The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1917-06-01
CHAPTER II.

Mr.. Campbell Pope was cynic. He
had cultivated a superb contempt for
those beliefs which other people cher
| ish. Most men attain success through
| love of their work; Mr.. Pope had be-
come an eminent critic because of his
hatred for the drama and all things
dramatic. Nor was he any more enam-
ored Of journalism, being in truth by
nature bucolic, but after trying many
occupations and falling in all of them
he had returned to his desk after each
excursion into other fields. First-night
audiences knew him now, and had
come to look for his thin, sharp fea-
lures. His shapeless, wrinkled suit,
that resembled sleeping bag; his fan
mel shirt, always tieless and frequently
collarless, were considered attributes
of genius; and, finding New York to be
amazingly gullible, he took a certain
delight in accentuating his eccentrici-
ties. At especially prominent pre-
mieres he affected a sweater under
meath his coat, but that was his nearest
approach to formal evening dress.
|
none.
| Owing to the dearth of new produc-
lions this summer, Pope had under
taken a series of magazine articles de-
scriptive of the reigning theatrical
beauties, and, while he detested wom-
en- in general and the painted favorites
Of Broadway in particular, he had
| forced himself to write the common
laudatory stuff which the public de-
manded. Only once had he given free
rein to his inclinations and written
with a poisoned pen. Tonight, how
ever, as he entered the stage door of
Bergman's Circuit theater, it was with
a different intent.
Regan, the stage-door tender. better
known since his vaudeville days as
1.-The Judge" answered his greeting
with lugubrious shake of bald head.
"Fm a sick man, Mr.. Pope. Same
old trouble"
| "M-m-m. Kidneys, isn't itT"
mo. Rheumatism. I'm a beehive
swarmin' with palms." The Judge
leaned forward, and a strong odor of
whisky enveloped the cellar. Gould
you slip me four bits for some lini-
ment?"
The critic smiled. There's a dollar,
Regain. Try Scotch for change. It's
better for you than these cheap blends.
And don't breathe toward lamp, or
you'll ignite"
The Judge laughed wheezingly. 81
do take a drop now and then. See
here, you know all the managers. Mr..
Pope Can't you find job for Lottie
DevineT"
"Lottie DevIne. Why, she's your
wife, isn't she? She's a trine old, I'm
| afraid"
"Huh! She wigs up a lot better'n
some of the squads In this troupe. BE.
lieve me, she'd tit any chorus"
"Why don't you ask Bergman"
Mr.. Regan shook his hairless head.
Hes dippy on types This shows
full of 'em; real blondes, real brunettes,
bold and dashln' ones, tall and state
lies. blushers, shrinkers, laughers, and
sadlings. He won't stand Tor makeup;
he wants 'em with the dew on. They've
got to look natural for Bergman. That's
some of 'em now" He nodded toward
a group OF young. fresh-cheeked girls
who had entered the stage door aud
were hurrying down the hail.
1--WE come to interview one OF Berg
mans types; that new beauty, Miss
knight Is she here yetf'
"Sure; her and the back drop. too.
She carries the old woman for seen.
cry" Mr.. Regan took the callers card
and shufied away. leaving Pope %
watch the stream Of performers a.
they entered and made for their quar-
tiers. There were many women IN the
number. and all OF them were pretty
Most OF them were Oyerdressed la the
extremes OF fashion; q few quietly
CARRIED ladies' aud gentlemen entered
the lower dressing rooms reserved for
the principals.
Meanwhile be exchanged greetlnes
with the star-a clear-eyed man with
the face OF a scholar aud the limbs %
an athlete. The latter had studied Tor
the law: he had the droilest legs IN the
business. and his salary exceeded that
OF Supreme court justice. They were
talking when Mr.. Regan returned b
tell the interviewer that be would b.
received
Pope followed 10 the next honr and
entered a brightly lighted. Ovcrhenfeii
dressing room, where I0relei aud her
mother were waiting II was . giar-
ing. stuTy cubbyhole ventilated b.