The Wichita daily eagle. [volume] (Wichita, Kan.) 1890-1906, 1891-12-29
"The what<

1 4Ac WILL
@The bar canister. tell We. Vance.
at house where was cook, the mis-
tress gave me a book of suits of arms TO
look at. Then she told me whole lot
about 'em and what all the different
things meant. I've forgotten all the
rest she told me, but the bar canister
made an indelible impression.
I'D know wan of them now wild me
eyes shut, and that Wyncoop has gotwan
sure. Put your head down and I'll whis-
| per the particulars TO you"
Mrs. Quinn obeyed, and gradually, as
the drift of Miss Cadogan's remarks
dawned upon her. her features took on a
triumphant grin.
Faith, now, why didn't that strike
me at all? Archbishops can't marry, to
be shure. But that settles it. Tilda
shan't marry him now if 1 die for it, for
| I'll never own as nephews and nieces
childers whose great-great-great-great-
great-grandmother wasn't a perfect
lady"
Within three days every fence in Clam
vile announced that Miss Matilda Bran
nigan, the renowned society amateur
actress, would appear in 'Sewanaka, the
White Squaw," on Saturday night, Aug.
Is. supported by Mr.. Eugene Wyncoop
and select coterie of society leaders"
Rehearsals were called for twice a
day, and consequently so much was
Tilda engrossed with her part that her
family saw scarcely anything Of her,
and poor McGivern nothing at all. He
used to hang about the house and make
love in mild sort of way to Tilda's sec
ond sister Bridge, who had not been in
yited to take part in the play.
He had consented to appear as one OF
the white squaw's Indian warriors, more
for the pleasure of being near her than
from any desire to appear in public, but
as this was essentially a thinking role,
he was left with good deal of time on
his hands, and Mrs. Quinn, seeing how
disconsolate he looked, finally took COM
passion upon the poor fellow.
She dragged him off for long walk,
and by the time she brought him home
again his features were one broad grin.
Mrs. Quinn and Baby Brannigan were
also much together in those days.
By Miss Cadogan's express stipulation
baby was not to witness his sisters de-
but. Miss Cadogan did not approve Of
theatrical performances in any shape or
form, and as Baby was the prospective
heir, it was thought best to regulate his
conduct accordingly.
On the morning of the day Of the per-
Torrance Mrs. Quinn did a most ex-
traordinary thing. She volunteered to
water the garden of her own accord
Just in front of the barn, to which Mrs.
Brannigan so strenuously objected,
there was quite little pile of hay. Mrs.
Quinn was observed TO examine it very
carefully and then to gauge with her
eye the distance from the hayloft down
to the ground. Then she turned the
hose on the hay until it was thoroughly
soaked, and betook herself to the house
again. There were piles of hay in the
rear of the barn and also on each side.
Mrs. Quinn didn't bother about soaking
them, however; the pile before the hay
loft absorbed her entire attention.
That night, when Tilda was all ready
to start for the theater, Mrs. Quinn and
Miss Cadogan wished her every joy.
well, hope you'll be thumpin sue
cess, Tilda," remarked Mrs. Quinn.
"Me and May shall be thinkin of you,
though we shan't be there. I'd go in
minute if it wasn't for me toothache,
and anyhow, even if it did let up, l
couldn't go now, for I've promised to
take Baby up in the hayloft and let him
play in the hay. Tell Barney, if you see
him, to come up for supper. What wild
these rehearsals and the fire engine prac-
tees, amt laid eyes on him in tree
days"
Then turning to Baby, she exclaimed:
''Now, come along, darlint, let's go up
in the hayloft."
When the curtain rose on the first act |
of ''Sewanaka," standing room was at a
premium.
The stage was set as prairie, with an
Indian encampment in the foreground. |
The twenty-one members Of the Clam !
vile fire department, metamorphosed for |
the time being into the Indian followers |
of the white squaw, lay about the stage |
in various attitudes of languor.
One by one the warriors grew drowsy /
and sank to rest. The moon arose above |
the prairie grass, and while the orches- |
ira played slow music there entered |
from R. E. Miss Tilda Brannigan, the |
White Squaw.
You could have heard pin drop any
where in the theater as the White |
Squaw, daintily picking her way among |
the sleeping men, advanced to the foot |
lights on tiptoe. Everybody leaned for
ward TO catch the first syllable which |
should fall from her silvery lips There
was an instant's pause and then she
spoke.
"Seel" she exclaimed in a staccato
whisper, 'the dusky warriors sleep"
Hardly had the sentence left her lips
when the fire bell began TO ring.
Every dusky warrior sprang TO his
feet tumultously and tore headlong of
the stage. In an instant they had cleared
the stairs, and, in full war paint and
feathers, were rushing down the street /
toward the engine house, heller SHELTER.
The White SQuaw, left alone IN her
glory, beat an ignominious retreat be
hind the scenes, where she threw her
self upon campstool and at once began
70 CRY.
Eugene Wyncoop. the only man who