269

Chicago News July 4"

AMY LESLIE AT THE FAIR.

The Pleasant Entertainment Given a
Party Held Captive by a
Rainstrom.
----------------------
JOHN L. 'S ENCOUNTER WITH THE BEAR.
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Good Stories About Other Stage Characters
Who Were Not Born
to Be Actors.

James Corbett is aflame with enjoyable
smiles, congratulations and Midway complaisance,
but Wiliams Brady is consumed with
palpitating woe and occupied priacipally in
ferocious denials, contemptuous threats and
reserved casus belli. Brady is the most versatile
volume of strategy and snare-drum tactics
who thrives upon the public. He would have
a plausible excuse for a cyclone which
would seize his star and drift him
heavenward and that contract which
Mr. Brady cannot elude with the
agility of Corbett at the punching-bag has
never been drawn up. Hine illae lacchrimae,
because everything except the prospective
Mitchell's visage has been broken by the all
too fascinating James. The Corbett exhibition
is really very charming. A " string-show" in
which James does considerable graceful "
stringing" on his own account.

When John L. Sullivan was making his first
and most electic tour over the states, challenging
anybody to stand up before him for
three rounds, he struck Butte City, Mont., in
the midst of a vital adoration for one huge and
indestructible mountaineer decorated with the
fitting title " Grizzly Bear." Mr. Grizzly
scofed a defiance at the approching Boston
pride. which gleamed from the Rockies to
Council Bluffs. Bets on the western marvel
bestrewed Sullivan's laureled path and excitement
was at fever heat when he reached
the city of mines and short cards. Sullivan,
of course, had no doubts, but his backers were
a trifle awed by the girzzly's tremedous physical
development. He stripped for the ring
and made John L. Look like a little boy in
comparison. He was gigantle in every proportion
and compact as an oriole's nest. All
Montana money of course was plunged on
Grizzly, the betting was violently partial and
reckless and the eastern syndicate ventured
with more discretion than seemed warranted
by past success. Sullivan arranged to quietly
signal to his crowd after the first attack
whether they should bet on him or against him
and when the Butte monster made a wild provincial
lunge at John and threw himself
very hard aginst the murky Montana
atmosphere John smiled one of
those porterhouse extra beams of
satisfaction which encouraged the syndicate to
take all enthusiastic prairie bets and increase
the sport by large challengson their own side.
The infatuation and sincere faith in the Grizzly
gentleman did not swerve until about the
last of the second round, when John began to
land a few choice samples of that cheering
double-handed punishment of his upon the
mountain terror's jaw, the one spot where it
did not encourage the Grizzly. The Montana
faction yelled itself hoarse and above the din
carolled one piping voice : " Say, Grizzly, why
don't ye stop some o' them air slugs?"

Grizzly caught his fleeting breath and made
a mammoth effort to respond to the call of
time, answering the query with : " Waal, do ye
see any o' them slungs goin by me ? "

When the Butte City worshipers picked the
gaint out of a corner and straightened him out
from the tangle into which Mr. Sullivan had
knit him admirers stood by him to a man
and one of them said : " Try it again termorrer,
Grizzly ; ye air kinder surprised like, but yer
a winner. "

" Is that so?" exclaimed Grizzly. " Waal, I
calcaulte I'd ruther stay a winner an ' quit
right whur I be. "

Sunday I was caught in the worst combination
of weather delayed train and summer
toilet that has been my lot this vicarious
season. In an iridescent flash of mentality I
bethought myself of Annie Oakley's cunning
tent, which stood under the trees near the
station, and I blew in there, drenched, gasping
and sure of a royal welcome. Beneath
this white-winged shelter I discovered a cohort
of genius and wit which made my damp costume
and dripping feather erinkle with delight.
There was Isidora Rush, radiant as a
June morning, covered with dimpling smiles
and diamounds ; Roland Reed in his perpetual
state of rejuvenation, Nate Salsbury, Maj.
Burke, Gus Pennoyer and two or three lovely
girls from New York. It was dry and cozy in
the tent as in any parlor and while they served
us ices and melting jelly cake the wind rocked
the lamps, tumbled over a stack of guns and
howled defiance in all the tongues of dynamo
and the Teepee.

