When we arrived they supposed that, like a well-brought-up baby, I should sleep all night, and they put me on the bed in a room temporarily transformed into a dressing-room. They covered me carefully and left me to myself.
There it was that the two gentlemen quoted at the beginning of this chapter discovered the baby agitating feet and hands in every direction. Her only clothing was a yellow flannel garment and a calico petticoat, which made her look like a poor little waif. You may imagine my mother’s feelings when she saw her daughter make an appearance in such a costume.
That at all events is how I made my debut, at the age of six weeks. I made it because I could not do otherwise. In all my life everything that I have done has had that one starting-point; I have never been able to do anything else.
I have likewise continued not to bother much about my personal appearance.
II
MY APPEARANCE ON A REAL STAGE AT TWO YEARS AND A HALF
WHEN I was a very small girl the president of the Chicago Progressive Lyceum, where my parents and I went every Sunday, called on my mother one afternoon, and congratulated her on the appearance I had made the preceding Sunday at the Lyceum. As my mother did not understand what he meant, I raised myself from the carpet, on which I was playing with some toys, and I explained:
“I forgot to tell you, mamma, that I recited my piece at the Lyceum last Sunday.”
“Recited your piece?” repeated my mother. “What does she mean?”
“What!” said the president, “haven’t you heard that Loie recited some poetry last Sunday?”
My mother was quite overcome with surprise. I threw myself upon her and fairly smothered her with kisses, saying,