought the coffee and liqueurs, 
 and my host had spread boxes of cigars 
 of various brands before me and invited 
 me to take my choice, I felt that here 
 at least w^as a fortunate and a happy 
 man. 
 
 As I was not to read until I had given 
 my digestion a rest, I ventured to con- 
 gratulate my host on his fortunate position. 
 The spell of the theatre was upon me in 
 those days, and I looked upon a lessee as 
 one who held the keys of paradise. To 
 me, a young beginner just tasting the first- 
 fruits of success, the Garden of Eden lay 
 behind the green curtain, and all that 
 glittered in the limelight was gold. 
 
 The young lessee, flattered doubtless by 
 my homage, leant back in his easy-chair, 
 and, as he watched the smoke curling up 
 from his cigar, unbosomed himself to me. 
 He was going to pull down the theatre 
 and rebuild it, and give London one of the 
 finest places of dramatic entertainment it 
 had ever seen. He was going to run 
 drama at this house, and he was going to 
 
 II — 2 
 
i64 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 take another theatre for a lighter form of 
 entertainment for his wife. 
 
 * But,' he added, ' I'm not going to tie 
 myself to the rush and worry of this sort 
 of business all my life, you know. I 
 reckon that in twenty years I shall have 
 had enough of it, and made enough money 
 to give up the rest of my life to calm 
 enjoyment. I should like to settle down 
 in some fine old place in the country and 
 live the life of a country squire.' 
 
 We all have our ambitions and our ideas 
 of how we should like to spend the autumn 
 of our days when the fever of ambition 
 and the struggle for wealth are over. One 
 hears and exchanges these views so often 
 that they make but little impression ; but 
 I remembered the ideas of Mr. Wyckham 
 Royce because of what happened after- 
 wards. 
 
 The twenty years he gave himself for 
 work are over. To-day, if matters had 
 arranged themselves as he intended they 
 should, he would be living an ideal life 
 in the country, the proprietor of some old 
 
THE STORY OF A SCENARIO 165 
 
 historic mansion, and he would be getting 
 out of life all that wealth and a taste for 
 the elegant and the luxurious could give 
 him. 
 
 As it is 
 
 But my scenario has yet to be read. 
 
 I read it as well as I could after a long 
 dinner, but it didn't quite grip the lessee 
 as I hoped that it would. 
 
 The coffee, the brandy, the cigars, and 
 the fire had had a soothing effect upon 
 him, and before I had begun the last act 
 he was slumbering peacefully in his easy- 
 chair. 
 
 Then I read very loudly, and banged 
 the table when the villains defied each 
 other, and the bang on the table roused 
 my host, who said : 
 
 ' Capital ! You'll excuse me shutting 
 my eyes, but I always do that when I hear 
 a play. It enables me to follow the plot 
 so much more easily.' 
 
 I read to the end, but I banged the 
 table whenever there was a chance, be- 
 cause I found that it was necessary to 
 
1 66 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 prevent my * audience ' dropping off to 
 sleep again. 
 
 I finished at about nine o'clock, and 
 then my host, after saying that he thought 
 it was a very promising scenario, rose and 
 explained that he must go down to the 
 theatre. He was going to take a cab; 
 would I like to go with him if I had 
 nothing else to do ? 
 
 When we got outside we found the 
 park white. It had been bitterly cold all 
 day, and the snow had been falling for the 
 last hour or so. 
 
 Mr. Wyckham Royce looked at the 
 snow and made a little face. 
 
 ' H'm !' he said, * this will be bad for 
 business. It will make fifty or sixty 
 pounds difference to the receipts if it came 
 on before seven — and it looks like it.' 
 
 We got a cab outside the gates of the 
 park and drove to the theatre. I stayed 
 the performance through, and after it was 
 over I went behind and saw Mr. 'Tommy' 
 Hickson and reported progress. 
 
 'Oh, that's all right,' he said; 'the 
 
THE STORY OF A SCENARIO 167 
 
 governor doesn't know much about it. 
 He leaves everything to me. If I tell 
 him to do it he will. I think it's just 
 the piece for this theatre. Give me the 
 scenario, and I'll rub it into him.' 
 
 I went to the lessee's private room to 
 bid him good-night, and stayed chatting 
 for a quarter of an hour. Before I left 
 Mr. Hickson came in. 
 
 * Oh,' he said, * I've had that lock 
 altered on your deed-box at Chubb 's; it 
 came home this afternoon. Ah ! there it 
 is on your table.' 
 
 ' Yes, I saw it,' replied the lessee. * But 
 where's the key ?' 
 
 ' I put that in my pocket ; here it is.' 
 
 Hickson handed a Chubb's key to the 
 lessee, who undid the box and took a 
 number of private papers from a drawer, 
 and put them in it. While he was doing 
 this Mr. Hickson produced the scenario of 
 my play. 
 
 ' You may as well lock that up in the 
 box,' he said. ' We can go over it together 
 on Monday.' 
 
1 68 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 And so the scenario of my melodrama 
 was put away in the lessee's private box, 
 and the Chubb's key was turned upon it. 
 
 Whether the stage-manager and the 
 lessee ever went over it again I never 
 knew. I left it with them for three 
 months, being busy with other work, and 
 then I called at the theatre and asked for 
 it. The lessee unlocked the box, took it 
 out, and gave it to me. 
 
 ' I'm sorry for the delay,' he said, * but 
 the fact is, I've made other arrange- 
 ments.' 
 
 I took the play, and asked if Hickson 
 was about. I thought I'd like to ask him 
 a question or two, as I hadn't seen him at 
 the club for a long time. 
 
 ' Oh, Hickson's left me,' said Mr. 
 
 Wyckham Royce. 'We didn't quite hit 
 
 it off together. I believe he's going to 
 
 America.' 
 
 ***** 
 
 A year later I met Tommy Hickson in 
 the Strand. He was looking ill and 
 worried. 
 
THE STORY OF A SCENARIO 169 
 
 * Hallo !' he exclaimed, as he came up 
 and shook hands. * I've been going to 
 write you about that scenario ever so many 
 times. Done anything with it ?' 
 
 'No.' 
 
 ' Well, let me have it. I think I know 
 where I can place it.' 
 
 I said I'd see about it, and the week after 
 I made up my mind to send it, but I had 
 forgotten the comedian's London address. 
 
 So I addressed it in blank and put it 
 on my table. A day or two afterwards I 
 saw Mr. Charles Warner in Oxford Street, 
 and went after him. 
 
 I touched him on the shoulder, and 
 asked him if he could tell me Tommy 
 Hickson's address. 
 
 The popular actor turned sharply round 
 and stared at me. 
 
 ' Good heavens !' he exclaimed, ' haven't 
 you heard .? He took poison last night — 
 accidentally, they say — and he wasn't ex- 
 pected to live till this morning. I'm just 
 going to his place to inquire, but I fear 
 the worst.' 
 
I70 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 That afternoon the evening papers an- 
 nounced the death of the favourite comedian, 
 Mr. Tommy Hickson. He had taken a 
 sleeping-draught from a bottle which 
 contained a deadly poison. 
 
 * ^ * * 
 
 Two years later the play I had been 
 anxious to write for Mr. Wyckham Royce 
 was accepted and produced by a London 
 manager. Then I forgot all about the 
 adventures of the scenario itself, and its 
 tragic connection with poor Tommy 
 Hickson, until certain facts reached me 
 which enabled me to finish the life-story 
 of Mr. Wyckham Royce. 
 
 His theatrical management had not 
 been altogether successful. After some 
 years of varied fortune his theatres passed 
 into other hands, and in some mysterious 
 way his properties passed from him also. 
 His reverse was so sharp that he had to 
 take a subordinate position in the front of 
 the house of which he had been at one 
 time lessee. 
 
THE STORY OF A SCENARIO 171 
 
 Then he disappeared, and it was under- 
 stood he was seriously ill. He recovered, 
 and was seen, looking very dejected and 
 ill, in the Strand. After that, none of his 
 old friends ever saw him again. 
 
 In the summer of last year, in a street 
 in New York, a man was seen to reel and 
 fall. He was picked up by the police and 
 taken to a hospital. There he said that 
 his name was William Rayne, and that 
 he had just arrived from England. 
 
 In the hospital he gradually sank and 
 died. A search among his effects failed 
 to discover anything which could give a 
 clue to an address at which his friends 
 could be communicated with. Some of 
 his clothing had the initials ' W. R.' upon 
 it. There was some gold and silver in 
 his pockets, and sewn up in the lining of 
 his waistcoat were bank-notes to the 
 amount of two hundred pounds. 
 
 The expenses of the burial of the friend- 
 less Englishman were defrayed from this 
 sum, and an advertisement was put in 
 the English papers, asking the friends of 
 
172 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 William Rayne to communicate with the 
 New York authorities. 
 
 No reply was received to the advertise- 
 ment, and the money, a ring, and a bunch 
 of keys remained for some time in the 
 office of the official who had the matter 
 in hand. 
 
 One day a clerk, going over the box, 
 took up the keys, and noticed that one of 
 them was a Chubb, with a registered 
 number on it. He took it to his chief, 
 who wrote over to Messrs. Chubb, gave 
 the number, and asked if they could say 
 for whom it was made. 
 
 In due course a reply was received. 
 Messrs. Chubb had made the key twenty 
 years ago for Mr. Wyckham Royce of 
 the Theatre. 
 
 Communication was opened with the 
 present lessee of the theatre, a description 
 of the dead man was furnished, and certain 
 particulars were given, which proved that 
 the William Rayne who had died in a 
 New York hospital was Mr. Wyckham 
 Royce. 
 
THE STORY OF A SCENARIO 173 
 
 The Chubb's key which led to the identi- 
 fication was the one which poor Tommy 
 Hickson had handed to him on the night 
 that the young lessee had indulged in 
 dreams of the future, and had told me 
 what sort of life he hoped to be living at 
 the end of twenty years. 
 
 When I heard of the key which had 
 been the clue to poor Wyckham Royce's 
 identity, I remembered that the first use 
 to which it had been put had been to 
 lock up my scenario — the scenario of a 
 play which was produced eighteen years 
 ago, and is running still in America and 
 in the provinces of England. 
 
XI 
 
 SHE WOULD BE AN ACTRESS 
 
 It is the last evening of the pantomime in 
 a big provincial town. The house is 
 crowded in every part. It is a night of 
 big receptions and hearty farewells, a 
 night of floral tributes and little speeches, 
 and general enthusiasm and excitement. 
 All the comedians are cordially greeted 
 and cheered, and all the ladies who have 
 in any way distinguished themselves are 
 accorded the usual honours of the occa- 
 sion. 
 
 But the heroine of the evening is the 
 principal boy, a charming little actress 
 with a sweet, winsome face, and a 'natural- 
 ness ' rare upon the stage, and rarer still in 
 pantomime. 
 
SHE WOULD BE AN ACTRESS 175 
 
 Norah Lee, after the Palace scene in 
 which she wears her princely suit and 
 wins her bride, and prepares the way for 
 the transformation and harlequin and 
 columbine, suddenly finds herself the centre 
 of a demonstration which overpowers her. 
 A huge basket of rare flowers is presented 
 to her by the management. That is the 
 signal for a roar of cheers from a crowded 
 house, cheers which continue for at least 
 five minutes, while bouquet after bouquet 
 is handed to the little lady who has 
 endeared herself alike to the audience and 
 the company, by her amiability and her 
 piquant acting. And presently there is a 
 cry, ' Speech ! speech !' 
 
 The cry is taken up from all parts of 
 the house. The principal boy bows and 
 smiles, and her lip quivers, but no words 
 come. A kindly comedian near her 
 whispers a few words to her to give her 
 courage to make a start, but the emotion 
 of the scene is too much for her. She 
 begins, ' Ladies and gentlemen,' and then 
 the tears come into her eyes ; and with a 
 
176 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 little sob she hides her face in the 
 great bouquet which she holds in her 
 hand. 
 
