To say I was amused at the idea would be putting it mildly indeed, for I was tickled to such laughter that tears came to my eyes. He was annoyed, but I laughed on. He waited—I was called upon for some heavy tragic parts. He came again—I laughed still.
"Good heavens!" I cried, "I'm not pretty enough!"
He said: "You have your eyes and voice and expression, and you don't seem to be suffering much here from your lack of beauty."
"N-no," I answered, naïvely, "you see, all the women in this company are rather plain."
He laughed, but he continued to urge me to try for an engagement in New York.
"I don't know enough," I faltered.
"You lack polish of manner, perhaps," he admitted, "but you will acquire that quickly, while no one can acquire your fire and strength and pathos! For God's sake, let me do one unselfish act in my life—let me serve you in this matter. I will go to the managers in New York and speak for you."
But that offer I curtly declined, asking him how long my reputation would remain unassailed if I allowed him to act for me.
In spite of all his praise of my work, I should have remained unmoved had Mr. Johnson not joined forces with Mr. Worthington, and calmly assured me that he, too, knew the New York theatres and actors, and he honestly believed I had a chance of acceptance by the public, if only a manager would give me an opening, for, said he: "Worthington is right this time, you really are an exceptionally clever girl, so why should you bury yourself in small Western cities?"
"Oh!" I indignantly cried, "Cleveland and Cincinnati are very big cities, indeed!"