“I applied for a position as soloist at a number of the different churches, and each time some promise was made, but in every instance I afterward received a brief note, saying the committee had decided not to employ me at present. I went so far as to offer my services gratis, but the offer was gracefully rejected. I had been so deeply worried that I had failed to notice the lack of attention and invitations from my old circle of friends, which had gradually narrowed down to a handful, compared to former days. Finally I thought as a last resort and an excuse for remaining on earth, I would apply for a position on the stage. I had no trouble in securing what I thought was a very good contract. I made my debut at the Masonic Temple and had the newspapers let me alone, all would have gone well, but it appeared to be their duty to take up my thread of existence from childhood and around me they wove a romantic story. They told how one man had so lost his head over me that he became an embezzler; how the publicity had caused my father to fill a suicide’s grave, and how I had been a social favorite until this trouble came, etc. I suppose they meant it kindly, for the article closed by assuring the public that my smiles were as winsome as ever and my voice as sweet, and no doubt but that the Temple Garden would have the honor of having more real society people in attendance during my engagement, than any other place of amusement in the city. And they were there like curiosity seekers at a funeral. When the hour came for my second appearance (the matinee), every seat was taken and the “Standing Room Only” card had been put up an hour before the curtain raised. My number came; I went onto the stage and proceeded to disappoint my former friends by being seized with stage fright, and instead of singing, I stood in dumb consternation. Again and again the orchestra repeated the introduction; again and again did the director give me my cue. I heard nothing. I could see in the distance fans and handkerchiefs waving in the air. I saw a hundred pair of hands extended, and brought quickly together, but heard no clapping sound. I saw the many gorgeous flowers that were tossed upon the stage in massive bouquets. I saw the footlights as they seemed to grow more dazzling and then recede to a glimmering yellow flame, then I saw⸺.
“When I revived the manager was furious. They said I had fainted. I guess I did. I know a very strange feeling came over me.
“Now I have recited my entire stage career to you. After this experience my nerves seemed to fail me and I was unfit for anything. I had the misfortune one day to meet one of my old friends, who happened to be in the audience when I broke down. We had a long talk over our lunch which lasted from two till five o’clock. He was so sorry for me, and said the thing I needed was travel. I felt myself as if something was needed. He proposed to assist me financially, and insisted on my going to Mt. Clemmens to take a course of sulphur baths. I really felt that it would benefit me, and hoped it would refit me for some sort of service by which I might earn a living. I accepted the proffered aid and left Chicago to seek health and strength. I spent seven weeks at the baths, and was so much improved that I felt that life was again worth living. At the end of that time my benefactor came to me. He told me two things and one was that he had seen Leslie in Chicago; that since the forfeiture of his bond he had decided to return here and had married his former employer’s daughter, Emily. The other thing he told me was that he was just starting for a year’s sojourn in Europe and wished me to join him. I did not know what it meant, but he plainly told me that I would be expected to travel as his wife. His request had a crushing effect on me. I could see why he had entertained so much sympathy for me in my days of trouble.
“I wanted to kill him. I asked him why he had not let me starve or die from the effects of the malady from which I was suffering. He listened quietly and then talked soothingly to me, until he convinced me that in reality he was my only friend. I then became suspicious. I did not believe he had seen Leslie, and I did not believe Leslie was married. I still loved him with the devotion that had eaten into my childish heart. I made my tormentor this proposition: That I would return to Chicago and see Leslie. If he really was married and could not marry me, I would return to him and accompany him to Europe. I had two reasons for making this request. First, I really wished to see Leslie, and second, I considered it a good plan to get away from the man who had befriended me, and to whom I found it quite a task to say no after all his kindness. He consented to the return to Chicago, and suggested that if I wished to go with him that I meet him in New York in two weeks. He filled my purse and I came here. I easily found Leslie. I told him I still loved him and begged him to marry me or kill me and end my suffering. He denounced me bitterly, accusing me of every sin a mortal can commit, and wound up by telling me he was married and showed me a picture of his wife. Here, this is the very picture,” said the girl as she drew a photograph from the envelope.
“And you, of course, snatched it out of his hand.”
“No, I will tell you how I got it when I get to that part.”
“I left him, my heart heavy within me. Again I sought employment in this city; for days I almost ran from one building to another in answer to some advertisement, only to find that I was too late, or in order to obtain this position I must submit to such proposals as I could not bear. Two weeks’ continuous trying and almost begging will tire the bravest. I found nothing that I could accept. My money was going fast; as I counted over my little store of currency my mind returned to him who gave it to me. Should I go and meet him? No! Die first, was my resolve. Then the thought came to me that possibly I could do better in New York, so after satisfying myself that he would have sailed before I could reach there, I left. I spent nearly all the money I had left for passage to New York. I felt that I never wanted to hear the name Chicago again, and as the train pulled out, I closed my eyes lest I should see something that would add more to my misery.
“I arrived at the Eastern metropolis without accident. I went straightway to a music hall and sought an engagement. I was accepted and was to appear in “The Spider and the Fly” Co. and told to report for rehearsal the next morning at ten. I went and lo! another calamity. The manager produced a picture of me, one which had been taken to decorate the billboards at the time of my debut here. He also informed me that I was on the black list for feigning illness at that time that I might be relieved from my contract.
“I needed a friend then to show that I was entitled to better treatment. The manager suggested that I change my name and get some one to vouch for me and then apply to some other manager.