 A sympathetic house grasps the situa- 
 tion, and encouraging cheers ring out as 
 the stage - manager hurriedly gives the 
 signal for the cloth of the transformation 
 scene to drop. 
 
 I was one of the audience that night, 
 and although I had done my best to keep 
 out of sight at the back of the box into 
 which the manager had insisted upon 
 putting me instead of the dress-circle seat 
 for which I had tendered my money, I 
 had not escaped observation. As I came 
 out at the conclusion of the entertainment, 
 a gentleman and a young lady bore down 
 upon me, and the gentleman, addressing 
 me by name, begged to be allowed to 
 introduce his daughter. 
 
 I had never to my knowledge met the 
 gentleman before, but he evidently knew 
 me by sight, or someone had pointed me 
 out to him. He inquired at what hotel I 
 was staying, and said he would call on me 
 
SHE WOULD BE AN ACTRESS 177 
 
 in the morning, as he wanted to see me 
 on a matter of business. 
 
 The next day he called with his 
 daughter. He informed me that he was 
 a resident of the town, and that his 
 daughter had a desire to adopt the stage 
 as a profession. She was very clever, 
 but, not being in London, had no oppor- 
 tunities of meeting London managers. 
 Would I kindly give her a letter to Sir 
 Henry Irving, or Mr. Charles Wynd- 
 ham, or Mr. George Alexander, or Mr. 
 Tree .•' 
 
 As I knew nothing of the young lady's 
 abilities, I had to explain that a letter of 
 introduction from me would mean nothing 
 at all, and could not in any way advance 
 the young lady's prospects. The gentle- 
 man was astonished. 
 
 ' Surely,' he said, ' if my daughter is 
 properly introduced to a London manager, 
 and recites to him, he would give her a 
 chance. I thought good actresses were 
 always wanted.' 
 
 ' Of course they are,' I replied ; ' but 
 
 12 
 
178 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 you want something more than a letter of 
 introduction to get on the stage.' 
 
 * Oh, I thought it was simple enough 
 if you had talent and appearance. How 
 do girls get on the stage ?' 
 
 I had not time then to explain to my 
 visitor and his daughter the difficulties 
 and disappointments which the aspirants 
 for dramatic honours have to contend 
 with, and so I gave an evasive reply. But 
 my visitor was not to be put off. He 
 returned to the charge. 
 
 *It can't be so difficult as you make 
 out,' he said. ' I have heard of dozens 
 of instances where girls have got on, and 
 made headway at once. Look at the 
 principal boy in our pantomime this year, 
 for instance, Miss Norah Lee. I'm told 
 that she is getting twenty pounds a week, 
 and she's only been on the stage a year or 
 two. She told the interviewer of one of 
 our local papers that her people are quite 
 unconnected with the profession. How 
 did she get on ?' 
 
 Now, it happened that I knew how 
 
SHE WOULD BE AN ACTRESS 179 
 
 Norah Lee became an actress, but it was 
 too long a story to tell my visitors ; the 
 sun was shining, and I wanted to go out 
 for a walk. Had I told it, it would have 
 convinced him that the road which leads 
 to the stage-door is a far rougher one to 
 travel than he or his daughter, the would- 
 be actress, imagined. 
 
 At the age of twenty Norah Lee, who 
 had played once with some amateurs in 
 Birmingham, anxious to be 'something,' 
 determined to be an actress. She was a 
 pretty, fragile little girl, and didn't look 
 her age, and when she asked a Birmingham 
 manager to let her play a part, he patted 
 her head and said, ' Nonsense, my child ! 
 Go home and play with your brothers and 
 sisters.' 
 
 Then Norah told her father and mother 
 that she wanted to go on the stage. They 
 didn't pat her on the head, but frowned 
 and told her that such ideas were absurd, 
 and the sooner she dismissed them the 
 better. 
 
 But Norah was a self-willed little lady. 
 
 12 — 2 
 
i8o WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 She had made up her mind to be an 
 actress, and as she knew no one who 
 could or would help her, she determined 
 to help herself. Her worldly possessions 
 were exactly ten shillings. With this 
 sum in her purse, she one day informed 
 her father that she was going to see a 
 married brother who lived about ten miles 
 away. 
 
 Instead of going to her married brother, 
 Norah, with a few articles for her journey 
 packed in a little hand-bag, set out from 
 Birmingham, determined to walk to London 
 and get an engagement. 
 
 The first day she walked as far as 
 Coventry. She got in late, and not daring 
 to go to a hotel with her few shillings 
 and her hand-bag, she applied at a house 
 where she saw * Lodgings ' written up, 
 and was shown into a room with two beds 
 in it. The room was about the size of a 
 cupboard. The lodging money was pay- 
 able in advance, and Norah parted with 
 fourpence. 
 
 It was a common lodging-house. In 
 
SHE WOULD BE AN ACTRESS i8i 
 
 the night some Irish in the house got 
 riotous and smashed the windows. A 
 woman who was sleeping in the same 
 room with Norah said, * Oh, but they'll 
 murder us in our beds,' and got up and 
 drove a wedge of wood into the door to 
 keep it fast. It was a night of terror for 
 the poor little girl, who lay awake, and 
 was thankful for the dawn. 
 
 In the morning the lodgers all filed 
 down to a back-kitchen to wash at the 
 sink; but the deputy's wife, who had 
 reckoned Norah up, said, * Oh, my dear, 
 that won't do for you,' and brought up a 
 bucket of water to her room and gave her 
 a cup of tea. 
 
 Then the little girl in search of an 
 engagement started on and reached Daven- 
 try, where she went into a wayside inn 
 and paid sixpence for a room. She was 
 tired and footsore, and the next morning, 
 after a breakfast of porridge, for which 
 she paid threepence, she set out with a 
 heavy heart and managed to tramp as far 
 as Towcester. 
 
1 82 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 At Towcester she found a cottage with 
 a kind old lady in it, who took her in and 
 gave her a nice little bedroom, and petted 
 her. The old lady charged Norah six- 
 pence for the night's lodging, gave her 
 some milk and an egg for breakfast, and 
 when a brewer's dray drove past hailed 
 the man and said, * Here, George, you're 
 going to Fenny Stratford. You might 
 give this little lass a lift.' 
 
 And George did. 
 
 By this time her experiences of lodging- 
 houses had not impressed Norah with a 
 desire to try more, but she didn't see how 
 she could afford superior accommodation 
 as she was beginning to wonder how much 
 of her ten shillings would be left by the 
 time she got to London. 
 
 In Fenny Stratford she saw a newly- 
 built house without doors or windows, 
 and she asked a policeman if she might 
 go into one of the rooms for the night. 
 The policeman said, * No, my dear, cer- 
 tainly not !' and directed her to a lodging- 
 house lower down the road. In the 
 
SHE WOULD BE AN ACTRESS 183 
 
 morning she left this lodging-house and 
 set forth on her travels again. About 
 two miles out of the town a dogcart 
 caught her up and a policeman in uniform 
 alighted. 
 
 * Beg pardon, miss,' he said, ' but I've 
 got to search that bag. A boot-brush has 
 been stolen from the lodging-house you 
 were at last night — I don't suppose you've 
 got it, but I must look.' 
 
 He opened the bag, spread the things 
 out on the grass, and, not finding the 
 boot-brush, apologized and drove off. 
 
 Norah walked on and on, wondering 
 what further adventures were in store for 
 her before she got to a London manager, 
 and presently she came to Dunstable. 
 There a woman of whom she inquired for 
 respectable lodgings took her in and gave 
 her a warm corner in a barn. In the 
 morning, after a bath in a stream which 
 ran through an adjoining wood, and was 
 admirably suited for the purpose, Norah 
 trudged on again. A butcher's cart passed 
 her, and, as she was beginning to feel very 
 
1 84 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 weak and faint, she asked the butcher boy 
 if he would give her a lift. The butcher 
 boy replied cheerily, ' All right, missie,' 
 and drove her to St. Albans. 
 
 From St. Albans she walked to High 
 Barnet, and then her feet gave way and 
 she began to hobble. So she counted up 
 her remaining cash, took a ticket to 
 Broad Street, and arrived in the city of 
 theatrical managers by train. 
 
 From Broad Street she walked to the 
 Mile End Road, and there she found a 
 little room at five shillings a week. 
 
 But she hadn't got the five shillings, 
 and not wishing to be turned out shelter- 
 less in London, which frightened her a 
 great deal more than the lonely roads and 
 the country towns, she summoned up her 
 courage, and when it was dark sang a 
 little song outside a public-house. A 
 shilling in coppers was the gratifying 
 result, and encouraged by it she went to 
 another public-house and sang her little 
 song again. Her voice was very fresh 
 and pretty, and so was she, and six 
 
SHE WOULD BE AN ACTRESS 185 
 
 shillings was the reward of her first appear- 
 ance in public, or, rather, outside the public. 
 
 From Mile End she walked every day 
 to the West End, At a free library she 
 had seen a copy of the Era and the 
 advertisements of two agents — Mr. Didcott 
 and Mr. Ben Nathan. She called on 
 Mr. Didcott and sang to him, and he 
 offered her a show at a music-hall. But 
 Norah Lee wanted to be an actress on the 
 stage with a big S, and she declined the 
 music-hall, with thanks. 
 
 Then she saw in the Stage an advertise- 
 ment for chorus ladies for one of the big 
 Kiralfy shows at Earl's Court, and she 
 went to the office in Regent Street. She 
 was sent to the Skating- Rink to sing. 
 She sang, and was then sent to Earl's 
 Court to sing to the management. The 
 result was that Mr. Kiralfy gave her an 
 engagement for chorus at thirty - five 
 shillings a week. 
 
 *Now,' she thought, as she folded up 
 her contract and put it carefully in her 
 pocket, 'I am a.n actress.' 
 
1 86 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 Having accomplished her determination 
 to enter the profession, she went back to 
 the Mile End Road, and wrote a pretty 
 little penitent letter to her father: 
 
 ' Dear Father, 
 
 * I came to London to get an en- 
 gagement. I've got it. Will you please 
 send me the money to come back home, 
 as my engagement doesn't begin for a 
 month ?' 
 
 Her father sent the money, and the 
 prodigal daughter returned. Proudly 
 before the parental eye she waved her 
 contract. 
 
 ' You see, father, I've done it,' she said. 
 ' It isn't all nonsense, after all, for I'm 
 going to get thirty-five shillings a week.' 
 
 Mr. Lee took the contract, read it care- 
 fully, and then put it on the fire. 
 
 ' No, my dear,' he said ; ' I'm not going 
 to let you make an Earl's Court exhibition 
 of yourself You can make yourself com- 
 fortable at home.' 
 
SHE WOULD BE AN ACTRESS 187 
 
 The little lady was disheartened, but 
 not defeated. A few months later she 
 saw an advertisement. Voices were wanted 
 for a travelling opera company. Norah 
 answered the advertisement, and after 
 singing to the manager, who was in Bir- 
 mingham, got an engagement. It was for 
 tour in grand opera. The salary was 
 fifteen shillings a week to play small parts, 
 sing in the chorus, and find her own 
 dresses. 
 
 This time her father couldn't tear up 
 her contract, because Norah had just turned 
 twenty-one. So she went on the stage 
 and toured for six months. 
 
 Then she left, and went into the chorus 
 of the Carl Rosa Opera Company. From 
 the Carl Rosa Opera Company she passed 
 into one of Mr. George Edwardes' travelling 
 companies, and played small parts and then 
 better parts. Then she got her first pan- 
 tomime engagement at a good salary, her 
 next at a little better one, and then the 
 part of principal boy in this year's panto- 
 mime at twenty pounds a week. 
 
1 88 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 That is the story I had not time to 
 tell the gentleman who wanted an intro- 
 duction for his daughter to a London 
 manager, and thought that was all that 
 was necessary to enable a young lady 
 without experience to ' go on the stage ' 
 and make an income. 
 
