Wheeling Sunday Register

FOLLOWING THE "LILY."

How Stage Beauties Catch on to the New Advertising Plan.

Brooklyn Eagle.

"Have I the pleasure of addressing the manager of this establishment?" asked a pretty little blonde, tripping into the private office of a local theatre.

"You have" said a pensive-looking youth, looking up from the perusal of a great flaring play bill in front of him. "What can I do for you this morning?"

"You see I'm Miss Rosalind Simmons," said the pretty blonde. "You have heard of me, of course."

"I'm very sorry to say that I have not," said the manager.

"Well, you see, I'm—I am engaged to play in the Fly by Night Combination which opens here next week," said the little blonde.

"Ah, delighted!" said the youthful manager, jumping up and placing a chair for his visitor. "How many seats did you say you wished for?"

"I don't mind if you give me half a dozen," said the blonde, smiling sweetly, just letting the tip of her dainty boot show beyond her dress. "I came here to see about my escort."

"Your escort?"

"Oh, yes," said the little blonde, laughing: "You do not seem to catch on."

"Not exactly." said the manager. "Perhaps your mother brings you to the theatre every evening."

"Do I look like a girl who would put up with that sort of racket?" asked the little blonde. "Do I look as fresh as all that?"

"Well, no, you do not," said the manager. "Perhaps it is your husband. I hope not, though. We always dread seeing an actress bring her husband, a French poodle, or anything of that sort along with her."

"No, I haven't any husband or poodle," said the little blonde. "They are all out of date. I always go in for the very latest, you understand. The proper thing now is an escort. Lill Langtry started the boom and we have fallen into it. It isn't as expensive as the husband racket, and any time they fail to draw we can throw 'em over for a fresh 'ad.' Do you catch on now?"

"I begin to," said the manager. "Of course you want a box—"

"That's the proper idea," said the little blonde. "I don't dress that fellow up in a swallow-tail every night for nothing. I picked him out of an assortment. He's a regular lum tum masher, and don't you fail to gamble on it. Looks the blooming, howling swell right to his feet. I flatter myself I'm a pretty good judge of the article, and I've captured a prize. You couldn't tell him from the genuine, fresh-as-they-make-'em, Union Club article, and I picked him up in the Bowery at that."

"Really," said the manager.

"Yes," said the little blonde. "But you must remember that he only looks fresh. On the dead level he's as fly as you are."

"Indeed."

"Oh yes, he's a regular rounder, and you must not let him get in on you for any of my salary, for if you do you will have to pay me up in full all the same. I pay him $2 a night, and that's a good deal more than he could strike in half a week before I brought him out. He's worth money, though. I tell you he's a daisy when he made up. To see him doing the languid business from a first tier box you'd take him to own a perfect stack of sinkers. Why, he just holds over Freddie himself every time. He's what I call an 'ad' worth having. I forgive Lill for catching on as she has for the sake of what she has taught the profession. Of course you can work up my little scheme in the newspapers?"

"Oh, of course," said the manager sarcastically.

"Just get in a few squibs about J. Randolph Livingston—that's what I've named it—a young man of great wealth who is dead gone on the charming and popular Miss Simmons, of the— You know how to make it," said the little blonde. "I'll brace you up with the wealth for cigars and drinks for the newspaper fellows, you know. I am doing the thing handsome, and I don't care what it costs. See?"

"To be sure," said the manager. "But there's a little hitch in the business."

"Name it." said the blonde.

"The fact is your leading lady is playing the same racket."

"The deuce she is?" said the blonde. "Well, that settles the whole business. I'll resign to-morrow. A woman can't get along nowadays in the profession without a dummy swell. Lill has queered the whole racket," and her fur-lined dolman whizzed through the door and disappeared.