Continuous Vaudeville by Will M. Cressy (read the beginning after the end novel .TXT) 📕

Several years ago the Quigley Brothers, Bob and George, were living at a boarding house on Fourteenth Street, New York. One afternoon George was standing in front of the looking glass, shaving, and at the same time practicing a new dance step. Bob was seated on the floor, writing letters, on his trunk, to different managers for "time." He stopped, looked up and said,

[79]"How do you spell eighty, George?"

"Who are you writing to?" asked George.

"Huber."

"F-o-r-t-y."

All Artists, while playing "the Provinces" in England, stop at "lodgings," that is, private houses. The landlady always keeps a book, in which she has the visiting Artists write their autographs, and a line telling how much they have enjoyed her "lodgings."

E. J. Connelly got into one house where he did not feel like writing just what he thought about it; but the landlady was so insistent that finally he took the book and wrote—

"Quoth the Raven; E. J. Connelly."

One night at the Vaudeville Comedy Club the conversation drifted around to Stage Tramps. It happened that there were several of this style of the genus homo present and they began a good-natured dispute as to which had been playing tramp parts the longest.

Nat Wills went back as far as 1885. Charlie Evans said that "Old Hoss" Hoey could beat that, as he was at it in 1881. John World said[80] they were mere novices; as he was playing a tramp part in 1874.

Just then Walter Jones wandered in, and the matter was referred to him.

"Boys," he said, stifling a yawn, "you are all Pikers; Mere Johnnie Newcomers. Why, I played a tramp part in '1492.'"

[81]

Charles Bigalow, the Hairless Comedian, has passed away; and when you stop to consider that he put in a whole season in a company with Pete Daily, Willie Collier, Lew Field, Joe Webber, John T. Kelley and Edgar Smith, you can't wonder that he passed away. I never could see how anybody lived through that season. I wouldn't put in a season with that sextette for all the money Lee Harrison has got. What one of them wouldn't think of another would; and generally they all thought of it at once.

One of the scenes that season took place on the deck of a yacht. Daily and Collier had a scene where they leaned over the rail of the boat, this rail running across the stage right down next to the footlights, and while pretending to be looking down into the sea, made fun of the leader, the members of the orchestra and the audience.

Daily would point down to a couple of chaps and say to Collier,

[82]"Oh, look! there are a couple of sharks."

"How do you know they are sharks?" Collier would ask.

"I was playing poker with them last night," Daily would reply.

Then Collier would get his eye on a party of girls.

"And look at the school of minnies!" he would say.

"Those are not minnies," Daily would say.

"What are they?"

"Rebeccas."

Now as this was a scene that didn't start anywhere nor go anywhere, there had to be some sort of an interruption occur to get them off the stage. So it was arranged that Bigalow should come rushing on calling for help; Collier and Daily ask what is the matter. Bigalow says his wife has fallen overboard and the three rush off to save her.

This version was played for several weeks; then Daily and Collier began to fear that Bigalow was beginning to become mechanical in his work so they decided to make a change in the scene; but they did not tell him so.

That night the scene went on as usual, up to the[83] time of Bigalow's entrance. He came rushing, wild eyed and excited shouting—

"Help! Help!"

But instead of turning and asking what the matter was, Collier and Daily kept right on with their kidding the audience. Again, and louder, Bigalow yelled—

"Help! Help!"

Collier discovered a red-headed girl down in front and called Daily's attention to the "Red Snapper" over on the right.

"Help! Help! Help-Help!!"

Daily called Collier's attention to the marcel waves beating on a fellow's shoulder over in the left-hand box.

Bigalow was getting madder every minute. "Oh, say, for the love of Lee Shubert, come and help a feller, will you?"

Collier pointed to a man in the front row and said, "Look at the gold fish down there! See his gold teeth?"

By this time Bigalow was so mad he couldn't speak at all; so he just stood and glared at the other two. Having accomplished their desires, Daily now took Collier by the arm and they started off stage. Just as they were about to exit,[84] Collier stopped, held up his hand, listened a moment, then said,

"I thought I heard something!"