 I wonder how many of the hundreds of 
 young ladies who to-day, suddenly stricken 
 with footlight fever, drive up in hansom 
 cabs to authors and say, ' Oh, I want to 
 go on the stage : will you kindly give 
 me a letter of introduction to one of the 
 London managers ?' have the slightest 
 idea of the hard road that most of our 
 public favourites have trodden with weary 
 feet before they reached the desired goal. 
 
 *si&, sie. iSS. Jll 
 
 " i^ *fi *fi 
 
 They are not only the young ladies who 
 have been brought up in luxury and think 
 the stage is open to anyone who can get 
 an ' introduction ' who run away with the 
 idea that directly the manager has seen 
 you you can have a part and become a 
 full-blown actress. The story is perfectly 
 
SHE WOULD BE AN ACTRESS 189 
 
 true of the actor-manager's servant who, 
 when her master asked her what she 
 should do if she lost her place, replied, 
 * Oh, if the worst comes to the worst, I 
 suppose I shall have to go on the stage.' 
 There is not a manager or a dramatist who 
 does not almost weekly receive a letter 
 from a young lady in domestic service 
 who thinks she has a genius for acting, 
 and wants to have a chance of showing 
 the British public the talent that is in 
 her. 
 
 Well-to-do and poor, gentle and simple, 
 cultured and ignorant, they all see the 
 stage from one point of view only. They 
 see it with the blaze of the limelight full 
 upon it, and they have not the slightest 
 idea of the hardships and the difficulties, 
 the heart-aches, and the constant anxieties, 
 the wear and tear, physical and mental, 
 that are part and parcel of almost every 
 stage career. 
 
 If a girl has in her the making of an 
 actress she'll ' get there,' but she wants a 
 great deal more than an introduction to a 
 
I90 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 manager, and will have to go through the 
 drudgery of the profession if she wants to 
 practise acting as an art, and not as a 
 gratification of her personal vanity. 
 
 I don't for a moment pretend that every 
 would-be actress who is not connected 
 with the profession by family ties will 
 have to tramp from Birmingham to London 
 to get on the stage eventually at a salary 
 of fifteen shillings a week, out of which 
 she will have to find her own dresses. 
 But that was the experience of Norah Lee, 
 and to-day, happy in her present success, 
 her excellent salary, and her brilliant 
 prospects, she will tell you the story 
 herself. 
 
 And when she has finished she will add, 
 with a merry little laugh, * And that is 
 how I became an actress.' 
 
XII 
 
 'HEREINAFTER CALLED THE 
 ARTIST' 
 
 Martin Garon heaved a sigh of relief 
 as he left the manager's office with his 
 contract, duly signed, in his pocket. 
 
 For six months the actor had been out 
 of an engagement, and he had come very 
 near to seeking a merciful release from the 
 troubles of life in the waters of Lethe 
 which flow under the great bridges of the 
 mighty city. 
 
 Not once, but many times, as the actor 
 took his weary way over Waterloo Bridge 
 to the humble lodging for which he had 
 only been able to pay his rent by pawning 
 the little property that still remained to 
 him, he had stopped and leant over the 
 
192 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 parapet and gazed at the black water, 
 and thought that one desperate plunge 
 would end his earthly woes. 
 
 When a year previously his young wife 
 had died of typhoid fever in uncomfortable 
 lodgings in a noisy street in a Northern 
 town, Garon had believed that he had 
 known the worst agony that would ever 
 fall to his lot. But in the cruel days that 
 followed, when, depressed and ill, he had 
 fallen out of work and ^iled to get a fresh 
 engagement, he had come to look upon the 
 death of his wife as a mercy. 
 
 Had she lived she would not have been 
 able to play again, and he would have had 
 to see her share his misery and his hunger. 
 At least, she had been spared the pain 
 of the evil days that had come upon 
 him. 
 
 The ring he had taken from her dead 
 hand, the locket he had given her on their 
 wedding-day, the little trinkets that she 
 had prized, all that he had treasured for 
 a time in memory of his lost darling, he 
 had to pawn to pay for the one room in 
 
THE ARTIST 193 
 
 which he ate his heart out in loneliness 
 and despair. 
 
 Martin Garon had taken the stage 
 seriously. He had looked upon his pro- 
 fession as an art, and in all that he had 
 done he had shown that the artistic instinct 
 was strong within him. But everybody 
 noticed the change in him after his wife's 
 death. He still played with all the old 
 delicacy and conscientiousness, but the 
 vitality had gone. His voice had lost its 
 ring, his movements were heavier, his 
 smile was sad, his gaiety unconvincing. 
 
 He remained with the management 
 with whom he had been at the time of 
 his wife's death until the end of the spring 
 tour, but when he asked for a re-engage- 
 ment for the autumn was told that other 
 arrangements had been made. The manager 
 had noticed the change in him, and thought 
 that he could get the part better played 
 by a cheaper man. 
 
 Then began the miserable existence of 
 tramping day after day to the agents, and 
 of writing to managers — the weary weeks 
 
 13 
 
194 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 and months of the hope deferred that 
 became in time a fixed despair. 
 
 But the tide had turned at last. Martin 
 Garon had secured an engagement — of 
 a sort. It was with a good management, 
 it was true. The play that was being 
 sent out was a great London success, and 
 the lessee of the London theatre was 
 touring this company himself. But here 
 the advantages ended ; for Martin Garon, 
 in his despair, had accepted a position 
 which a year ago he would have refused 
 with scorn. 
 
 In the street outside the theatre the 
 actor stood still in the sunshine, took his 
 agreement from his pocket and read it 
 over. 
 
 ' Agreement 
 made this, the 22nd of July, between , 
 
 hereinafter called the Manager, and Martin 
 Garon, of 32, Tarring Street, Lambeth, 
 hereinafter called the Artist. 
 
 ' Whereby the Manager engages the 
 said Artist to tour, subject to the usual 
 
THE ARTIST 195 
 
 two weeks' notice on either side, com- 
 mencing on or about the ist of August, 
 189 — , in the part of Stephen Grice in 
 "The Fortune of War," and agrees to 
 pay weekly the said Artist for seven per- 
 formances the sum of two pounds ten, and 
 the said Artist agrees to perform to the 
 best of his ability upon the above con- 
 ditions. 
 
 •(Signed) .' 
 
 The salary was a small one for an actor 
 who had played good parts at good salaries 
 and had held a position ; but when this 
 oiFer had been made to him, Martin Garon 
 did not dare to refuse it. He had tried 
 for six months to get work, and had failed 
 to get anything at all. You could no 
 more expect him to refuse it than you 
 could expect a drowning man to refuse 
 to clutch at the rope which was thrown 
 him because he did not consider it was a 
 stout one. 
 
 The part which had been offered to 
 Garon, and which he had not dared to 
 
 13—2 
 
196 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 refuse, was not a great one. It was 
 necessary to the play ; but it had never 
 scored in town, and it was hardly likely 
 to score in the provinces. It had the 
 misfortune of being a colourless villain, 
 brought constantly into contact with the 
 low comedian, and when there is a low 
 comedian in popular drama he is expected 
 to score at everybody's expense except that 
 of the hero and heroine. If the play is 
 written without offering him a chance, he 
 generally manages to find it for himself, 
 especially on tour, where there is not a 
 vast area of stalls dividing the actor from 
 the pit. 
 
 In the company engaged for the pro- 
 vincial tour of * The Fortune of War,' the 
 low comedian was a chartered libertine. 
 He was an old stager who had played 
 pantomime engagements in all the principal 
 towns, and when you have been a panto- 
 mime favourite you can always rely upon 
 going well with the audience, and getting 
 your laughs with very little trouble. But 
 you must get them. If an audience finds 
 
THE ARTIST 197 
 
 its old pantomime favourite failing to send 
 them into roars of laughter whenever he 
 makes his appearance, it rather resents what 
 it considers to be the neglect of the author 
 in failing to supply the actor with a good 
 part, and the play suffers from the dis- 
 appointment of the audience over one 
 character. 
 
 Martin Garon went on tour with the 
 knowledge that he was going to appear 
 at a disadvantage, but he studied the part, 
 and he saw in it certain possibilities. On 
 the first night he made his effects — effects 
 which had not come out in the London 
 performance — and in the gratification of 
 having lifted the part into more pro- 
 minence than it had hitherto had he forgot 
 the alteration in his position which had 
 taken place since he last appeared on the 
 provincial boards. 
 
 But if Martin Garon was satisfied, the 
 low comedian was not. He had suffered 
 to some extent by the excellence of the 
 new reading. The audience hadn't laughed 
 as heartily as they ought to have done at 
 
198 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 his business with Grice, because the actor 
 had made the part one which appealed to 
 popular sympathy. 
 
 The low comedian's salary was the 
 largest in the company, and he was a 
 provincial star. Therefore he argued to 
 himself that Martin Garon was scoring 
 illegitimately, and he had a little private 
 interview with the stage-manager. He 
 wanted a rehearsal called, and the business 
 in certain scenes altered to his own ad- 
 vantage and the disadvantage of Mr. 
 Garon. 
 
 The low comedian was a power. He 
 had to be pleased, and the rehearsal was 
 called. 
 
 When Garon found what it meant, and 
 that every little improvement which he 
 had thought out carefully and introduced 
 artistically was to be ruthlessly suppressed, 
 he was indignant, and remonstrated. 
 
 The stage - manager shrugged his 
 shoulders. 
 
 ' I'm very sorry, my boy,' he said, *but 
 it interferes with Mr. ; and, after 
 
THE ARTIST 199 
 
 all, what you do wasn't done in London. 
 You must play the part with the London 
 business, and not introduce any of your 
 own.* 
 
 Garon swallowed his wrath and went 
 away. In the street an actor in the 
 company whose efforts had also met with 
 a rebuff came up to him and sympathized 
 with him. 
 
 'It's our bad luck, old chap,' he said. 
 ' I see what will happen before the tour's 
 over. Your part and mine will be knocked 
 into nothing for the benefit of the low- 
 comedy merchant. I'm not going to 
 stand it. I shall give in my notice, and 
 let 'em find somebody else. Why don't 
 you do the same ?' 
 
 Martin Garon shook his head. He re- 
 membered the six months of poverty and 
 despair, and determined to bear anything 
 rather than lose his salary. 
 
 As the tour went on the low comedian, 
 whose undoubtedly funny business got 
 roars of laughter nightly, made fresh en- 
 croachments on the rights of the serious 
 
200 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 characters. He got laughs in places where 
 laughs had never been before — in places 
 where they were never intended to be. 
 One night a roar, occasioned by a bit of 
 business up at the back of the stage, 
 utterly unnerved Garon, who at the time 
 was playing his best scene with the second 
 heroine. 
 
 The incident made the actor so nervous 
 that, in stage parlance, it * dried him up,' 
 and he failed to take up his cue when the 
 girl appealed to him to spare her father. 
 
 There was an awkward pause. Without 
 Garon's reply it was impossible for the 
 hero to come on effectively, for he had to 
 cap Garon's speech with one which always 
 brought down the house. 
 
 The scene that night went for nothing. 
 The leading man was furious, and went to 
 Garon's dressing-room in a temper. Garon 
 pleaded that it was the low comedian who 
 had upset him ; and the leading man, who 
 was a good fellow, admitted the justice 
 of the explanation, and said no more 
 about it. 
 
THE ARTIST 201 
 
 But Garon himself protested to the 
 manager, and declared it was impossible 
 for him to play the part effectively if 
 the scene was to be guyed by the low 
 comedian. 
 
 The manager's reply was curt. If Mr. 
 Garon didn't like it, he'd better resign. 
 The low comedian was drawing the 
 money, and he wasn't going to kick up a 
 row with him to oblige Garon, whose 
 part, after all, was of third-rate import- 
 ance. 
 
 Garon swallowed the pill, but he lost 
 heart. He grew irritable, and played 
 badly. Every night he found himself 
 listening nervously for a laugh in the 
 middle of his speech. Instead of looking 
 at the person to whom he was speaking, 
 he found himself watching the low 
 comedian. 
 
 One night the London manager came 
 down to see the company. No one was 
 told that he was to be in front, in order 
 that there might be no special 'playing 
 up.' 
 
202 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 That night the low comedian was re- 
 ceived with yells, and encouraged by the 
 roars of laughter which greeted his every 
 movement, he introduced another little 
 bit of business while Garon was on the 
 stage. The audience shrieked with delight, 
 and Garon, utterly confused, stammered 
 and hesitated, and his scene, after the low 
 comedian had made his exit, fell as flat as 
 ditch water. 
 
 After the show the manager came round 
 and saw the low comedian, and engaged 
 him for a play he was about to produce 
 in London. He didn't see Garon, but he 
 told the touring manager to tell him that 
 he'd have to play better, or he'd get his 
 notice. 
 
 ' Tell him from me,' he said, * that the 
 part as he plays it isn't worth a tinker's 
 curse. I could get a man at five-and- 
 twenty shillings to play it better. What 
 is the matter with him ? He used to be a 
 good actor.' 
 
 The touring manager said he thought 
 Garon had gone off altogether. He had 
 
THE ARTIST 203 
 
 had a lot of trouble with him ever since 
 the tour started. 
 
 The touring manager reported his chief's 
 observations to the unfortunate actor the 
 next evening, and that night Martin Garon 
 went home to his lodgings filled with in- 
 dignation and despair. 
 
 He had done his best, and that best he 
 knew was artistically good. As he played 
 the part originally it had been a success. 
 To do anything with it under the present 
 circumstances was impossible, and he felt 
 that, instead of improving, he would get 
 worse, for he was utterly disheartened and 
 unnerved. 
 
 All that night he was unable to sleep. 
 The injustice of blaming him for the 
 failure of his part cut him to the quick. 
 And apart fi-om his wounded artistic 
 susceptibilities, there was the danger of 
 his suffering another serious blow to his 
 position as an actor. 
 
 If he got dismissed from this company, 
 where was he to find anything else ? In 
 every town he was making a bad impres- 
 
204 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 sion. Provincial managers were seeing 
 him week after week, and the managers 
 of other touring companies who were at 
 the other theatres in a town were hearing 
 that he was a ' frost/ 
 
 These things get about, and when once 
 a man is on the down - grade in the 
 theatrical profession, the slightest impetus 
 sends him rapidly to the bottom. 
 
 Towards morning Garon fell asleep; 
 when he awoke it was ten o'clock. He 
 got up and dressed, and after breakfast, 
 which he scarcely touched, he went out 
 and wandered into the country. 
 
 Early in the afternoon a thunderstorm 
 came on, and before Garon could find 
 shelter he was soaked to the skin. He 
 was beyond the tram-lines, and he had to 
 walk a couple of miles before he could get 
 a conveyance to take him to his lodgings. 
 He was shivering violently when he 
 reached home. He changed, and had his 
 dinner and went to the theatre. 
 
 That evening, after the performance, 
 the touring manager called him on one 
 
THE ARTIST 205 
 
 side and told him that his services would 
 not be required after that day fortnight. 
 The manager had telegraphed from 
 London that he had a man on his hands 
 who would play the part. 
 
 Garon went home broken-hearted and 
 ill. In the night he awoke with a violent 
 pain in his throat, and a splitting head- 
 ache. In the morning he was seriously 
 ill, and unable to rise. The landlady, 
 alarmed at his appearance, sent for the 
 doctor. 
 
 The doctor said that he was in a high 
 fever, and the manager was communicated 
 with. A telegram was sent to London 
 for the new man to come at once, and 
 when later in the day Garon grew worse, 
 the doctor advised his removal to the 
 local infirmary, where he would be pro- 
 perly attended to. 
 
 In the infirmary the patient grew de- 
 lirious, and raved. He imagined he was 
 on the boards, and playing a part in which 
 he was constantly being interrupted by 
 another actor. In his delirium he seized 
 
2o6 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 his rival and struggled with him. His 
 rage was so furious that a male nurse had 
 to sit by his bedside and restrain him, 
 otherwise he would have done himself an 
 injury. On the Saturday one or two of 
 the company came to see the invalid, as 
 they were leaving the town the next day. 
 They were startled at his appearance, and 
 asked if there was any chance of his re- 
 covery. 
 
 The head-nurse could only say what the 
 doctor had told her, that it was a serious 
 case, and that the poor fellow was so 
 violent and required such constant watch- 
 ing, that he ought really to be in the 
 lunatic ward. 
 
 So 'The Fortune of War' company 
 travelled on, and Martin Garon was left 
 behind among strangers, without friends 
 and without money. One day he seemed 
 to have become quieter, and the attendant 
 who had been watching him left him and 
 went into another room to see a patient in 
 whom he was interested. 
 
 Martin Garon, still haunted by the 
 
THE ARTIST 207 
 
 vision of his persecutor, saw that he was 
 no longer guarded. Madmen can argue 
 up to a certain point. They cannot think 
 anything out to its logical conclusion, but 
 circumstances will suggest a course of con- 
 duct to them. 
 
 The mad actor sat up in the bed and 
 looked round the ward. They were all 
 cases of serious illness around him. There 
 was no one to interfere with him. 
 
 He saw the demon actor, who had been 
 worrying him so long, come into the room 
 and approach him. This time he deter- 
 mined to escape from the persecution. 
 Leaping out of the bed, he rushed to the 
 window, flung it up, and threw himself 
 out. He fell with a crash on to the pave- 
 ment of the courtyard, fifteen feet below, 
 and was taken up dead. 
 
 ***** 
 
 Prior to the inquest the dead man's 
 belongings were searched for any papers 
 which might give the address of his 
 friends. The searchers only found the 
 
2o8 WITHOUT THE LIMELIGHT 
 
 agreement for the tour of * The Fortune 
 of War,' in which he was described as 
 Martin Garon, 'hereinafter called the 
 Artist.' 
 
 THE END. 
 
 BILLING AND SONS, PRIHTBRS, GUILDFORD. 
 
CHATTO & WINDUS'S 
 CHEAP POPULAR NOVELS 
 
 BY THE BEST AUTHORS. 
 Bound in Boards, TWO SHILLINGS each. 
 
 BY EDMOND ABOUT. 
 The FeUah. 
 
 BY HAMILTON AIDE. 
 Carr of Carrlyon. 
 Confidences. 
 
 BY MRS. ALEXANDER. 
 Maid, Wife, or Widow? 
 Valerie's Fate. 
 Blind Fate. 
 A Life Interest. 
 Mona's Choice. 
 By Woman's Wit 
 
 BY GRANT ALLEN. 
 Strange Stories. 
 Philistia. 
 Babylon. 
 
 The Beckoning Hand. 
 In AU Shades. 
 For Malmie's Sake. 
 The Devil's Die. 
 This Mortal Coil. 
 The Tents of Shem. 
 The Great Taboo. 
 Dumaresq's Daughter. 
 The Duchess of Powysland. 
 Blood Royal. 
 Ivan Greet* s Masterpiece. 
 The Scallyws^. 
 At Market Value. 
 Under Sealed Orders. 
 
 BY EDWIN LESTER ARNOLD. 
 Phra the Phoenician. 
 
 BY FRANK BARRETT. 
 A Recoiling Vengeance. 
 For Love and Honour. 
 John Ford ; and His Helpmate, j 
 Honest Davie. 
 A Prodigy's Progress. 
 Folly Morrison. 
 Lieutenant Barnabas. 
 Found Guilty- 
 Fettered for Life. 
 Between Life and Death. 
 The Sin of 01|:a Zassoulich. 
 Little Lady Lmton. 
 
 BY FRANK BARRETT— continued. 
 TheWomanof the Iron Bracelets. 
 The Harding Scandal. 
 A Missing Witness. 
 
 BY SHELSLEY BEAUDHAMP. 
 Grantley Grange. 
 
 BY BESANT d RICE. 
 Ready-Money Mortiboy. 
 With Harp and Crown. 
 This Son of Vulcan. 
 My Little GirL 
 The Case of Mr. Lucraft 
 The Golden Butterfly. 
 By Celia's Arbour. 
 The Monks of Thelema. 
 'Twas in Trafalgar's Bay. 
 The Seamy Side. 
 The Ten Years' Tenant. 
 The Chaplain of the Fleet 
 BY WALTER BESANT. 
 All Sorts and Conditions of Mea 
 The Captains' Room. 
 All in a Garden Fair. 
 Dorothy Forster. 
 Uncle Jack. 
 Children of Gibeon. 
 The World went very well then. 
 Herr Paulus. 
 For Faith and Freedom. 
 To Call her Mine. 
 The BeU of St Paul's. 
 The Holy Rose. 
 Armorel of Lyonesse. 
 St Katherine's by the Tower. 
 The Ivory Gate. 
 Verbena Camellia Stephanotis. 
 The Rebel Queen. 
 Beyond the Dreams of Avarice. 
 The Revolt of Man. 
 In Deacon's Orders. 
 The Master Craftsman. 
 The City of Refuge. 
 
 BY AMBROSE BIERCE. 
 In the Midst of Life. 
 
 Lmdon: CHATTO Sf WINDUS, iii St. Martin's Lane, W.C. 
 
TWO-SHILUNG POPULAR NOVELS. 
 
 BY FREDERICK BOYLE. 
 Camp Notes. 
 Savage Life. 
 Chronicles of No-Man's Land. 
 
 BY ROBERT BUCHANAN. 
 The Shadow of the Sword. 
 A Child of Nature. 
 God and the Man. 
 Annan Water. 
 The New Abelard. 
 The Martyrdom of Madeline. 
 Love Me for Ever. 
 Matt : a Story of a Caravan. 
 Foxglove Manor. 
 The Master of the Mine. 
 The Heir of Linne. 
 Woman and the Man. 
 Rachel Dene. 
 Lady Kilpatrick. 
 
 BY BUCHANAN AND MURRAY. 
 The Charlatan. 
 
 BY HALL CAINE. 
 The Shadow of a Crime. 
 A Son of Hagar. 
 The Deemster. 
 
 BY COMMANDER CAMERON. 
 The Cruise of the 'Black Prince.' 
 
 BY AUSTIN CLARE. 
 For the Love of a Lass. 
 
 BY MRS. ARCHER CLIVE. 
 Paul FerroU. 
 Why Paul FerroU KiUed his Wife 
 
 BY MAOLAREN COBBAN. 
 The Cure of Souls. 
 The Red Sultan. 
 
 BY C. ALLSTON COLLINS. 
 The Bar Sinister. 
 
 BY WILKIE COLLINS, 
 Armadale. 
 After Dark. 
 No Name. 
 A Rogue's Life. 
 Antomna. | Basil. 
 Hide and Seek. 
 The Dead Secret. 
 Queen of Hearts. 
 My Miscellanies. 
 The Woman in White. 
 The Moonstone. 
 Man and Wife. 
 Poor Miss Finch. 
 
 BY WILKIE COLLINS— continued. 
 Miss or Mrs. ? 
 The New Magdalen. 
 The Frozen Deep. 
 The Law and the Lady. 
 The Two Destinies. 
 The Haunted Hotel. 
 The Fallen Leaves. 
 Jezebel's Daughter. 
 The Black Robe. 
 Heart and Science. 
 ' I say No.' 
 The kvil Genius. 
 Little Novels. 
 The Legacy of Cain. 
 Blind Love. 
 
 MORTIMER & FRANCES COLLINS, 
 Sweet Anne Page. 
 Transmigration. 
 From Midnight to Midnight 
 A Fight vrith Fortune. 
 Sweet and Twenty. 
 Frances. 
 
 The Village Comedy. 
 You Pla;^ Me False. 
 Blacksmith and Scholar. 
 
