The San Francisco call. [volume] (San Francisco [Calif.]) 1895-1913, 1895-10-20

l.
go once day, at least, when in San Fran
cisco. In the old days when Clay street
was the newspaper center OF the town l
spent many pleasant hour there,
minglipg with comrades who have passed
away. The same waiter is there now who
served frugal Bohemian meals twenty
years ago, and the same proprietor is be-
hind the counter. For many years not
single familiar face of the past has greeted
me except when l invite some of the old
boys to come and dine. 1t may be the
cooking or the loneliness of the spot or the
surroundings that affect my guests,
1 know not which of the three
causes, but I have noticed that
find it hard to get even my closest friends
there twice. They generally insist upon
it that 1 shall dine with them, in order, 1
imagine, to escape dining with me at that
old restaurant. They always accept my
invitation until we edge down toward that
particular establishment and then cook up
some flimsy excuse to dine elsewhere.
These people are evidently persons who
regard restaurants merely as places in
which to eat. With me it is different.
| The food and service may deteriorate i'll
quality, as in this case, and the proprietor
grow old and grabbed, but if the spot has
associations and memories dear to me, the
| cuisine, II such an expression is permls-
| sible in connection with SO plain place,
can go to the devil, and 1 am still content.
| The pleasant hours | have spent there all
come up again, and every bubble on the
surface of the cheap wine has face and
memory in it. But am spending too much
time. I wish to tell a story that l don't
| expect any one to believe after have told it.
| 1 used frequently to meet there man
named Johnson, who was introduced to
me by Harry Larkyn. Poor Harry, who
lived long enough to excuse himself to
some ladies after bullet went through his
heart, to step out of doors to die.
This always struck me as more polite
and thoughtful than was Chesterfield,
who, with his last breath asked an atten-
dant to give visitor chair.
Larkyn, after his death wound in Calls
| toga, bowed politely 10 three ladies, asked
to be excused, and stepping from the room
was a corpse. How miss Harrys face
when dine at that little Merchant-street
| restaurant.
One night Larkyn, Johnson and myself
were there. Johnson was an actor, one of
those talented geniuses who for some reason
| or another never seem to succeed. The
queer thing about him was that he re-
sembled Booth both in face and figure,
and could mimic him to the life. We
would often take little room by ourselves
and after dinner johnson would give US
scenes from Shakespeare, and for the time
he seemed Booth himself. Larkyn was
very solid," as they say, with the theat-
| rical people, and he made many vain at
| tempts to secure an opening for Johnson.
but the managers all said that Johnson
wanted to fly his kite too high at the start,
instead of taking subordinate parts, etc.
Larkyn was considerably incensed at the
treatment his friend received and the man
| ayers were in constant fear that his sharp
pen would manifest his displeasure in his
theatrical criticisms, for he was en- all
around contributor to the papers and very
happy at theatrical work. But he was too
broad man and good-natured and forgiv-
ing to take such petty revenge.
One evening when we three were dining
together, Larkyn unfolded plan by which
Johnson was to play Hamlet at the Cali
fornia.
"Be all ready" he said to his friend
OeiA-
fornia. I'll fix it,
"Why Booth plays there in October.
You talk nonsense" was the reply.
"But I'll have Booth give you night"
"Pshaw!"
"But, by jove, old boy, I'll make him
give you night"
Johnson merely removed the wine bottle
from Harry's reach and grinned.
L1&I = i TT
~ know Booth well. Met him years ago
in New York. He will play Hamlet
three nights the second week he is here. l
got the whole programme from Barton
Hill. The last is on Saturday evening,
and on that particular night, October 16,
you be ready to play. You are, as you
know, the dead image of Booth. will
have Booth out to dine in the afternoon,
and if I ever get my hands on him he will
never show up at the theater that night. You
occupy his dressng-room and go ahead.
You attend to the stage work. Sam will
help you in the dressing-room and I'll at
tend to the outside business"
The audacity of the idea staggered us
not a little at first. but Larkyn had a per-
suasive tongue and soon convinced US that
the only thing that really detracted from
the plan was its utter simplicity, and we
soon began to work on the details with
feverish enthusiasm; but after Booth
arrived and the town went wild over his
work began to wonder if my friend John
son would be equal to the task we had i'm
posed upon him.
| 1t seemed an awful thing, this practical
! joke we were about to perpetrate, and
began to wish myself well out of it. L
suggested to Larkyn the propriety of call
ing the whole business off, but he brushed
aside my misgivings, insisted that l had
concocted most of the job and invariably
wound up by charging me with treachery
to Johnson-who. he said, would surely
commit suicide if cheated out of his
chance to play Hamlet-or lack OF nerve.
A man, especially young man, hates to
be taxed with treachery or a lack of nerve,
and [ finally assured Larkyn that If it be-
came necessary to cut Booths throat to
keep him off the stage 1 would allow him
to do it, and never mention the matter to
either Crowley or Lees.
The time drew near for the event, John
son was working like beaver at study
and rehearsal, and every day was taking n