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Miss Moores and. Her Mamma 155
Leslie said it was as wooden as any of the toys Jed Winslow carved in ‘Shavings’ ! I got so that I prayed for a series of failures.”
“She actually did pray for failures,” bore out mamma. “She felt she needed the experience.”
“They usually come without praying,” said I. “Well, I got one,” said Miss Moores, not without pride. In ‘Pot Luck’ I played an old maid who had to advertise for a man, being as they’re so hard to get! — and, womanlike, fell in love with him and kept him. And ‘Pot Luck' was a failure despite some wonderful publicity.”
Now, there are three words in the English langauge that I roundly abhor — victuals, vex and publicity; and worst of all I hate publicity. Yet I could not resist asking Miss Moores what “Pot Luck’s” wonderful publicity had consisted of.
“Well, you know our leading man, James Rennie, had just married Dorothy Gish. And it was plotted that one night I should faint at the end of the second act and that Dorothy Gish should jump in and finish out my performance. And I fainted — it was a scene where I fell into his arms, anyway — and she did.” “She read from the script?”
“She did not; she had it letter perfect.” