was about to take
place was of a different order from anything that had been known in
that theatre heretofore. There was real grace and beauty in the
dancing, genuine melody in the voice of the singer, and something sweet
and wholesome about the whole performance.

The act was entitled "And Do You Ken Elsie Marley, Honey?" And one
whispered to another that the best of it was, that that was her real
name--honestly it was--at least it had always been her stage name, so
that probably the song had been written especially for her--and she
that young--and it wasn't real ragtime either. And her dimples were
real too; possibly they were enlarged and deepened by the make-up, but
she had them off the stage.

Heavy applause greeted the entrance of the actress.

She was only a slip of a girl--a mere child she looked, partly, they
said, because of her hair--the "Castle bob," you know. She tripped
lightly before the footlights, smiled charmingly as she put the
question of the first line, and sang the song through with dancing
between the stanzas and dramatic rendering of the lines. She smiled
and sparkled and dimpled; but though she was so pretty and piquant and
coquettish, so graceful and vivacious, so completely the actress, there
was a look of youth and innocence about her that pleased the blase
audience, and touched one alien member of it to tears.

Once and again was Elsie Marley recalled to repeat the act. The young
actress had other things prepared, but though they might be well
received, they were followed by clamor for "Elsie Marley, Honey," until
only the forcible resumption of the pictures availed to quiet it.

And on Saturday night at the end of the second week, even that did not
avail. The last appearance of that bill having been announced, the
audience could not let Elsie Marley go. Finally, the manager came out
and announced that Miss Marley had been engaged for another week. And
again, while there was intense satisfaction elsewhere, to one person
the statement was like a blow.

In truth, on the day when Elsie had announced the opportunity that had
been offered her of appearing in a "specialty" on the stage of a
second-class cinema theatre, Miss Pritchard had been aghast. The
chance had come through the school in the person of Mr. Coates, who had
first seen possibilities in the song the girl had known since
childhood, and who had developed it to its limit, and trained her in a
more artificial though s