s
whenever it was possible. Their conversation was spattered with
theatrical terms, and when, as occasionally happened, a real actress or
even a chorus girl from the Tivoli joined their group, Emeline could
hardly contain her eagerness and her admiration. She loved, when rare
chance offered, to go behind the scenes; she frankly envied the
egotistic, ambitious young theatrical beginners, so eager to talk of
themselves and their talents, to discuss every detail from grease paint
to management. To poor hungry Emeline it was like a revelation of
another, brighter world.

She would loiter out from the brief enchantment of "Two True Hearts"
into the foggy dampness of Market Street, at twilight, eagerly grasping
the suggestion of ice-cream sodas, because it meant a few minutes more
with her friends. Perhaps, sipping the frothy confection, Emeline would
see some of the young actresses going by, just from the theatre,
buttoned into long coats, their faces still rosy from cold cream; they
must rush off for a light dinner, and be back at the theatre at seven.
At the sight of them a pang always shot through Emeline, an exquisite
agony of jealousy seized her. Oh, to be so busy, so full of affairs, to
move constantly from one place to another--now dragging a spangled gown,
now gay as a peasant, now gaudily dressed as a page!

Emeline would finish her soda in silence, lift the over-dressed Julia
from her chair, and start soberly for home. Julia's short little legs
ached from the quick walk, yet she hated as much as her mother the
plunge from brightly lighted O'Farrell Street into their own hall, so
large and damp and dark, so odorous of stale beer and rubber floor
covering. A dim point of gas in a red shade covered with symmetrical
glass blisters usually burned over the stairway, but the Pages'
apartment was dark, except for a dull reflected light from the street.
Perhaps Julia and her mother would find George there, with his coat and
shoes off, and his big body flung down across the bed, asleep. George
would wake up slowly, with much yawning and grumbling, Emeline would add
her gloves and belt to the unspeakable confusion of the bureau, and
Julia would flatten her tired little back against the curve of an
armchair and follow with heavy, brilliant eyes the argument that always
followed.

"Well, we could get some chops--chops and potatoes--and a can of corn,"
Emeline would grudgingly admit, as she tore off her tight corsets with a