"Indifferent and bumptious actors," said Handy to a friend, "are always looking for what they call big money. Their seasons, therefore, are short. They learn nothing from experience. They know it all. Yet they will hang on the ragged edge of starvation for weeks rather than come down in what they are pleased to name as their figures. A really good actor has little difficulty in securing an engagement at a reasonable salary. I know them, and they can't fool your uncle."
It must be admitted that Handy's experience in this line was somewhat extensive. To go into the detail of advance work and rehearsals is unnecessary. They may be left to the reader's imagination. They are, therefore, passed over in order to get more quickly to the opening night and the birth and death of a star.
"Camille" was the drama in which the "angel" decided to make her debut. The aspiring amateur, if a woman, generally makes choice of "La Dame aux Camellias." Why she does so, if not to bring to her aid a display of rich and elaborate costumes, it is difficult to say. In making such selection she unconsciously contrasts the possession of rich silk and satin frocks, together with valuable jewels, with the poverty of her histrionic resources.
The little town of Weston was the place selected as the scene of operations. The advance man, or press agent, had played his part well. "Camille" met the eye on every fence and blank wall in the place. Dodgers literally floated in the air and the town was so adorned with snipes that the uninitiated might reasonably conclude that paper costs nothing and printers worked for fun. To Handy's indefatigable exertions this was in a great measure due. Three nights he devoted to the work, and actually painted Weston red with "Camille."
"If you want to have a thing done well," he exclaimed, "you must do it yourself or see personally that it is done. There is no use in having printing unless you get it up where the public can see it. Billposters are peculiar people. They are in certain respects economical, and they have their own peculiar ideas of saving. That perhaps is the reason why you see so few posters stuck up for public edification and so many of them stowed away somewhere on out-of-the-way shelves in bill-posters' studios. They are queer fellows, these bill-posters. I've never been able to understand them. I've been, in various capacities, with many theatrical companies that were amply supplied with all kinds of printing to start out with, but when I went about town where we played looking for it I had to search pretty closely to find where it was pasted up. I therefore, in this case, determined to pay personal attention to that part of the business myself." This information or explanation was imparted to Camille through Fogg, by the way of a preliminary endorsement of Handy's remarkable energy.
Fogg was enthusiastic in praise of the manager's clever publicity display.
"I never saw a town so well billed in my life," said he, "and as you know, Mr. Handy, I have had some experience in such matters. Don't you agree with me, Miss De la Rue?" The last inquiry was addressed to the "angel" star, who was standing by his side, apparently as nervous and fidgety as if she was about to undergo an examination in a law court.
"Yes, indeed; I think the place is awfully well done," she replied, rather timidly, "but I didn't notice as many of my lithos around as I expected."
"What!" replied the manager in surprise. "Why, there ain't a saloon or cigar shop that ain't got them up. I know, for I've been in all of 'em."
Handy spoke the truth. It is a fact that cigar shops and liquor stores are the principal galleries in which the pictorial printing of theatrical celebrities and theatrical combinations are placed on exhibition. There is more money thrown away uselessly in such places, in the way of expensive printing and lithographs, than managers seem to realize. Even some of the shrewdest men in the business are not altogether free from the weakness of adorning these establishments with high-priced pictorial work. The practice at one time had at least the merit of novelty, but since it has become a regular thing it has lost much of its efficacy and ceased to be remunerative. But what is the use of objecting? Stars would be nothing more than mere rushlights if the highly colored lithos did not proclaim their prominence in the theatrical firmament to those who are ever ready to pledge women in song or story in the flowing bowl. Of course, in the interest of art.