Evening star., 1938-07-10

upon tne OOOy OI his NlSluils uoi SCO uO"H
the corridor toward the balcony which ran
along one side of the stage. and which ter
minated, ten PAGES to the right, in the open
window through which he had made his
entrance.
No one in the audience had heard the shot;
it was muffied by the thunder of applause greet
ing the black-faced comedian. But it had
passed through the thin walls of the headliner's
dressing room and resounded startlingly back
stage.
Foster MacKaye. The Man of Many
Faces" seated before the cracked mirror of his
dressing table, heard it as welcome relief
from the endless harangue of Bert Carr. the
tap-footed upstart, with whom he shared his
dressing room.
For the past FIVE minutes Bert had been at it
again. MacKaye's blind conservation in the
face of his remarkable talent was constant
irritation to the young hoofer. Publicity, that
was what he needed. Publicity, and proper
build-up.
Nov look at me-" ratified Bert indicating
himself with both thumbs; Il never have to
wait for a bookin' and always get big
hand. Why? Because build-up the old stuff
and make EN- think it's new and because
keep my name in print Now you've got a swell
line Mack, but you reel it out too easy And
nobody ever heard of you, in spite Of you
belongin' to the Players Club. Publicity; that's
what people fall for these days. Consider this
Glinda Green for instance
The penetrating blast of the shot. directly
below them. spared MacKaye that painful
consideration.
''Say, that was shot, as sure as I'm standin'
here" exclaimed Bert. Gosh, is this joint
linked? Come on!'' He rushed excitedly out
the door.
MacKaye sat staring at his reflection in the
mirror, bare now of the layers of grease paint
that had lately transformed him into every
thing from an Italian laborer to a Chinese
laundryman. He gazed on the face of white
haired old man, weary. trifle sad.
Bert was right. He was a sentimental old fool
who had failed to keep pace with the years.
Time was when he had stopped the show; when
people had sat breathless on the edge of their
seats to watch a moon face become lean. a
young face grow old, benign countenance
become satanic. But the fine art of makeup
was no longer vaudeville attraction. Movies
and the radio had changed all that. He should
have given in long ago; cultivated his many
voices for the air, or substituted black for red
and yellow for flesh and conceded to Holly
wood. But as for crashing the news columns by
smashing up cafe furniture, or busting a
dramatic critic on the nose
A piercing scream from below suddenly re-
called the shot. MacKaye hurried out, down to
the floor below, and joined the excited group
blocking the corridor in front of the headliners
dressing room.
ugh! Whatta curtainr cried Bert. thrusting
the old gentleman forward into his vacated
place. Take look. It's Glinda Green"
''Dead?" gasped MacKaye.
Dead as Wednesday matinee. And did
you hea- the squeal her maid let out? She Just
discovered that all her gems are gone."
A stout policeman, followed by the theatres
special officer, came forcing his way along the
wall.
Back! Get back everybody! Go to your
dressing rooms"
At the open doorway he paused and turned
to the special officer. "You stay here. Shut the
door, and don't let any one in. There II be radio
cars here in minute"
He moved off. dispersing the crowd ahead of