THE FAVORITE.
Some people would die rather than talk aloud in a 'bus; others would rather die than hold their peace there. This second kind is more fun, and four of it made part of my journey the other day from Victoria to Oxford Street (I forget the number of the 'bus, but it goes up Bond Street) much less tedious. They were all young women in the latest teens or the earliest twenties, and all were what is called well-to-do, and they were fluent talkers.
Years ago, when poor LEWIS WALLER was at the height of his fame, we used to hear of a real or fictitious "Waller Club," the members of which were young women who spent as much time as they could in visiting his theatre and rejoicing in the sight of his brave gestures and the sound of his vibrant voice. It was even said that they had a badge by which they could know each other; although on the face of it, judging by what sparse scraps of information concerning the nature of woman I have been able painfully to collect, I should say that segregation would be, in such a case as this, more to their taste.
Be that true or only invented, it is very clear that in spite of the War and its shattering way with so many ancient shibboleths the cult of the actor is still strong; for this is the kind of thing that lasted all the way from Hyde Park Corner to Vere Street:—
"Did you see him the other day in that ballet? Of course I knew he could dance, because he can do everything, but I never thought he was going to be so gloriously graceful as he was."
"But surely you ought to have known. Don't you remember him as the Prince at the LORD MAYOR'S Ball?"
"And what a wonderful figure he has!"
"I couldn't help wishing that he had only stained his legs instead of putting on red tights."
"My dear!!!"
"It's his grace that's the wonderful thing about him, I always think. His ease. He moves so—how shall I put it?—so, well, so easily and gracefully."
"Don't you love him when he stands with his hands in his pockets?"
"My dear, yes. But what a wonderful tailor he goes to. I always used to tell my brother to try and find out where his things were made and go to the same place."
"But of course it's the way clothes are worn much more than the clothes themselves. I mean, some men can never look well dressed, whereas others can look well in anything."
"But he does go to the best tailor, I'm sure."
"How many times have you seen this new piece?"
"Six."
"Only six! I've seen it eleven."
"I've seen it three times."
"I've seen it five times; but one of those doesn't count, because when we got there we found he was ill with chicken-pox. Wasn't that rotten luck?"
"I heard he had been ill, but I didn't know what it was. Was it really chicken-pox?"
"Yes, poor darling."
"Fancy him having a thing like that! I suppose it's part of the price of keeping so young."
"Oh, yes, isn't he young!"
"They say this thing's going to run for years."
"I hope not. I want to see him in something new. It's so wonderful how he's always the same and yet always different."
"I want him to be in every play. I never go to one without thinking how much better he would be than the other leading man."
"I saw that little what's-his-name imitate him the other evening. Really it's rather a shame."
"Yes, I've seen it. I couldn't help laughing, but I hated myself for it. I'm sure, too, he doesn't waggle his head like that."
"No! I couldn't see the point of that at all; but the people shrieked."
"Pooh, they'd laugh at anything."
"What did you like him best of all in?"
"That's difficult. Of course he was priceless as the policeman. But then he was priceless as the American too, in that thing before this."
"Well, I think—"
And so on. Except that I never mention his name, and I have suppressed the titles of the plays, this is practically an exact reproduction of the conversation. Naturally many of the sentences overlapped, for ladies no less than gentlemen often talk at the same time; but otherwise I have reported faithfully.
And who was the subject of these eulogies? You will guess at once when I say that he is probably the only actor in history who is referred to more often by his Christian name only than by his surname or full name. These young women who adored WALLER spoke of him not as LEWIS, but as LEWIS WALLER; and that is the usual custom. The divine SARAH is perhaps the only other histrion, and she is a woman, who may be spoken of simply as SARAH, with no risk of ambiguity. Ordinarily, as I say, we use either the surname only or the surname and Christian name combined, as ELLEN TERRY, VIOLET LORAINE, GEORGE GRAVES, GEORGE ROBEY, LESLIE HENSON, NELSON KEYS. But these four devotees referred to their hero always as GERALD; just GERALD.
Survivor from U-Boat. "KAMERAD! KAMERAD! IF I VOS ON LAND I VOS HOLD UP MEIN HANDS!"
Ordinary Seaman. "WELL, YOUR FEET 'LL DO INSTEAD."
A.B. "GIVE US YER KNIFE." Boy. "AIN'T GOT IT."
A.B. (with bitter scorn of non-essentials). "GOT YER WRIST-WATCH ALL RIGHT, I S'POSE?"
Apollo. "I NEVER SAID NOTHING TO 'ER—DID I?"
Neptune. "NO. BUT YOU WAS TRYIN' ON ONE OF YER FASCINATIN' LOOKS."