Reed remembered a story of a Kansas City
storm which overtook Joseph Folk once while
that comedian was in the cluches of a man
who had a melodrama to read and sell. The
playwright had corralled Polk within in the hospitable
walls of a Kansas City cottage, lent
Polk slippers, given him a pillow, a drink and
other emollients preparatory. to the play
onslaught In the middle of the third
act tounderous assaults upon the roof,
dazzling lighting and a simoon of
landscape decorations began to sail through
the dismal climate. The playwright's cottage
shook from rafters to foundation, crockery,
furniture, wadrobe and illumination began to
shiver and frolic about the room and Polk was
heaved from his comfortable couch and his
head bumped furiously by dismantled picture-frames,
candles, coal-scuttles and other
articles of started vertu. Calm as
a bronzed Nemesis, the playwright
had never stopped reading the fearful
play at Polk. With a Delsartean spread of base,
a titling lamp in one hand and the manuscript
in the other he raised his voice above the storm
and kept right on ' without losing his place.
Polk lunged up against the reciting author,
whispering : " For heaven's sake what is it?"

" Nothing but a cyclone---'and never! no,
never ! can I love you now, Rupert' slow curtain
and end of third act. "

Col. Cody arrived with a crash of thunder
and accompanying trepidation and shaking
his silver mane immediately joined in
the congenial exchnage of experiences
sure to grow like tendrills in a company
like the gathring in this pretty tent.
Some restless body proposed tea and
Nate Salsbury and I eloped to the Cody kitchen
the only umbrella. High Bear stood
like a Keneys lion in the doorway and without
cermony lifted me over a seething gurgle of
muddy waves which ran between me and
oolong. Miss Rush planted her tiny French
shoes in a pair of gunning boots and followed
with the rest of the party, but Pennoyer, who
is hopeless target for all the accidental ills of
man and not on to the ropes of camping
existence, stumbled at the hempen
ten-guard and sprawled in the mud
like a gray and indigant porpoise
He stood under the pouring caves of the
kitchen and let the kindly storm wash his
mud-dyed face and clodded shirt-front while
High Bear glared at him in some solemn
amusement from his scarlet blanket. Once in
the Cody hosterly, stories were rife and pungent
as the delicious tea dn until time for
the colonel to don his buckskins and introduce
the show sparkle of recounted adventure
swept round the dainty table like a searchlight
upon glorious memories.

The first traveling company Roland Reed
ever adorned came from the dephs of darkest
St. Louis. Nobody had any wardrobe nor expected
any salary. Just acting, that was all.
They had been out two weeks and, of course,
had no money to furnish " props" with the
necessary collartercal to run stage festivities according
to Delmonico. " Lucretia Borgia" was
the bill and old Joe Hann. who was about first
old man after Fort Dearborn surrendered, appeared
as Grebbo in a costume consisting of
red tights in an appalling state of darn, a rubber
head-band from which two black curls
fluttered, a Claudian drapery and scuffling
sandals. The old man isisted upon singing
the drinking song, and the banquet table, upon
which flowing bowls of liquid which had been
cautiously lifted to the lips of the other
Lucretian feasters and suddenly very much let
alone, loomed up before the old actor in great
shape as he began the brindis in a cracked and
tortuous voice. He had tremblingly rollicked
through the complimentary couplets addressed
to the Borgia and came to the gallant "Here's
to, etc." He tossed the glass to his lips, dashing
the contents down in swaggering security
of an encore, but a spams of agony seized him
and choked him from further vocalism than
the vivid explanation: Kerosene, by the just
heavens!"

" Props" had done the best could under
the pressure of finance and filled the jubilant
cups with coal oil.

