Life — November 25, 1909 — page 9: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

“LIFE™ At the Opera CENE.—Mrs. Nestor’s box at the Metropolitan. With her is Mrs. Everson Harbury, Berty Cun- life, Harry Grimes ané Dickey Boree!—a friend of Mrs. Harbury’s, The curtain descends for the last entr'acte. Haxry.—Who was the fat lady? Gadshi? Mrs. N.—Oh! Somebody please look on the programme and find out. She really was funny, and why do sopranos always have larger hips than contraltos? Berry (back of the bor): No! No! Don't you see? The nine was in dummy. I held a ten ace over the dealer and was bound that I wouldn't touch the suit, as, by si 1 was— Who is the monster with Mrs. Tt can't be ting 1 Mxs. H. Gorden Speed? Dicxy.—Whoever it is she is popping out of her dr Somebody really ought mercifully to give her a wrapper or a S. bathrobe. (.4side) You are the only really beautiful woman in the house; everybody says so. Mrs. H. (aside): Hush! Don't be silly. Mas, N.—What terrible faces one sees in the boxes. Al- ways the same idiotic women; and to-night, somehdw, the men look particularly tiresome and repulsive Berty (back of the bor): No, really! They aren't all imitation. The longer string is all a fake, of course, but every other pearl, on the shorter string, is real. Poor old girl! She says that if her husband ever decides to die she will buy enough real pearls to— Mas. H.—Well! Lately, I've been buying all my evening dresses in Paris. There's a little woman on the Rue Royale— Dicky told me about her first—who gives my things a sort of downward curve, and she’s twice as cheap as Doucet — Mrs. N.—Oh! For Heaven's sake, don't turn around. There's that awful little dago in the next box—Castelfidoro, He's waiting for a chance to pounce I forbid anybody to or whatever his name is. in here and ask himself to my dance -move. Harey.—New York is overrun with dagos, Every woman I know has a pet Italian tucked away in her anyway. drawing-room. They are worse than Pomms or the black death. The city is literally teeming with them. Dicky.—Oh! I bought it at the top, as usual—just before it started down the chute. I wanted to buy Union but my broker knew so darned much that I. No, thanks, I never use opera glasses at the Metropolitan; it brings the faces so near and makes them too terribly lifelike— Berty (back of the bor): I only know that I saw them yesterday at Hempstead, on the plains, in her husband's ca If you call that harmless and innocent—why, very well and good. I suppose that they had gone down to pick wild- flowers or milk the cows—what? Mrs, H.—Will somebody please tell me who wrote this tiresome “ Figaro’? Was it Donizetti or Bellini? Ask Dicky. He's sure to know. He's frightfully musical. Dicky.— Figaro"? Why, I thought “ Figaro"’ was a newspaper ! Mrs. N.—I assure you, it’s the solemn truth. The whole thing lifts off at night—wig, curls, tiara, comb, paper gardenia and everything else. She calls it her opera “ head,’ and locks it up at night with her emeralds. Dicky.—You'll lose much more at Marienbad than you will at Aix. They take it off a pound a day at Marienbad, easily Berty (back of the bor): Horrors! up. I'm off. Good-night (exit). Mrs. H.—Harry, like a good boy, would you go and see if you can find my husband? He is usually in the directors’ room, asleep. Wake him up and te!! him that he is gomg on to Mrs. Carstairs’ musicale with me. He'll kick and lay back his cars, but you send him in here and I'll manage the rest. Hakry.—I know his slumber place. There are four of them who sleep there regularly (exit). Mas. H.—I think, Amy. if you don’t mind, I'll go home. I had the osteopath for half of the afternoon and my husband for the other half and I’m half dead with fatigue. (She rises). Dicky (aside) : You are divine to-night, really. Will you give me a lift as far as the club? Mrs. H.—Certainly not. I like your cheek. (Aside): I'll meet you at the Fortieth Street entrance. They are all going Thirty-ninth Street (exit). (Enter Mr. N. rebellious and champing at the bit.) Dicxy.—Good-night, Mrs. Nestor. Thanks so much (crit) Mes. N.—Where have you been all this time, I should like to know? Mx. N.—Aslecp! Mrs. N. (sadly).—I envy you (exeunt) Blind Justice W meet our philosophical friend smiling contentedly. “What has gone wrong, now?" we ask “Nothing has gone wrong,"’ he explains. “ Something Spriggins owed Hennett ten thousand dollars, me so that Hennett The curtain is going (Aloud) : and observe that he is went right. and put bis property in his wife's n couldn’t collect."” “But t ything unusual.’’ at isn’t an “ And last night Mrs. Spnggins eloped with Hennett!"’ Ask Tim ‘O canonize Columbus, eh! What does Tim Sullivan say? Tim is the great patron of Columbus. It was he that invented Columbus Day and made it a public holiday NEW DITTIES PROM LIFE Is there any institution that secs a possible profit in making it a Saint’s Day, too? comicbooks.com