Then we went down together.
These theatrical dressers become wonderfully expert. I have seen an actress come off the stage after a big scene quite exhausted, and yet only have a few minutes before the next act. She stood in the middle of her dressing-room while we talked, and at once her attendant set to work. The great lady remained like a block. Quickly the dresser undid her neck-band, and unhooked the bodice after removing the lace, took away the folded waistband, slipped off the skirt, and in a twinkling the long ball dress was over the actress’s head and being fastened behind. Her arms were slipped into the low bodice, and while she arranged the jewels or her corsage the dresser was doing her up at the back. Down sat the actress in a chair placed for her, and while she rouged more strongly to suit the gaiety of the scene, the dresser was putting feathers and ornaments into her hair, pinning a couple of little curls to her wig to hang down her neck, and just as they both finished this rapid transformation the call boy rapped.
Off went my friend.
“I shall be back in seven minutes,” she exclaimed, “so do wait, as I have fourteen minutes’ pause then.”
The dresser caught up her train and her cloak, and followed the great lady to the wings, where I saw her arranging the actress’s dress before she went on, and waiting to slip on the cloak and gloves which she was supposed in the play to come off and fetch.
A good dresser is a treasure, and that is why most people prefer their own to those provided at the theatres.
Apropos of knowing exactly how long an actor is on the stage, I may mention that Herbert Waring once invited me to tea in his dressing-room.
“At what time?” I naturally asked.
“I’ll inquire from my dresser,” was his reply. “I really don’t know when I have my longest ‘wait.’”
Accordingly a telegram arrived next day, which said “tea 4.25,” so at 4.25 I presented myself at the stage door, where Mr. Waring’s man was waiting to receive me.