Nate Salsbury's intial discovery to the grateful
public began under the benign influence of
Jennie Hight and a choice group of pliocene
stars. They explored the habitations of the far
west and insular contiguity. They never had
known the charms of a regular ghost walk in
all the Tuesdays of the year and town halls
often were not so large or inviting as the Auditorium.
It was customay for the manager (who
incidentally played the drum or cornet) to step
on the stage and look over the calico curtain,
count the people and if $ 1 apiece
seemed to stare from partical vacancy the gleesome
announcment : " All right, it's in, ring
up, " started the Thespic fall rolling. If less
than board and lodging spoke from the
benches and actors slipped away if the populace
had not been forewarned by similar experience.
The shortest notice on the Salsbury
record came in this tour of Miss Hight, when in
the third act of " Rederic Dhu" a poster on
the call board greeted the actors with " Season
will close after the fourth act. "

When the dull earth first glowed with the
scintillating idea of putting " Buffalo Bill" in
touch with sensation-hungry public by
means of the stage everything preliminary
was arranged in the briefest possible time.
However, the cogent necessity of a drama had
not suggested itself to the instigators and perpetrators
of this public surprise. All was
ready to open with acclaim at old
Nixon hall on the west side before the fire.
When the printing came it revealed the promise
of a melodrama entitled. " Scouts of the
Praire," by Ned Buntline. The attraction
was billed for Sunday night and Thursday
somebody asked Buntline about the play. In
his usual bustling hustle Ned appreciated the
obvious exigency demanding a play of some
sort and tearing off his coat he said :
" I'll go up-stairs and write it now."
He ordered the landlord of the Briggs
house to send all his clerks up to
copy the acts as he wrote and probably the
most remarkable examples mongrel literature
ever launched upon the desultory sea of
letters began to fly about the room devoted to
this sudden evolution of hybrid drama. In
four hours Ned had most of the thing on paper
and, flushed with his own success, he asked
Cody how long he thought it might take him
to learn the part. Cody said with becoming
assurance : " About a year, " and Texas
Jack thought " mebbe" he could do it in
six months, but nothing dismayed by the "cussedness"
of his stars the inderfatigable Buntline
opened to standing-room and yells Sunday
night. Gen. Sheridan, many honorable persons
in the city's call and all the boys within
hailing distance waited for the curtain to rise.
Of course neither Bill no Jack knew a line of
the weird parts presented them by Buntline.
When Mr. Cody's entrance music stirred the
dusky air he yelled : " What am I going' to say,
anwhow? "

Buntline replied: " Tell some stories ; I'll run
ye off some cues."

Never having seen or heard of cues, except
chalked ones of the enticing green, William
strode on full of various spirit and sportive
daring. Ned would ask him a question about
some escapde and Bill would fall in line and
tell it in his own inimitable way. This kept
the house in a roar for nearly half an hour and
after a particularly happy hit Ned warily
stepped to the relieved prompter and said :
" Send on the Indian supers. " On they came
and Cody shot savagely at them while the curtain
fell under a blaze of red fire.

All the actors stood dismayed when Buntline
commanded : " Everybody dress for the second
act. " A chorus of aspiring Chicago actors
chimed with the astonishing announcement:
"We haven't played the first act "
"Cut it!" said Buntline and the drama went
bravely on.

One night, after a week of frantic wrestling
with art, Texas Jack and Cody arrived at the
theater primed for skylarks and gave orders
with the beguiling assistance of persusasive
derringers to begin with the last act and play
it backward. Buntline was in front and
when the curtain disclosed the scene and
motif of his last and most bloodthirsty act he
looked at his watch, would it up and inquired
the time, then rushed back to find the dazed
stage manager covered by the Texan's gun
during the Cody scene and under a similar
guard from Cody during the episodes when
jack appeared.

In the halcyon days of melodrama and border
plays McVicker produced " The Spy" with
great magnificence and the ripping old story
was a wild and unmitigated failure in spite of
the cast and the costly surroundings. Ned
Thorne played the leading part and the McVicker
stock company completed the cast.
Thorne persistently " guyed" the part and the
pray until Mr. McVicker accused him of it and
threatened fines, dismissal and vengeance generally
unless the "guying " stopped immediately.
Thorne courteously denied the charge
and Mr. McVicker came that night to watch
him through the entire piece. Thoron's performance
was absoutely faultless in every
scene until the very last when a courier rushes
in with the govermental offer of reward.

" A thousand dollars for the spy !" shouted
the courier.

" It's yours, manuscript and scenery !" cried
Thorone, and McVicker sat in the box till the
lights went out, stunned at his lead's humor
and nerve.
AMY LESLIE.