BROADWAY LUCK.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXVII, Issue 2616, 25 September 1909, Page 2 (Supplement)

BROADWAY LUCK.

(By Roland Ashford Phillips.) In Mrs Hardine’s boarding-lions©, not too far from Broadway, there dwelt, during the winter months —.and quite ■frequently during the summer months also—a diversified company of footli,ght favorites. From the firsteflcor parlor the dignity and lineage dwindled into the third-floor rear, which room, lighted only by a trap in the ceiling, was occupied by Rosie Ray, a merry-merry from the pony ballet. Midway in these extremes, and paying rent for a fairly respectable side room that looked out upon a streaked brick wall, idled Miss Molly Courtney. Molly had steady brown eyes, a wealth of the same colored Ir.air, and a trim little figure that was neither too slender nor too plump. Many a manager bad cast an eye upon her as a possible 'candidate for a first-row beauty; but Molly was ambitious. She hated burlesque, and turned up her pretty, straight nose at the mere mention of chorus work.

Molly Courtney had done second business with Ernest Gilbert, who had made some slight noise on Broadway the past winter. The part had suited her, the management, and the star; and she had been reengaged for th© following season.

However, even on theatrical heights,: ‘there comes many a slip. Stars are not easily handled, and Gilbert proved no exception. Words were exchanged, tempers aroused; aud the direct result came net alone in broken contracts, but in the shelving of the play ( as well. Thus we find Molly installed •in Mrs Hardine’s house, and spending her days in making tho round of the

agencies. Between Molly and the occupant of •the third-floor hack there sprang up an immediate and responsive friendship. The mere caste, of their relative positions on the theatrical ladder might ’have kept them apart had not Molly 'come upon the other sobbing in the dark hall. Then Rosie Ray was married —and somewhere in the boundless '\stretches of Arizona her husband was dying of consumption. Rosie had worked throe years in burlesque, drawing eighteen a week, ten of which went to her husband; and Sometimes, because of this sacrifice, sho went hungry to bed. August brought a stretch of fearfully •hot weather, a shrinking purse, and the 'monotonous round of holding down very uncomfortable chairs in the outer offices of the agencies. Molly had fifteen dollars left. It does not matter what Rosie had; for it is sufficient to 'know that they both left Mrs Har•dinc’s at ten o’clock in the morning, ■visited the same offices, and heard the •i-aiue answers each lime. On the fifteenth of the month, /worn out by the continual tramping, and sickened by the persistent “nothing today” .greeting, both sank wearily onto a bench in Bryant Park. “It’s me- back to the Wild Widows,” ■Rosie ventured resignedly. “I said I’d •never go back, but it beats starving. I didn’t send Jimmy any money this week —and he’ll miss l it, too!”

Molly’s straight little nose quivered. ‘Her fifteen dollars had melted away to •nine. Her trunk was filled with an alarming mass of dirty clothes, and •.the laundry seemed as far distant as a position.

“I’m sorry, Rosie r ” she said; “but you started in that way, and I suppose you’ve got to keep it up. I couldn’t ever, ever do it now, after supporting Gilbert!”

“Sometimes I think it doesn’t pay to be so ambitious,” Rosie went on. ’“Each year I get turned down everywhere else —and I go back. Guess I’ll go ovor to Martin’s. Heard they were putting out z new burlesque. Goodbye! .See you at supper.”

Three days later Molly had six dollars, 'a clean waist, and a steadily diminishing amount of ambition. Sitting in an agency—sho and Rosie had. parted company for a day—she overheard a girl remarking to a friend that Bernstein was scouting after new girls for 'his extravaganza. In spite of herself, Molly listened and mentally took down the address.

An hour later, standing on the sidewalk again, she hesitated. Then, choking down a persistent gulp in her throat, sho turned and started briskly ■toward Thirty-Eighth Street. It wan no trouble to find Bernstein’s office, and sho went in timidly. Strangely enougu although she was but one of the twenty or more girls, Bernstein himself, opening the door of his private office, beckoned authoritatively toward her. With a thumping heart and colorless cheeks, uho passed through the glaring crowd.