They both put their hands to their ears and listened. Then Collier turned and saw Bigalow, looked at him a moment and said,

"Er—I beg pardon! Did you speak?"

Bigalow just looked at him angrily.

"Something about 'help,' was it not?" continued Collier.

Still no reply.

"Help? Help?" said Daily, briskly; "what help do you want?"

"Oh, my wife fell overboard—an hour ago," said Bigalow in tones of disgust.

"Is it possible?" said Daily; and, taking Collier's arm they walked off unconcernedly, leaving Bigalow there alone.

For a full minute he stood there, looking off after them, too angry and disgusted to speak. And then, at the top of his voice he yelled after them—

"Well, say, you know I don't give a damn either."

And walked off.

[85]

Upon another occasion several of the Webber & Fields Stars were engaged to appear at a function given by some millionaire up on Fifth Avenue. They were to meet at the theater, dress there, and go up to the house in taxicabs. As usual, Bigalow was late. But as this always happened nobody bothered about it. They simply got dressed and went on their way, leaving him to come as best he could.

But, in order that he should not feel neglected, they fixed things up for him. In rummaging through his trunk Daily had come across a can of burnt cork, that he had used in a minstrel show at St. James, L. I., the previous summer. So while Collier wrote a note for Bigalow, telling him that at the last minute it had been decided that everybody should "black up," Daily daubed some of the burnt cork around the wash bowl and on to his and Collier's towels. This done they all went up to the house where they were to appear.

Can you see the next picture? Daily, Collier, Kelly, and the others all in immaculate evening dress, sitting in the host's drawing room, chatting with the host and a few friends, when the[86] door burst open and Bigalow dashed in—as black as burnt cork would make him!

Poor Charlie. May he rest in peace. And that is more than he would ever have done in that company.

There was an English musical act playing over here last summer. The wife carried the money. She had to; if she hadn't there wouldn't have been any to carry. She had a time lock on the pocketbook and the time did not expire until they got back to England. She had been brought up under a free trade government and she did not like our protective tariff prices.

Hubby had one hat; a straw one. As Hubby had red hair and the hat was a dirty white, he looked like a fried egg in it. For weeks he had been trying to get a requisition on the treasury for a new one. But wife had vetoed the appropriation every time.

Finally Hubby had a scheme. He went to Joe Apdale, the animal trainer, for assistance.

"Now, Joe," he said, "Hi'll tell you wot we'll do; Hi will go down hand set on the hedge of the dock there, hover the ocean. Hand you come along hand say, ''Ullo, old chap!' and slap me[87] on the back. Hi'll jump, and the bloomin' 'at will fall hin the water."

"All right," said Joe; "set your stage."

Hubby went down to the edge of the wharf, leaning over and looking at the water below.

Joe sauntered down that way, saw him, started, went over to him, said, "Hullo, old chap!" and slapped him on the back.

Hubby started—and lost his glasses into the ocean, while the hat remained firmly on his head.

The Four Blank Sisters were playing the Columbia at Cincinnati; Mama Blank traveled with the act; Mama was about five feet long and four wide; and she was built too far front; she was at least fifteen inches out over the building line.

On this particular night the German Consul was to be in front to see the girls. Coram, the English Ventriloquist, was doing his act in "One." The girls came next. Mama spied a peek hole in the curtain; this peek hole was about the center of the stage. Mama said, "So; I should see if the Consul iss dere already yet."

So she went to the peek hole; it was just about two inches too high; so, in order to make it, Mama had to stand on tiptoe; this change in her[88] "point of support" threw her center of gravity still further front, so that by the time she got her eyes up to within a foot of the peek hole, her front piazza was right up against the curtain; but she didn't know it; she kept stepping forward to get nearer to the peek hole, and her stomach kept shoving it further and further away.

Meanwhile she was crowding poor Coram, out in front, further and further into the footlights. Finally, in desperation, he brought his elbow back against the curtain with a whack. It struck poor Mama where she was the most prominent, and knocked every bit of breath out of her. With a groan she collapsed, and it took the four daughters all the rest of the evening to get her pumped up again.

Hanging on the walls of the old S. & C. House in Seattle were the following rules: