"That's my affair," he answered curtly, then added, more kindly, "Good-night! you have behaved well, Miss Morris, and if I can give you a pleasure—I shall be glad."
And next day I owned the tiniest dog in New York, who slept in a collar-box, by my pillow, that I might not hurt it in the night. Whose bark was like a cambric needle, and who, within five minutes after her arrival, challenged to deadly combat my beloved Bertie, who weighed good four pounds.
CHAPTER FORTY-SECOND
I am Engaged to Star part of the Season—Mr. Daly Breaks his Contract—I Leave him and under Threat of Injunction—I meet Mr. Palmer and make Contract and appear at the Union Square in the "Wicked World."
The third season in New York was drawing to its close, and by most desperate struggling I had managed just to keep my head above water—that was all. I not only failed to get ahead by so much as a single dollar, but I had never had really enough of anything. We were skimped on clothes, skimped on food, indeed we were skimped on everything, except work and hope deferred. When, lo! a starring tour was proposed to me. After my first fright was over I saw a possibility of earning in that way something more than my mere board, though, truth to tell, I was not enraptured with the prospect of joining that ever-moving caravan of homeless wanderers, who barter home, happiness, and digestive apparatus for their percentage of the gross, and the doubtful privilege of having their own three-sheet posters stare them out of countenance in every town they visit. Yet without the brazen poster and an occasional lithograph hung upside down in the window of a German beer saloon, one would lack the proof of stardom.
No, I had watched stars too long and too closely to believe theirs was a very joyous existence; besides, I felt I had much to learn yet, and that New York was the place to learn it in; so, true to my promise, off I went and laid the matter before Mr. Daly—and he did take on, but for such an odd reason. For though he paid me the valued compliment of saying he could not afford to lose me, his greatest anger was aroused by what he called the "demoralization" my act would bring into his company.
"You put that bee in their bonnets and its buzzing will drown all commands, threats, or reasons. Every mother's son and daughter of them will demand the right to star! Why, confound it! Jimmie Lewis, who has had one try at it, is twisting and writhing to get at it again—even now; and as for Miss Davenport, she will simply raise the dead over her effort to break out starring, and Ethel—oh, well, she's free now to do as she likes. But you star one week and you'll see how quick she will take the cue, while Miss—oh, it's damnable! You can't do it! it will set everyone on end!"
"If you will give me a salary equal to that of other people, who do much less work than I do, I will stay with you," I said.
But he wanted me to keep to the small salary and let him "make it up to me," meaning by that, his paying for the stage costumes and occasional gifts, etc. But that was not only unbusiness-like and unsatisfactory—though he undoubtedly would have been generous enough—but it was a bit humiliating, since it made me dependent on his whims and, worst of all, it opened the door to possible scandal, and I had but one tongue to deny with, while scandal had a thousand tongues to accuse with.
It was a queer whim, but he insisted that he could not give me the really modest salary I would remain for, though, in his own words, I should have "three times its value." Finally we agreed that I should give him three months of the season every year as long as he might want my services, and the rest of the season I should be free to make as much money as I could, starring. He told me to go ahead and make engagements at once to produce "L'Article 47" or "Alixe"—I to pay him a heavy nightly royalty for each play, and when my engagements were completed to bring him the list, that he might not produce "Alixe" with his company before me in any city that I was to visit. I did as he had requested me. I was bound in every contract to be the first to present "L'Article 47" or "Alixe" in that city. I was then to open in Philadelphia. I had been announced as a coming attraction, when I received startling telegrams and threats from the local manager that "Mr. Daly's Fifth Avenue Company" was announced to appear the week before me in "Alixe," in an opposition house. Thus Mr. Daly had most cruelly broken faith with me. I went to him at once. I reproached him. I said: "These people will sue me!"