Bernstein pliumpted himself into an armchair and motioned Molly to another. He was fat, bald, and all business. To himself, he was a most remarkable personage. He prided himself on his cleverness in finding girls (tor his famous choruses; and never a show in all the length of the Great •White Way boasted of prettier or more shapely ones. He looked Molly over carefully, critically ; folded his fat hands, and nodded a fat chin.

“Good! Very good! You are the only girl in the room who caught my 'eye. You want work, yes? Of course, we all do, eh?” He laughed. “I like your eyes and nose and hair. You see, I am! getting up a new ballet—and every girl must match.” Molly felt her heart sinking horribly. Something in the man’s actions chilled her; but she felt the weight of the 'little chamois bag about her neck, and ’realised its shrinking bulk. “If yog will report at the theatre to'morrow at ten,” Bernstein went on, *‘Miss Mullins, my wardrobe lady, will 'fit you out for a costume; and then we can see about —

“I am to wear—tights ” Molly stammered.

Bernstein qpnead out his fat palms. “Certainly, my dear young lady. I cannot sign any contracts until I first see—” »

She came, white and straight, to her feet.

“That will do, Mr. Bernstein,” she choked. “Good day !”

She gained the sidewalk —or so it seemed—rwithout drawing another full breath., Without thinking, she walked ahead, turned deliberately off from Broadway, and headed for the office of Mulls & Mulls. For two weeks she had been a daily visitor there, and netver had she received 1 the least encouragement; but, quite forgetting that, she 'plodded wearily.up the stairs, and. sat clown in the one remaining chair of the office.

It so hapoened —call it fate—that the younger Mr. Mulls had been out; and, upon returning, he passed! very close to where Molly sat staring dully out of the window.

“By Jove, Miss Courtney!” he burst out, bringing her to the world again. ■“l’m awfully glad you happened in. 'Como inside, won’t you?”

Quito unable to believe her ears, Molly followed him.

‘‘l’ve a fine part here,” he began abruptly. “My* brother engaged a girl 'for it this morning, but you suit the type so well, I’ll cut her out and give it to you. The part will fit you to a dot. It’s twenty sides, second business, and with ‘A Man’s Honor.’ It opens on Broadway the middle of next month. The pay will be thirty : five a week.” Molly gasped and began to cry softly. Mr.' Mulls, smiling, patted her consolingly upon the shoulder. “There, there, little girl, brace up ! I suppose it was rather a shock. Never mind, it’s all over. Cbm© u,p in the morning at ten and sign the contracts.” The remembrance of Bernstein and his shapely chorus melted like so much snow. She sailed through the outer office, chin in air. Arriving at Mrs Hardine’s, she fairly tore up the creaking stairs and burst in upon Rosie. “Landed, Rosie!” she panted breathlessly. “Landed at last —and with both feet, too!”

Rosie looked up, a world of happiness in her big eyes. “I’m awful glad,'Molly,” she returned, holding her hand. ‘ “I had wonderful luck this morning, myself. I won’t have to go back with the Wild 'Widows. Mulls & Mulls gave me a great part in a new show that opens on Broadway next month. I’m to draw thirty-five a week. Think of it! That means that Jimmy can get into the sanatorium and have decent treatment.”

A sickening suspicion swept into Molly’s brain. “You mean —the part is second business with ‘A Man’s Honor’?” she gulped, white-lipped. “Yes. I’m to sign up to-morrow at ten. I just wrote Jimmy and told him all about it. It’ll help him as much a-s the money. I told him I’d send him half the salary. Why, what’s the matter, Molly? Here, sit down! Why, you’re as white -as a sheet. Let me get you a drink. Tliis tramping the streets has been too much for you!”

That night, alone in her little side room, Molly fought the greatest battle of her life. Against herself and her ■ambitions she pitted Rosie and the sick man in Arizona. And, in the morning, slipping unnoticed from the front door, she hurried to the nearest telephone, called up Mulls and Mulls, and told them she could not accept the engagement.

Mr Bernstein, early at his office, was 'not surprised to find waiting for him, 'among the swarm of others, a trim little girl, neither too slender nor too plump, with steady brown eyes and a wealth of brown hair. He chuckled to himself, and went in to open his morning’s mail.