Atlanta Georgian. [volume] (Atlanta, Ga.) 1912-1939, 1913-06-20
=. Their Married Life :.
Warren Derides the ''Fake Amateurs in the Amateur
Night Cabaret
By MABEL HERBERT URNER.
THAT'S all this?" asked
w Warren, glanefng around
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GEVX THATS all this?" asked
Wv Warren, glanrrng around
the restaurant, which was
placarded with big -lettered
signs, Don't Forget Thursday-Ama-
teur Night"
why, this is Thursday" exclaim-
ed Helen. But do they have anna
teur nights at cabarets ?"
Seem to have EN-, and we've
struck the night" Then turning to
the head waiter, who was standing
back of their table, How about this
amateur business? Any good?"
Yes, sir; you could hardly get a
table here Thursday nights during
the winter. But it's getting late now
-everybody's going to the beaches, -
and he hurried off to seat a party of
four that had Just entered.
Ladies and gentlemen" suddenly
announced a brisk young man, who
had mounted the raised platform in
front of the orchestra, the first mum .
h, Der Of our amateur performance this
evening is Miss Rose Martin. She is
a"
Singer! Dancer!" called out sew
eral of the diners.
"She is SOME songstress," ended
the announcer with a grin, as young
woman in a rusty black skirt and
cheap white shirtwaist, mounted the
platform beside him.
In a high nasal voice she began to
shrill a popular song. With the sec
ond verse everybody was laughing or
whistling derisively and shuffling their
feet.
"Oh, why doesn't she stop?" MUIR
INJURED Helen. Cant she see they're
making fun of herr"
That's what she's here for. You
don't think she's a real amateur, do
you?" shifted Warren. She's some
cheap vaudevillian trying to sing
through her nose-faking the anna
teur game"
The Game.
The man who did the announcing
stood back of the girl, with a broad
grin and his hands over his ears.
Every now and then he would stoop
10 pick up and put in a plate the
small coins the diners threw on the
red carpeted platform. When the girl
had ended her song, amid loud whis-
ties and shouts, he gave her the
money and bowed her off mockingly.
But surely she gets paid?" asked
Helen. "She wouldn't make such a
spectacle of herself for the few dimes
on that plate"
Warren shrugged his shoulders.
"You can't tell These poor devils out
of a job may be glad to sing for their
supper"
"Our next number" announced the
man from the platform, will be Miss
Emma Kelly. She is a. pausing
in the same way for the response he
evidently expected from the diners.
Singer! Dancer!" again shouted
the men at various tables.
"She is IA LADY" he finished
with the same hooking grin.
Dear, how silly! Why does he an
uounce them like that?" murmured
Helen.
Miss Emma Kelly was a very I'M
old black satin gown, rusty shoes
and untidy hair and her voice, while
not as nasal, was equally as bad as
the first. She received her same
share Of boots and jeers and the same
sprinkle of nickels and dimes.
1t seemed to Helen that she fur
lively watched the man as he picked
them up for fear they would not all
be deposited in the plate.
Even Helen could see that she was
not an amateur. There was a GER
tain holiness and indifference in her
manner that spoke loudly of the
stage. And she was OVERRIDING the
part-she was singing too badly. Her
off keys were too frequent.
"Oh, this is all faxed up" muttered
Warren in disgust. There won't be
a real amateur here tonight"
"Why not? Why don't they have
them ?" insisted Helen They'd be
much more interesting"
Guess they can't get 'em--or can't
get enough to depend on. This thing