Life — December 2, 1915 — page 47: what you’re looking at

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

Christmas Life An Actor on Their Bands “THINK of it!” exclaimed Maltby. “My old school- mate, Mercator Phillby, tak- ing the leading part ina musical comedy and I not knowing it! We must go see it. I must communicate with him. How about Saturday matinée?” He held up the paper. Mrs. Maltby, although a lib- “S~ — eral-minded and adaptable per- son, was naturally, after the manner of certain sedate wives, not so highly en- thusiastic as her husband. “An actor!” she said. “Oh, dear! I wouldn’t renew an old acquaintance like that You will only regret it. Take my advice and don't do it. Those early friendships never pan out. And with actors!” “He was a splendid fellow!” said Maltby. “Quiet and sober. I wouldn't have dreamed that he had any talent! It’s wonderful! I simply must see him, if only for a word.” “ Sober!” sniffed Mrs. Maltby. “Um! Don’t you know, my dear, those actors spend all their time, when they are not acting, in carousing. Why, they never last more than a few years. Now don't, please, at your time of life, get drawn into that kind of an atmosphere. It's dreadful to think of!" “Well,” replied the diplomatic Maltby, “let's go to the play anyway. I'd rather like to see how Merky looks now. My stars! Notice the way they advertise him!” Mrs. Maltby, in spite of her outward protestation of austerity, was human. The stage possessed for her a secret fascination. She loved light music. And they went to the play. Maltby sent his card through the box office after the first act to his old schoolmate. Later on, after the second act, he excitedly showed the answer to his almost frightened but highly curi- ous wife. It read: “Bob, old boy! after the show! Be sure and wait I must see you! Merky.” By Thomas L. Masson After they had gotten home that aft- ernoon, fresh from their adventure in the wings of the theatre, Maltby and his wife sat down and stared at each other across the table. “You did it,” said Mrs. Maltby se- verely. “Now don’t blame me, no matter what happens.” “But, my dear girl, you must admit he is a nice fellow, and didn’t he treat us splendidly? Same old Merky! I simply had to ask him out here for a week-end. Besides, I looked at you first” “And of course I had to join in and ask him too, after you'd gone that far. Now the question is, what on earth shall we do with him?” There was a grim, tragic silence. But at last the courageous Maltby spoke. “My dear,” he said, “let’s be wicked for once. Merky is traveling about the country most of the time, so he can’t be with us long enough to get us into bad habits. Let’s be sports. We've got to entertain him! Let's resign our- selves for a couple of days to a high old theatrical time. I promise you—” Mrs. Maltby’s face actually turned red. “T suppose you know what a high old theatrical time means,” she whis- pered “I've read about those actors, and what they do on Saturdays and Sundays. Don't you remember when we stopped at Long Beach last summer what shameless costumes the actresses wore in bathing? Why, I understand they are very rarely sober. I wouldn't he a bit surprised if your friend drove up to the house Saturday afternoon in a big motor-car just full of those dreadful chorus girls, What will the neighbors think?” Maltby’s laugh was slightly hysterical as he replied: “Now, don't be a hypocrite. I guess Merky can’t do us much harm in a couple of days. Besides, be honest! I confess I—I—well, I will rather en- joy having a wild time. Between you and me, the neighbors will envy us.” Mrs. Maltby pretended to be terribly shocked, but she began to be influenced by the same horrible fascination that had come over her husband. “T suppose we'll have to offer him a cocktail for dinner,” she said. “A cocktail!” cried Maltby. “My dear girl, that will be a drop in the bucket. Now, you might as well do this thing up right and resign your- self. I'll go out at once and buy a bar- tender’s guide, so I can mix my own drinks, All actors, you know, mix their own drinks, We must order Scotch and rye and bitters and gin and cham- pagne and liqueurs and two or three kinds of cigarettes. You know these actors smoke cigarettes all the time— and if I can get enough gamblers in the neighborhood together, we'll have a poker party.” “Where do I come in?” moaned Mrs. Maltby. “You simple thing, don't you know that in theatrical circles women do just the same as men. You'll be one of us, of course.” “But wine goes to my head, and I should simply die if I smoked a ciga- rette, This is a dreadful thing you've gotten us into.” “Nonsense! You can just puff ‘em. Don't inhale. You hold it between your fingers like this, and circle it around. And when you drink, eat bread!) They say if you will stuff yourself with bread, you can take any amount of cocktails without feeling them. It acts like a blotter, you know.” Mercator Phillby’s play was going on the road, so he had a couple of weeks’ rest. Hence he was enabled to accept the Maltbys’ invitation for the follow- ing Saturday. On that day Maltby, before going to the station to meet him in the auto, took his trembling wife into the dining- room. “Brace up, old girl,” he whispered. Make up your mind to go in for a real devilish time. You may be pretty comicbooks.com