 BY M. J. COLQUHOUN. 
 Every Inch a Soldier. 
 
 BY DUTTON COOK. 
 Paul Foster's Daughter. 
 Leo. 
 
 BY C. EGBERT CRADDOCK. 
 Prophet of the Smoky Mountains. 
 
 BY MATT CRIM. 
 Adventures of a Fair Rebel. 
 
 BY B. M. CROKER. 
 Pretty Miss Neville. 
 Proper Pride. 
 A Bird of Passage. 
 Diana Barringtoa 
 ' To Let' 
 
 A Family Likeness. 
 VillageTales&JungleTragedies. 
 Two Masters. 
 Mr. Jervis. 
 
 The Real Lady Hilda. 
 Married or Single ? 
 Interference. 
 A Third Person. 
 
 BY WILLIAM CYPLES. 
 Hearts of Gold. 
 
 London: CHATTO &• WINDUS. in St. Martin's Lani, W.C. 
 
TWO-SHILUNG POPULAR NOVELS. 
 
 BY ALPHONSE DAUDET. 
 The Evangelist 
 
 BY ERASMUS DAWSON. 
 The Fountain of Youth. 
 
 BY JAMES DE MILLE. 
 A Castle in Spain. 
 
 BY J. LEITH DERWENT. 
 Our Lady of Tears. 
 Circe's Lovers. 
 
 BY DIOK DONOVAN. 
 The Man-hunter. 
 CansrhtatLastl 
 Tracked and Taken. 
 Who Poisoned Hetty Duncan ? 
 The Man from Manchester. 
 A Detective's Triumphs. 
 In the Grip of the Law. 
 Wanted 1 
 
 From Information Received. 
 Tracked to Doom. 
 Link by Link. 
 Sospiaon Aroused. 
 Dark Deeds. 
 Riddles Read. 
 
 The Mystery of Jamaica Terrace. 
 Chronicles of Michael Danevitch. 
 
 BY MRS. ANNIE EDWARDES. 
 A Point of Honour. 
 Archie LovelL 
 
 BY M. BETHAM-EDWARDS. 
 Felicia. 
 Kitty. 
 
 BY EDWARD EGGLESTON. 
 Roxy. 
 
 BY e. MANVILLE FENN. 
 The New Mistress. 
 Witness to the Deed. 
 The Tiger Lily. 
 The Wnite Virgin. 
 
 BY PERCY FITZGERALD. 
 Bella Donna. 
 PoUy. 
 
 The Second Mrs. Tillotson. 
 Seventy-five Brooke Street 
 Never Forgotten. 
 The Lady of Brantome. 
 Fatal Zero. 
 
 BY PERCY FITZGERALD and Others, 
 Strange Secrets. 
 
 BY ALBANY DE FONBLANQUE. 
 Filthy Lucre. 
 
 BY R. E. FRANOILLON. 
 Olympia. 
 One by One, 
 Queen Cophetua. 
 A Real Queen. 
 King or Knave. 
 Romances of the Law. 
 Ropes of Sand. 
 A Dog and his Shadow. 
 
 BY HAROLD FREDERIC. 
 Seth's Brother's Wife. 
 The Lawton Girl. 
 
 Prefaced by S;> ff. BARTLE FRERE 
 Pandurang Han. 
 
 BY EDWARD GARRETT. 
 The Capel Girls. 
 
 BY GILBERT GAUL 
 A Strange Manuscript. 
 
 BY CHARLES GIBBON. 
 Robin Gray. 
 For Lack of Gold. 
 What will the World Say t 
 In Honour Bound. 
 In Love and War. 
 For the King. 
 Queen of the Meadow. 
 In Pastures Green. 
 The Flower of the Forest 
 A Heart's Problem. 
 The Braes of Yarrow. 
 The Golden Shaft 
 Of High Degree. 
 The Dead Heart 
 By Mead and Stream. 
 Heart's Delight 
 Fancy Free, 
 Loving a Dream. 
 A Hard Knot 
 Blood-Money. 
 
 BY WILLIAM GILBERT. 
 
 iames Duke, 
 >r. Austin's Guests, 
 The Wizard of the Mountain. 
 
 London.- CHATTO &• WINDUS, iii St, MarHn's Lane, W.C. 
 
TWO-SHILUNG POPULAR NOVELS. 
 
 BY ERNEST GLANVILLE. 
 The Lost Heiress. 
 The Fossicker. 
 A Fair Colonist. 
 
 BY REV. 8. BARING GOULD. 
 Eve. 
 Red Spider. 
 
 BY HENRY GREVILLE. 
 Nikanor. 
 A Noble Wonian. 
 
 BY CECIL GRIFFITH. 
 Corinthia Marazion. 
 
 BY SYDNEY GRUNDY, 
 The Days of his Vanity. 
 
 BY JOHN HABBERTON. 
 Brueton's Bayou. 
 Country Luck. 
 
 BY ANDREW HALLIDAY. 
 Every-Day Papers. 
 
 BY THOMAS HARDY. 
 Under the Greenwood Tree. 
 
 BY BRET HARTE. 
 An Heiress of Red Dog. 
 The Luck of Roaring Camp. 
 Califomian Stories. 
 Gabriel Conroy. 
 FUp. 
 Maruja. 
 
 A Phyllis of the Sierras. 
 A Waif of the Plains. 
 A Ward of the Golden Gate. 
 
 BY JULIAN HAWTHORNE. 
 Garth. 
 
 EUice Quentin. 
 Sebastiiu Strome. 
 Dust. 
 
 Fortune's Fool. 
 Beabix Randolph. 
 Miss Cadogna. 
 Love — or a Name. 
 D. Poindexter's Disappearance. 
 The Spectre of the Camera. 
 
 BY SIR ARTHUR HELPS. 
 Ivan de Biron. 
 
 BY G. A. HENTY. 
 Rujub, the Juggler. 
 
 BY HENRY HERMAN. 
 A Leading Lady. 
 
 BY HEADON HILL. 
 Zambra, the Detective. 
 
 BY JOHN HILL. 
 Treason-Felony. 
 
 BY MRS. DASHEL HOEY. 
 The Lover's Creed. 
 
 BY MRS. GEORGE HOOPER. 
 The House of Raby. 
 
 BY MRS. HUNGERFORD. 
 In Durance Vile. 
 A Maiden all Forlorn. 
 A Mental Struggle. 
 Marvel. 
 
 A Modem Circe. 
 Lady Vemer's Flight. 
 The Red-House Mystery. 
 The Three Graces. 
 An Unsatisfactory Lover. 
 Lady Patty. 
 Nora Creina. 
 April's Lady. 
 Peter's Wife. 
 The Professor's Experiment. 
 
 BY MRS. ALFRED HUNT. 
 Thomicroft's Model. 
 The Leaden Casket. 
 Self-Condemned. 
 That Other Person. 
 
 BY WILLIAM JAMESON. 
 My Dead Self. 
 
 BY HARRIETT JAY. 
 The Dark Colleen. 
 The Queen of Connaught. 
 BY MARK KERSHAW. 
 Colonial Facts and Fictions. 
 
 BY R. ASHE KING. 
 A Drawn Game. 
 ' The Wearing of the Green.' 
 Passion's Slave. 
 Bell Barry. 
 
 BY EDMOND LEPELLETIER. 
 Madame Sans-GSne. 
 
 London: CHATTO &• WINDUS, iii St. MarHris Lane, IV.C. 
 
TWO-SHILUNG POPULAR NOVELS. 
 
 BY JOHN LEYS. 
 The Lindsays. 
 
 BY E. LYNN LINTON. 
 Patrida KembalL 
 The Atonementof Leam Dundas. 
 The World WeU Lost 
 Under which Lord ? 
 With a Snken Thread. 
 The Rebel of the Family. 
 'MyLorel' 
 lone. 
 
 Paston Carew. 
 Sowing fhe Vnnd. 
 The One too Many. 
 Dulde Everton. 
 
 BY HENRY W. LUCY. 
 Gideon Fleyce. 
 
 BY JUSTIN McCarthy. 
 
 Dear Lady Disdain. 
 
 The Waterdale Neighbours. 
 
 My Enemy's Daughter. 
 
 A Fair Saxon. 
 
 Linley Rocfaford. 
 
 Miss Misanthrope. 
 
 Donna Quixote. 
 
 The Comet of a Season. 
 
 Maid of Athens. 
 
 Camiola : a Girl with a Fortune. 
 
 The Dictator. 
 
 Red Diamonds. 
 
 The Riddle Ring. 
 
 BY HUGH MaeCOLL. 
 Mr. Stranger's Sealed Packet 
 
 BY GEORGE MACDONALD. 
 Heather and Snow. 
 
 BY MRS. MAODONELL. 
 Quaker Cousins. 
 
 BY KATHARINE S. MACQUOID. 
 The Evil Eye. 
 Lost Rose. 
 
 BY W. H. MALLOCK. 
 The New Republic 
 A Romance of the 19th Century. 
 
 BY J. MASTERMAN. 
 Half-a-dozen Daughters. 
 
 BY BRANDER MATTHEWS. 
 A Secret of the Sea. 
 
 BY L. T. MEADE. 
 A Soldier of Fortune. 
 
 BY LEONARD MERRICK. 
 The Man who was Good. 
 
 BY JEAN MIDDLEMA8S. 
 Touch and Go. 
 Mr. Dorillion. 
 
 BY MRS. M0LE8W0RTH. 
 Hathercourt Rectoiy. 
 
 BY J. E. MUDDOCK. 
 Stories Weird and Wonderful 
 The Dead Man's Secret 
 From tiie Bosom of tiie Deep. 
 
 BY D. CHRISTIE MURRAY. 
 A Life's Atonement 
 Joseph's Coat 
 Val Strange. 
 A Model Father. 
 Coals of Fire. 
 Hearts. 
 
 By the Gate of the Sea. 
 The Way of the World. 
 A Bit of Human Nature. 
 First Person Sing^ular. 
 Cynic Fortune. 
 Old Blazer's Hero. 
 Bob Martin's Little Girl. 
 Time's Revenges. 
 A Wasted Cnme. 
 In Direst Peril. 
 Mount Despair. 
 A Capful o' Nails. 
 
 BY MURRAY AND HERMAN. 
 One Traveller Returns. 
 Paul Jones's Alias. 
 The Bishops' Bible. 
 
 BY HENRY MURRAY. 
 A Game of Bluff. 
 A Song of Sixpence. 
 
 BY HUME NISBET. 
 'Bail Up!' 
 
 Dr. Bernard St Vincent 
 BY W. E. N ORRIS. 
 Saint Ann's. 
 Billy Bellew. 
 
 BY ALICE O'HANLON. 
 The Unforeseen. 
 Chance ? or Fate 7 
 
 Loitdon: CHATTO &• WINDUS, iii St. Martin's Lane, W.C. 
 
TWO-SHILLING POPULAR NOVELS. 
 
 BY GEORGES OH NET. 
 Doctor Rameau. 
 A Last Love. 
 A Weird Gift 
 
 BY MRS. OLIPHANT. 
 Whiteladies. 
 The Primrose Path. 
 The Greatest Heiress in England 
 
 BY MRS. ROBERT O'REILLY, 
 Phoebe's Fortunes. 
 
 BY OUIDA. 
 Held in Bondage. 
 Strathmore. 
 Chandos. 
 
 Under Two Flags. 
 Idalia. 
 
 Cecil Castlemaine'a Gage. 
 Tricotrin. 
 Puck. 
 
 Folle Farine. 
 A Dog of Flanders. 
 PascarM. 
 Signa. 
 
 In a Winter City. 
 Ariadn£. 
 Moths. 
 Friendship. 
 Pipistrello. 
 Bimbi. 
 
 In Maremma. 
 Wanda. 
 Frescoes. 
 
 Princess Napraxine. 
 Two Little Wooden Shoes. 
 A Village Commune. 
 Othmar. 
 Guilderoy. 
 Ru£5no. 
 Syrlin. 
 
 Santa Barbara. 
 Two Offenders. 
 Wisdom, Wit, and Pathos. 
 
 BY MARGARET AGNES PAUL. 
 Gentle and Simple. 
 
 BY JAMES PAYN. 
 Lost Sir Massingberd. 
 A Perfect Treasure. 
 Bentinck's Tutor. 
 Murphy's Master. 
 A County Family. 
 
 BY JAMES PAYN— continued. 
 At Her Mercy. 
 A Woman's Vengeance. 
 Cecil's Tryst 
 The Clyffards of Clyffe. 
 The Family Scapeg^ce. 
 The Foster Brotners. 
 The Best of Husbands. 
 Found Dead. 
 Walter's Word. 
 Halves. 
 
 Fallen Fortunes. 
 What He Cost Her. 
 Humorous Stories. 
 Gwendoline's Harvest. 
 Like Father, Like Son. 
 A Marine Residence. 
 Married Beneath Him. 
 Mirk Abbey. 
 Not Wooed, but Won. 
 Two Hundred Pounds Reward. 
 Less Black than We're Painted. 
 By Pro3^. 
 Ifigh Spirits. 
 Under One Roof. 
 Carlyon's Year. 
 A Confidential Agent 
 Some Private Views. 
 A Grape from a Thorn. 
 From Exile. 
 Kit : A Memory. 
 For Cash Only. 
 The Canon's Ward. 
 The Talk of the Town. 
 Holiday Tasks. 
 Glow-worm Tales. 
 The Mystery of Mirbridge. 
 The Burnt Million. 
 The Word and the Will. 
 A Prince of the Blood. 
 Sunny Stories. 
 A Trying Patient. 
 
 BY EDGAR A. POE. 
 The Mystery of Marie Roget 
 
 BY MRS. CAMPBELL PRAED. 
 The Romance of a Station. 
 The Soul of Countess Adrian. 
 Outlaw and Lawmaker. 
 Christina Chard. 
 Mrs. Tregaskiss. 
 
 London: CHATTO 6* WINDUS, in St. MarHn's Lane, W.C. 
 
TWO-SHILLING POPULAR NOVELS. 
 
 BY E. C. PRICE. 
 Valentina. 
 Gerald. 
 
 Mrs. Lancaster's Rival. 
 The Foreigners. 
 
 BY RICHARD PRYCE. 
 Hiss Mazwell's Affections. 
 
 BY CHARLES READE. 
 It is Never Too Late to Mend. 
 Hard Cash. 
 Peg WofSngton. 
 Christie Johnstone. 
 Gri£Gth Gaunt 
 Put Yourself in His Place. 
 The Double Marrii^e. 
 Love Me Little, Love Me Long. 
 Foul Play. 
 
 The Cloister and the Hearth. 
 The Course of True Love. 
 The Autobiography of a Thief. 
 A Terrible Temptation. 
 The Wandering Heir. 
 A Simpleton. 
 A Woman-Hater. 
 Singleheart and Doubleface. 
 Good Stories of Man and other 
 The Jilt [Animals. 
 
 A Perilous Secret 
 Readiana. 
 
 BY MRS. J. H. RIDDELL 
 Her Mother's Darling. 
 The Uninhabited House. 
 Wdrd Stories. 
 Fairy Water. 
 
 Prince of Wales's Garden Party. 
 Tlie Mystery in Palace Gardens. 
 The Nun's Curse. 
 Idle Tales. 
 
 BY AMEUE RIVES. 
 Barbara Deriog. 
 
 BY F. W. ROBINSON. 
 Women are Strange. 
 The Hands of Justice. 
 The Woman in the Dark. 
 BY JAMES RUNCIUAN. 
 Skippers and Shellbacks. 
 Grace Balmaign's Sweetheart 
 Schools and Scholars. 
 
 BY DORA RUSSELL. 
 A Country Sweetheart. 
 
 BY W. CLARK RUSSELL. 
 Round the Galley Fire. 
 On the FoVsle Head. 
 In the Middle Watch. 
 A Voyage to the Cape. 
 A Book for the Hammock. 
 Mystery of the ' Ocean Star.' 
 The Romance of Jenny Harlowe. 
 An Ocean Tragedy. 
 My Shipmate Louise. 
 Alone on a Wide Wide Sea. 
 The Phantom Death. 
 The Good Ship 'Mohock.' 
 Is He the Man? 
 Heart of Oak. 
 The Convict Ship. 
 The.Tale of the Ten. 
 The Last Entry. 
 
 BY ALAN ST. AUBYN. 
 A Fellow of Trinity. 
 The Junior Dean. 
 The Master of St Benedict's. 
 To His Own Master. 
 Orchard Damerel. 
 In the Face of the World. 
 The Tremlett Diamonds. 
 
 BY GEORGE AUGUSTUS SALA. 
 Gaslight and Daylight. 
 
 BY GEORGE R. SIMS. 
 The Ring o' Bells. 
 Mary Jane's Memoirs. 
 Mary Jane Married. 
 Tales of To-day. 
 Dramas of Life. 
 Tinkletop's Crime. 
 Zeph : a Circus Story. 
 My Two Wives. 
 Memoirs of a Landlady. 
 Scenes from the Show. 
 The Ten Commandments. 
 Dagonet Abroad. 
 Rogues and Vagabonds. 
 
 BY ARTHUR SKETCHLEY. 
 A Match in the Dark. 
 
 BY HAWLEY SMART. 
 Without Love or Licence. 
 The Plunger. 
 Beatrice and Benedick. 
 Long Odds. 
 The Master of RathkeUy. 
 
 London: CHATTO &• WINDUS, in St, Martin's Lane, W.C. 
 
8 
 
 TWO-SHILUNG POPULAR NOVELS. 
 
 BY T. W. SPEIGHT. 
 The Mysteries of Heron Dyke. 
 The Golden Hoop. 
 By Devious Ways. 
 Hoodwinked. 
 Back to Life. 
 The Loudwater Tragedy. 
 Burgo's Romance. 
 Quittance in Full. 
 A Husband from the Sea. 
 
 BY R. A. STERNDALE. 
 The Afghan Knife. 
 
 BY R. LOUIS STEVENSON. 
 New Arabian Nights. 
 
 BY BERTHA THOMAS. 
 Proud Maisie. 
 The Violin-player. 
 Cressida. 
 
 BY WALTER THORNBURY. 
 Tales for the Marines. 
 Old Stories Re-told. 
 
 BY ANTHONY TROLLOPS. 
 The Way We Live Now. 
 Mr. Scarborough's Family. 
 The Golden Lion of Granp&re. 
 The American Senator. 
 Frau Frohmann. 
 Marion Fay. 
 Kept in the Dark. 
 The Land-Leaguers. 
 John Caldigate. 
 
 BY FRANCES E. TROLLOPE. 
 Anne Fumess. 
 Mabel's Progress. 
 Like Ships upon the Sea. 
 
 BY T. ADOLPHUS TROLLOPE. 
 Diamond Cut Diamond. 
 
 BY J. T. TROWBRIDGE. 
 Famell's Folly. 
 
 BY IVAN TURGENIEFF, etc. 
 Stories from Foreign Novelists. 
 
 BY MARK TWAIN. 
 Tom Sawyer. 
 A Tramp Abroad. 
 The Stolen White El^hant 
 Pleasure Trip on the Continent. 
 
 BY MARK TWAIN— continued. 
 The Gilded Age. 
 Huckleberry Finn. 
 Life on the Mississippi. 
 The Prince and the Pauper. 
 Mark Twain's Sketches. 
 Yankee at Court of K. Arthur. 
 The ;£i,ooo,ooo Bank-note. 
 
 BY SARAH TYTLER. 
 Noblesse Oblige. 
 Citoyenne Jacqueline. 
 The Huguenot Family. 
 What She Came Through. 
 Beau^ and the Beast 
 The Bride's Pass. 
 Saint Mungo's City. 
 Disappeared. 
 LadjBell. 
 Buned Diamonds. 
 The Blackball Ghosts. 
 
 BY C. 0. FRASERTYTLER. 
 Mistress Judith. 
 
 BY ALLEN UPWARD. 
 The Queen against Owen. 
 The Prince of Balkistan. 
 
 BY ARTEMUS WARD. 
 Artemus Ward Complete. 
 
 8Y AARON WATSON AND LILLIAS 
 
 WASSERMANN. 
 The Marquis of Carabas. 
 
 BY WILLIAM WESTALL 
 Trust-Money. 
 
 BY MRS. F. H. WILLIAMSON. 
 A Child Widow. 
 
 BY J. S. WINTER. 
 Cavalry Life. 
 Regimental Legends. 
 
 BY H. F. WOOD. 
 Passenger from Scotland Yard. 
 Englishman of the Rue Cain. 
 
 BY CELIA PARKER WOOLLEY. 
 Rachel Armstrong. 
 
 BY EDMUND YATES. 
 Castaway. 
 Land at Last 
 The Forlorn Hope. 
 
 London: CHATTO Sf W/NDUS, iii St. Martin's Lane, W.C. 
 
AN ALPHABETICAL CATALOGUE 
 
 OF BOOKS IN FICTION AND 
 
 GENERAL LITERATURE 
 
 PUBLISHED BY 
 
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 Martyrdom of Madeline 
 
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 Annan Water. 
 
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 poor Miss Finch, 
 
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 Patricia Kemball. 
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 DnndoB. 
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 Dulcle Everton. I 
 
 Rebel of the Family. 
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 Waterdale Neighbours. 
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 Dohna Quixote. 
 
 Maid of Athens. 
 
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 Red Diamonds. 
 
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 Srifflth Oannt. 
 
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 Anne Fnrness. | 
 
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 Birch Dene. 
 
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 Honest Davie. 
 A Prodigal's Progress. 
 
 By SHELSLEY BEAUCHAMP. 
 
 Grantley Grange. 
 
 By FREDERICK BOYLE. 
 
 Camp Notes. I Chronicles of Ho-man's 
 
 Savage Life. \ Land. 
 
30 CHATTO & WINDUS, Publishers, in St, Martin's Lane. London, W.C. 
 
 Two-Shilung Novels— co«^tHMc4. 
 
 By Sir W. BESANT and J. RICE 
 
 Ready- Money Mortlboy 
 My Little eirl. 
 With Harp and Crown. 
 This Son of Tulcan. 
 The Golden Butterfly. 
 The Monk3 of Thelema. 
 
 By Sir WALTER BESANT, 
 All Eorte and Condi- Ilia Bell of St. Fanl'i 
 tlons of Men. 
 
 By Oella's Arbour. 
 Chaplain of the Fleet. . 
 The Se^my Side. 
 The Case orMr.Lncraft. 
 In Trafolear's Bay. 
 The Ten Years' Tenant. 
 
 The Captains' Room. 
 All In a Garden Fair. 
 Dorothy Forster. 
 TTncle Jack. 
 The World Went Very 
 
 Well Then. 
 Children ol Glbeon. 
 Herr Fanlne. 
 For Faith and Freedom. 
 T'> Call Her Mine. 
 The Master Craftsman. 
 
 The Holy Rose. 
 Armorel of Lyonease. 
 S.Eabherlne sDy Tower 
 Verbena Camellia Ste- 
 
 phanotis. 
 The Ivory Gate. 
 The Eebol Queen. 
 Beyond the Dreams of 
 
 Avarice. 
 The Revolt of Man. 
 In Deacon's Orders. 
 The City of Refuge. 
 
 By AMBROSE BIERCE. 
 
 In the Midst of Life. 
 
 BY BRET HARTE. 
 
 Callfomian Stories. 
 Gabriel Gonroy. 
 Lnck of Roaring Camp. 
 An Heiress of Red Dog. 
 
 By ROBERT BUCHANAN 
 
 Flip. I Mamja. 
 
