lder in the "perfesh" one became immune.
Had they not had many such attacks themselves? They had dreamed of
playing Brutus, Macbeth and Romeo before crowded houses, and having
their names spelled out in blazing electric letters over the entrance
of Broadway theatres, yet here they were to-day, just where they stood
twenty years before, playing general utility at forty dollars a week,
and only thirty-six weeks in the year! Need one wonder that their eyes
were tired and their faces lined? Their clothes were shabby, all
ambition had been ruthlessly crushed out of them, but no matter. They
still stood sunning themselves on the Rialto, listening good naturedly
to the youngsters' prattle. Now and then grim tragedy could be detected
stalking behind comedy's mask. Haggard faces and shabby clothes spoke
eloquently of poverty's pinch. A long summer ahead and nothing saved.
Well--what of it? That was nothing unusual. If times were hard and
engagements few, that was the price the mummer must pay. Why did he go
into the rotten business? By this time he painfully realized that all
cannot be stars, to own automobiles and fine country houses and have
the managers and the public worshipping at their feet. Some must be
content to belong to the humble rank and file, and these were the kind
that haunted Broadway.

Two loungers, one a young actor, the other a man considerably his
senior, stood talking at the corner of Forty-second Street, opposite
the entrance to the Empire Theatre. The younger man was pale and sickly
looking, and his long hair, classic features, and general seedy
appearance stamped him as a "legit," or a player whose theatrical
activities had been confined to Shakespearian and the classic dramas.

Why actors who specialize in the legitimate should be invariably
careless in their personal appearance has yet to be explained. Their
fellow-artists, who play in modern comedy, usually appear on the street
trig and well groomed. Their clothes, cut in the latest fashion, and
the way they wear them, constitute valuable factors in their success.
But the Benvolios, the Mercutios and Horatios and other heroes of the
romantic and standard dramas, are, in private life, a queer and
sad-looking lot. Their excuse may be that for the historical dramas the
manager furnishes the costumes, whereas for the modern play the player
has to provide his own.

This particular actor wore a faded Fedora hat, his trousers were baggy
at the knee, and h