Actorviews (1923)

142 A ctorviews “Right now,” says Sophie, kidnaping me, hooking her magnificent right in mine, cramming me into the crowded elevator and shooting me up seven flights to her hospitable pair of rooms in the Sherman. There were birds, fruits, flowers, music, a piano, bottles, photographs and a bed in Sophie’s frontmost room — everything you could imagine but a book. Sophie took the big chair and I took the bed. She rocked in the rocker while she talked, and sometimes I rocked on the springs. “No, sir,” she said — for emphasis more than for respect — “there’s no more rough stuff for me. I’ve canned it. It’s out — forever. I’m so damned refined now you wouldn’t know me.” “This is terrible!” I repeated inadequately. “Oh, I know you used to laugh your head off in the days when I shouted. You used to say you liked me best when I taught the trombone its place and made the electric lights flicker. But I’ve got something better for you now. I’ve got Art. I’ve got “Hel-lo darling. Come right in. There — that’s for you.” And Sophie gave her own padded chair and a kiss to a rival dramatic critic, who had entered unannounced. “I’m just telling him,” said Sophie to my rival, “that he wouldn’t know my act any more.” “He wouldn’t know your ‘Floradora’ number,” said this other critic, who knows everything. “I’ll have to show you the business of that song, Sophie, especially the business with the hat.” “I’ll be glad to get it,” said Sophie. “I study all the time I ain’t working. He wouldn’t believe the time I put in on a song to get it just right. — Ashton, it’s a fact, by the time I put on a song it’s a classic. My