 A Phyllla of the Sierras. 
 A Waif of the Plains. 
 Ward of Golden Gate. 
 
 The Martyrdom of Ma- 
 deline. 
 The New Abelard. 
 The Heir of Linne. 
 Woman and the Man. 
 Rachel Dene. | Matt. 
 Lady Kllpatrlck. 
 
 Shadow of the Sword. 
 A Child of Nature. 
 God and the Man. 
 Love Me for Ever, 
 Foxglove Manor. 
 The Master of the Mine, 
 Annan Water.", 
 
 By BCCHANAN and MURRAY, 
 The Charlatan. 
 
 By HALL CAINE. 
 The Shadow of a Crime. 1 ^he Deemster. 
 A Bon of Eagar. | 
 
 By Commander CAMERON. 
 The Cruise of the 'Black Prince.' 
 
 By HAYDEN CARRUTH 
 The Adventures of Jones. 
 
 By AUSTIN CLARE. 
 
 For the Love of a Laes. 
 
 By Mrs. ARCHER CLIVE. 
 
 Fanl FerroU. 
 
 Why Paul FerroU Killed his Wife. 
 
 By MACLAREN COBBAN. 
 
 The Cure of Souls. | The Red Stitan. 
 
 By C,.;ALLSTON COLLINS. 
 
 The Bar Sinister. 
 
 By MORT. & FRANCES COLLINS. 
 
 Sweet Anne Page. 
 Transmigration. 
 From Midnight to Mid 
 
 night. 
 A Fight with Fortune. 
 
 By WILKIE COLLINS, 
 
 Sweet and Twenty. 
 The Village Comedy. 
 Ton Play me False. 
 Blacksmith and Scholar 
 Frances. 
 
 Armadale. ] AfterDark. 
 
 Ko Name. 
 
 Antonlna, 
 
 Basil. 
 
 Hide and Seek. 
 
 The Dead Secret, 
 
 Queen of Hearts. 
 
 Miss or Mrs. 7 
 
 The New Magdalen. 
 
 The Frozen Deep. 
 
 The Law and the Lady 
 
 The Two Destinies. 
 
 The-H%nnted Hotel. 
 
 A Rogue's me. 
 
 My Miscellanies. 
 The Woman in White. 
 The Moonstone. 
 Man and Wife. 
 Poor Mise Finch. 
 The Fallen Leaves. 
 Jezebel's Daughter. 
 The Black Robe. 
 Heart and Science. 
 ' I Say No I ■ 
 The EvU Genius. 
 Little Novels. ■- 
 Le^cy of C^m . 
 Blind Love. 
 
 By M.sa, COLQUHOUN, 
 
 ich a ~ '" 
 
 By C. EGBERT CRADDOCK. 
 
 The Prophet of the OrflatSlnoky Mountains. 
 
 By MATT CRIM. 
 
 The Adventures of a Fair Rdiel. 
 
 By B: M. CROKBR. 
 
 Tillage Tales and Jnngli 
 
 pretty Hlu NeviUe. 
 Diana BUTf&gton. 
 'To Let.' ^ 
 
 Tragedies. 
 Two Kasters, 
 
 Mr, Jervls. 
 
 The Real Lady Hilda. 
 
 Harried or Single 7 
 
 Interferenoe. 
 
 A Bird of Panage, 
 Proper Pride. 
 A Famtty Likeness. 
 A Third Peritbn. 
 
 By W. CYPLES. 
 
 Hearts of Gold. 
 
 By ALPHONSE DAUDET. 
 
 The Evangelist; or, Fort Salvation. 
 
 By ERASMUS DAWSON. 
 
 The Founliain of Tonth. 
 
 By JAMES DE MILLE. 
 A Castle In Spain. 
 
 By J^ LEITH _pERWENT. 
 
 Circe's Lovers. 
 bONOVAN. 
 
 I In the Grip or the Law. 
 Jrom Information R«> 
 ^ ^^ceived. - 
 Tracked to.Doom. 
 Xlnk hy Link 
 Suspicion Aroused. 
 
 Our Lady of Tears. 
 
 By DICK 
 The Man-Hunter. 
 Tracked and Taken, 
 Caught at Last 1 
 Wanted 1 
 Who Poisoned Hetty 
 
 Duncan 7 • - 
 
 Man from Manchester. Dark Deeds. 
 A Detective's Trlttmphs Riddles Bead. 
 The Mjrstery of Jamaica Terrace. 
 The Chronicles of HlcbAel Danevltch, 
 
 By Mrs. ANNIB EDWARDES. 
 A Point of Honour. ( Archie Lovell. 
 
 By M. BETHAM-EDWARDS. 
 Felicia. I Kitty, 
 
 By EDWARD EQQLESTON. 
 Roxy. 
 
 By G. MANVILLE PENN. 
 The New Mistress. - I The Tiger Lily. 
 Witness to the Deed. | The White Virgin. 
 
 By PERCY FITZGERALD. 
 Bella Donna. I Second Mrs. TlUotson. 
 
 Never Forgotten. Seventy -five Brooke 
 
 Polly. ■ street. 
 
 Fatal Zero. I The Lady of Brantome. 
 
 By P. FITZGERALD and others. , 
 strange Secrets. 
 
 Bv ALBANY DE FONBLANQUE. 
 FUthy Lucre. 
 
 .By R. E, FRANCILLON. 
 
 Sing or Knave? 
 Romances of the Law, 
 Ropes of Sand. 
 A Dog and his Shadow. 
 
 Olympla. 
 One by One. 
 A Real Qiieen. 
 
 Queen Cophetna. „ 
 
 By HAROLD FREDERIC. 
 Seths Brother's Wife. I The Lawton Girl. 
 Prefaced by Sir BARTLE FRERE. 
 Fandurang Harl.^ 
 
 By EDWARD GARRETT. 
 The Capel Olrhi. 
 
 By GILBERT GAUL. 
 A Strange Manuscript. 
 
 By CHARLES GIBBON 
 
 Rohin Gray. 
 
 Fancy Free, 
 
 For Lack of Sold. 
 
 What will World Say 7 
 
 In Love and War. 
 
 For the King. 
 
 In Pastures Oreen. 
 
 Sueen of the Meadow. 
 . Heut'B Problem, . 
 The Dead Heart. 
 
 In Honotfr Bound. 
 Flower of the Forest. 
 The Braes of Tarrow. 
 The Golden Shaft. 
 Of High Degree. 
 By Mead, and Stream. 
 Loving »> Dream. 
 A Hard Knot. 
 Heart's ^eltg^t. 
 
 Blood-Iifondy. 
 fe"W'Ll-lA^_QILBERT. 
 
 Dr. Austin's' Guests. 
 James ^Duka. 
 
 The ,Wi^4 
 Monntato' 
 
 Every Inch a Boldlei. 
 
 By ERNEST OLANVILLE. 
 
 It Heiress. | The Fosslcker. 
 
 The Lost Heiress. 
 A Fair Colonist, 
 
CHATtO & \VlNDyS, Publishers, in St. Martinis LaAe, Londoo, W.C. 3t 
 
 Two-Shilling Novbls— co«/m«erf. 
 
 ^ By Rev. S. BARING QOULD. 
 
 feed Spider. t Bve. 
 
 By HENRY GREVILLE. 
 
 A NoUtt Woman. I Nlkanor. 
 
 By CECIL GRIFFITH. 
 CorinthlK Jffarazion. 
 
 By SYDNEY GRUNDY. 
 The Days of hla Vanity. 
 
 By JOHN HAB3ERTON. 
 Braeton'B JSavoa. L Country Lack. 
 
 By ANDREW HALLIDAY. 
 firery-day tapen- 
 
 By THOMAS HARDY. 
 Under tha Graenwood Tree. 
 
 By JULIAN HAWTHORNE 
 
 Befttrix Randolph. 
 Love'-or a Name. 
 David Poindexter'g Sia- 
 
 appearance. 
 The Spectre of the 
 
 Camera. 
 
 Garth. 
 
 Elllce Qaentin. 
 Fortnne's FooL 
 Miu Cadogna. 
 Bebaatian Stroma. 
 
 ^'^' By Sir ARTHUR HELPS. 
 Ivan de Biron. 
 
 By G. A. HENTY. 
 Bvjub tiie Juggler, 
 
 By HENRY HERMAN. 
 A Leadlns Lady. 
 
 By HEADON HILL. 
 Zambra the Detective. 
 
 By JOHN HILL. 
 Treawm Telony. 
 
 By Mrs. CASHEL HOEY. 
 taie Lover's Creed. __ 
 
 By Mrs. GEORGE HOOPER. 
 Vhe Bonn of Kahy. 
 
 By Mrs. HUNGERFORD, 
 
 A Iblden aU Forlorn. 
 In DanuA Vile. 
 Marvel. 
 
 AUenial Struggle. 
 A Modem fhret. 
 April's lady. 
 Peter's Wife. 
 
 Lady .Vetnor'B Flight. 
 The Bed'Hoose.Mystery 
 The Three Gratia. 
 Unsatiafoibtory Lover. 
 Lady Fatty. 
 If ora Crelna. 
 Prbfeikor's El:periment. 
 
 By Mrs. ALFRED HUNT. 
 
 Thomicroft'B Model. I Self- Condemned. 
 That Other Parson. | The Leaden Casket. 
 
 By WM. JAMESON. 
 
 "'^ "***&# HARRIETT JAY. 
 
 The Dark Coueen. t Qoeen of Connanght. 
 
 By MARK KERSHAW. 
 Colonial Tacts and Fictions. 
 
 By R. ASHE KING. 
 A Drawn Game. I Fasaion's Slave. 
 
 ^ The Wearing of the BeU Barry. 
 Green.' I 
 
 By EDMOND LEPELLETIER. 
 
 ^^^^"'"■By "JOHN LEYS. 
 
 ''•""'Sre. LYNN LINTON, 
 
 a'Ke: 
 
 Patricia KembaU. 
 
 The World Well I>olt. 
 
 Under wUch Lord I 
 
 Fasten Carew. 
 
 ■My level' 
 
 lone. ■ ' 
 
 Witb a Silken Thread. I 
 
 By HENRY W. LUCY. 
 
 ^"'"'SrJUSTlN MCCARTHY 
 
 The Atonement of Leam 
 
 Dnndas. 
 Bebel«f the Family, r 
 Sowing the Wind. 
 The One Too Many. 
 Dnlcie Everton. 
 
 Dear Lady Disdain. 
 
 Donna Qalzote. 
 
 Waterdale Nelgbhoara. Maid of Athens. 
 
 Mv Bnemy'a Daughter The Comet of a Season. 
 
 APiStSaxoa. ***" '^''■♦-*™ 
 
 L&ley Bcfeliforid. 
 
 MtsgMlaanthxopfl 
 
 The Dictator. 
 Bed Diamonds 
 The Biddie Bing. 
 
 By GEORGE MACDONALD. 
 
 Heather and Snow. 
 
 By AGNES MACDONELL. 
 
 Qnaker Conalns. 
 
 By KATHARINE S. MACQUOID. 
 
 The Evil Eye. | Lost Bos&. i 
 
 By W. H. MALLOCK. 
 
 A Bomaace of the Nine- 1 The Kew Bepabllc, 
 teenth Centnrjr- I 
 
 By BRANDER MATTHEWS. 
 A Secret of the Sea. 
 
 By L. T. MEADE. 
 
 A Soldier of Fortune. 
 
 By LEONARD MERRICK. 
 
 The Man who was Good. 
 
 By JEAN MIDDLEMASS, 
 
 Touch and Go. | Mr. Dorillion. 
 
 By Mrs. MOLESWORTH. 
 
 Hatherconrt Rectory. 
 
 By J. E. MUDDOCK. 
 StoriesWeird and Won- 1 From the Bosom of the 
 
 derful. I Deep, 
 
 The Dead Man's Secret. 1 
 
 By D. CHRISTIE MURRAY. 
 
