This letter, having mentioned the safe arrival of certain manuscripts, scene-plots, and property-plots, continued:
"And now about the young maid of high degree you sent us, with the valiant Jim Roberts acting as guard and henchman. And, to begin at the ending, like the Irishman I am, let me just tell you no better sheep-dog ever lived than this same James. He's kept as straight as a colonial front-door—honest, he has! If you could see the poor devil shake and quake for need of a few drops of 'mountain dew,' you'd believe me fast enough! He escorts her to and from the theatre and follows her like a secret-service man whenever she goes to the city of an errand. Of course, keeping straight to play sheep-dog leaves him all right as to memory too, and he hasn't lost a word since he's been here.
"Now as to the young damsel you want me to report on. She's all right and safe in the boarding-house my wife secured for her. She's a little too stiff and reserved and a great deal too pretty to be very thoroughly liked by the women. She started out very friendly and pleasant, but—well, you see, Lou Daskam and Dick Turner are engaged to each other, and George Jones and his wife Grace have only been married a few months, and their unrestrained endearments were somewhat confusing to her conservative mind. My wife explained matters to her; but though she now understands that the whole affair was a question of manners, not of morals, she remains a bit starchy toward the amorous four.
"As to business—she's doing well. She's got act in her, sure! And Lord! what a face for the footlights! My wife's teaching her how to make-up, and when she's properly rouged and carmined and promaded, and that fleece of black hair loosened about her head, she's a cross between a princess and a gypsy, with the bearing of one and the coloring of the other. The audience has not disturbed her much. At my advice she looks at the people who are on the stage with her, instead of staring in front all the time. The thing that embarrassed her most was the tilt of the stage, which is very steep in this shop. That worried her a bit at first, but she walks quite naturally and unconsciously now. She is learning to gauge her voice to the house—by my rule. I send someone out in front, who stands at the back of the seats. When her scene is on, she glances at him. If he shifts about, or bends his head as if to hear better, she gently raises her voice or speaks with a little more force, until he stands still, hearing satisfactorily. She will soon be able to make the voice test in any theatre by watching for a moment or two some distant auditor.
"The greatest stumbling-block in her way is that, so far, she simply cannot talk while walking. She speaks her exit speech standing still, and then walks off in an awkward silence, or she walks to the door silently, then speaks her lines and pops off—making the house laugh.
"To-day Jim Roberts has taken her in hand, and out on the stage I can hear this going on: (Girl's voice) 'I will go' (Jim's voice, warningly: 'Step!') 'to my aunt's' (Jim: 'Step!') 'and say' ('Step!') 'I shall keep' ('Step!') 'my promise' ('Step!') 'to marry Harry!' ('Exit!!' shouts Jim.) 'Now, Miss Sybil, try it again, and say "step" to yourself this time. Pretty soon your feet will carry you along unconsciously.'
"Now her voice, sounding very forlorn and unbelieving, begins: 'I will go (step) to my aunt's (step)——'
"It sounds awfully funny, but she's a persistent little devil, and she will hang on till she can make a decent exit.
"I'd like to bet something, old man, that I'm on to your game! You are not a man to put me into baby-farming like this for nothing. Well, good luck! She's bright and quick, and I'm crowding as much 'shop' into her head as I can on short notice. Jim Roberts has done a good deal in the way of teaching her technicalities. She understands all the entrance directions, the uppers and lowers and centres, etc.
"I believe that's all. Any further orders will be attended to. Thank you for the use of that play—it pulled us through in fine shape.