 A Bit of Human Nature. 
 First Fefaon lingular. 
 Bqh'Martin'B LittleGirL 
 Time's Revenges. 
 A Wasted Crime. 
 In Direst Peril. 
 Mount Despair. 
 A, Capful o Kails 
 
 A Model Father. 
 Joseph's Coat. 
 Coals of Plre. 
 Val Strange. j Hearts. 
 Old Blazer's Hero. 
 The Way of the World. 
 Cynic Fortune. 
 A'Blfe'tf Atonement. 
 By the Gate of the Sea, 
 
 By MURRAY and HERMAN. 
 One Traveller Returns. I The Bishops' Bible. 
 Fanl Jones's Alias. I 
 
 By HENRY MURRAY. 
 A Game of Bluff. I A Song of Sixpence. 
 
 By HUME NISBET. 
 ' Ball Up I ' I Dr.Bemard St. Vincent. 
 
 By W. E. NORR15. 
 Saint Ann's. I Billy Bellow. 
 
 By ALICE O'HANLpN. 
 The Trnforeseen. | Chance 7 or Fate 7 
 
 By GEORGES OHNET. 
 Dr. Sameau. I A Weird Gift. 
 
 A Last-Love. | 
 
 By Mrs. OLIPHANT. 
 Whlteladiea. I The Greatest Heiress In 
 
 The Primrose Path. \ England. 
 
 By Mrs. ROBERT O'REILLY. 
 Phoebe's Fortunes. 
 
 By GUI DA. 
 
 CamloU.^^ HUGH MACCOLL. 
 
 Mr. Stranger's Sealed Taoket. 
 
 Held In Bondage. 
 
 Strathmore. 
 
 Chandos. 
 
 IdaUa. 
 
 Under Two Flags. 
 
 Cecil Qaatlemalne'BGage 
 
 Tricobriu. 
 
 Puck. 
 
 FoUe Farine. 
 
 A Dog of FUutders, 
 
 Pascuel. 
 
 Slgna. 
 
 Fnncess Kapraxlne. 
 
 In a Winter City. 
 
 Ariadne. 
 
 Prlendflilp. 
 
 By MARGARET AGNES PAUL. 
 Gentle and. Simple. 
 
 By EDGAR A. POB. 
 The Mycteiy of Marie Boget. 
 
 By Mrs. CAMPBELL PRAED. 
 The Bcanance of a Station. 
 The Soul of ConntSES Adrian., 
 Outlaw and L&wmaker. I Mrs. Tregaiklss. 
 Christina Chard. j 
 
 Two Lit. Wooden Shoes 
 
 Moths. 
 
 Bimhi. 
 
 Ftplstrello. 
 
 A Village CommaQe. 
 
 Wanda. 
 
 Othmar 
 
 Frescoes. 
 
 In Maremma. 
 
 GulldOroy. 
 
 Rnfflno. 
 
 Syrlln. 
 
 Santa Barbara. 
 
 Two Offenders. 
 
 Oalda's Wisdom, 
 
 .. and Pathos. 
 
 Wit, 
 
si CHATTO & WINDUS. {^uMUhefT, lii St. Mardn's UA6, Ufldoh. W.C* 
 
 Two-Shilling Novels — continued. 
 
 By e. C. PRICE. 
 
 Valsntlna. I Mrs. Lancaster'sRlTal. 
 
 The Forelgntrfl. | Gerald. 
 
 By RICHARD PRYCE. 
 
 UiSD Uaxwall's AflectlonB, 
 
 By JAM6S PAYN, 
 
 Bnntlncfc'i Tutor. 
 
 Mnrphy'B Master. 
 
 A Conu^ Family. 
 
 At Her Mercy. 
 
 Cecil'* Tryst, 
 
 The Clylfarde of Olyffe. 
 
 The FoBter Brothera. 
 
 Found Dead. 
 
 The Best of Husbands. 
 
 Walter's Word. 
 
 Halves. 
 
 Fallen Fortanei. 
 
 Humorous Stories. 
 
 £200 Reward. 
 
 A Marine KesMence. 
 
 Mirk Abbey 
 
 By Proxy. 
 
 Under One Soof. 
 
 High Spirits. 
 
 Carlyott's Year. 
 
 From Exile. 
 
 For Cash Only. 
 
 Kit. 
 
 The Canon's Ward. 
 
 The Talk of the f own. 
 Holiday Tasks. 
 A Fdrfect Treaoura. 
 What He Cost Her. 
 A Confldflutial Agent. 
 Glow-worm Tales. 
 The Burnt MUtlon. 
 Bunny Stories. 
 Lost Sir Massingberd. 
 A Womata's Vengeance. 
 The Family Scapegrace. 
 Gwendoline's Harvest. 
 Like Father, Idke Son. 
 Married Beneath Hln. 
 Not Wooed, but Won. 
 Less Black than We're 
 
 Fainted. 
 Some Frivate Views. 
 A Grape trom a Thorn. 
 The Mystery of Mir- 
 
 brldge. 
 Tha Word and the WUl. 
 A Prince of the Blood. 
 A Trring Patient. 
 
 By CHARLBS READE, 
 
 It is Never loo Late to 
 
 Mend. 
 Christie Johnstone. 
 The Double Marriage. 
 Put Yourself In His 
 
 Place 
 Love Me Little, Love 
 
 Me Long. 
 The Cloister and the 
 
 Hearth. 
 The Course of True 
 
 Love. 
 The Jilt. 
 The AutbbioBraphy of 
 
 a Thief. 
 
 By Mrs. J. H 
 
 A Terrible Temptation. 
 
 Foul Play. 
 
 The Wandering Heir. 
 
 Hard Cash. 
 
 Bingleheartand Double- 
 face.- 
 
 Good Stories of Man and 
 other Animals. 
 
 Peg WofiLngton. 
 
 Orlfflth Gaunt. 
 
 A Perilous Secret^ 
 
 A Simpleton. 
 
 Beadiana. 
 
 A Woman-Eater. . 
 
 RIDDELL. 
 
 The Uninhabited Housi. 
 The Mystery in Palace 
 
 Gardens. 
 The ITun's Curse. 
 Idle Tales. 
 
 Weird Stories. 
 Fairy Water. 
 Her Mother's Darling. 
 The Prince of Wales's 
 Garden Party. 
 
 By AMELIE RIVES. 
 Barbara Dering. 
 
 By P. W. ROBINSON. 
 Womenare Straoigo. | The Woman Jn the Dark 
 The Hands of Jusuce. 
 
 By JAMES RUNCIMAN. 
 Schools and Scholars. 
 Grace Balmalgn's Sweetheart. 
 
 Uy W. CLARK RUSSELL. 
 
 Bound the Galley Fire. 
 
 On the Fo'k'sle Head. 
 
 Xn the Middle Watch. 
 
 A Voyage to the Oapa. 
 
 A Book for the Hun- 
 mock. ^ ^. 
 
 The Mystery of the 
 'Ocean Star.' 
 
 The Romance of Jenny 
 Harlowe. _ 
 
 Bv DORA 
 
 A Country SweetAieart. 
 
 An Ocean Tragedy. 
 My Shipmate Louise. 
 Alone onWideWlde Sea. 
 Good Ship ' Mohock.' 
 The Phantom Death. 
 Is He the Man? 
 Heart of Oak. 
 The Convict Ship. 
 The Tale of the Ten. 
 The Las c Entry. 
 RUSSELL. 
 
 By GEORQB AUGUSTUS SALA, 
 
 LSllght and Daylight- 
 
 By GBORQE R. SIMS. 
 
 •r n' nulla Zflnh. 
 
 The Ring of^Bells. ^ 
 Uary Jane's Memoin. 
 Xuy Jane Married. 
 Tales of To-4fay. 
 pramas of Life. 
 
 Slnkletop's Crlnu. 
 [y Two Wives. 
 
 Zeph. 
 
 Memoirs of ft Landlady. 
 Scenes from the Show. 
 The 10 Commandments. 
 Dagonet Abroad. 
 Rogues and Vagabonds. 
 
 By ARTHUR SKETCHLEY. 
 
 A Match in the Dark. 
 
 By HAWLEY SMART. 
 
 Without Love or Licence. | The Plunger. 
 Beatrice and Benedick. Long Odds. 
 The Master of Rathkelly. | 
 
 By T. W. SPEIGHT. 
 
 The Mysteries of Heron 
 
 Dyke. 
 The Golden Hoop. 
 Hoodwinked. 
 By Devious Ways. 
 
 Back to Ufa. 
 
 The LoudwaterTragedjr, 
 
 Burgo's Romance. 
 
 Quittance in Full. 
 
 A Husband from the Bea 
 
 By ALAN ST. AUBYN. 
 
 Orchard Damerel. 
 
 In the Faceof theWorld, 
 
 The Tremlett Diamonds. 
 
 A Fellow of Trinity. 
 The Junior Dean. 
 Master of St.Benedict's 
 To His Own Master. 
 
 By R. A. STERNDALE- 
 The Afghan Knife. 
 
 By R. LOUIS STEVENSON. 
 New Arabian Nights. 
 
 By BERTHA THOMAS. 
 Creesida. | The Violin-Player. 
 
 By WALTER THORNBURY, 
 Tales for the Marines. | Old Stories Rotolil. 
 By T. ADOLPHUS TROLLOPE, 
 Diamond Cut Diamond. 
 
 By F. ELEANOR TROLLOPE. 
 Like Ships upon the I Anne Pumess. 
 Bea. I Mabel's Progress. 
 
 By ANTHONY TROLLOPE, 
 
 Fran Frohmann, 
 Marion Fay. 
 Kept in the Dark, 
 John Oaldlgate. 
 The Way we Live Now. 
 
 The Land-Leaguers. 
 The American Senator. 
 Mr. Scarborough's 
 
 Family. 
 Ooldenuon of Qranpert 
 
 By J. T. TROWBRIDGE. 
 
 Famell's Folly. 
 
 By IVAN TURGENIEPF, &c. 
 
 Stories from Foreign Novelists. 
 
 By MARK TWAIN, 
 A Pleasure Trip on ttie ' '" "^ 
 
 Continent. 
 The Gilded Age. 
 Huckleberry Finn. 
 Mai^Twain's Sketches. 
 Tom Sawyer. 
 A Tramp Abroad. 
 Stolen white Elephant. 
 
 By C. C. FRASER-TYTLER. 
 Mistress Judith. 
 
 By SARAH TYTLER. 
 The Brides Pass: The Huguenot Family 
 
 Life on the SCisslsslppl. 
 The Prince and the 
 
 Pauper. 
 A Yankee at the Court 
 
 of King Arthur. 
 The £1,000,000 Bank- 
 
 Note. 
 
 The BlackhVa Ghosts. 
 What SheCameThrongh 
 Beauty and the Beast. 
 Oltoyenne Jaqnellne. 
 
 Burled Diamonds. 
 St. Mungo's City. 
 Lady Bell. 
 Noblesse Oblige. 
 Disappeared. 
 
 By ALLEN UPWARD. 
 The Queen against Owen. | Prince of Balkistan. 
 ' God Save the Queen I' 
 
 By AARON WATSON and LILLIAS 
 WASSEftMANN. 
 
 The Marqnis of Oarabas. 
 
 By WILLIAM WESTALL. 
 Trnst-Money. 
 
 By Mrs. F. H. WILLIAMSON. 
 
 A Child Widow. 
 
 By J. S. WINTER. 
 Cavalry Life. | Regimental Legends, 
 
 By H. F. WOOD. 
 
 Se Passenger from Scotland Yard, 
 e Englishman of the Rne Cain. 
 By CELIA PARKER WOOLLBY. 
 
 Rachel Amstrong : or. Love and Theology. 
 
 By EDMUND YATES. 
 
 The Forlem Hope. | Oaitoway. 
 
 oaOKH. SUAC.E AND PETTY. LIUITBDi PRIHTERS, GREAT SAFPROH HILLt B.G«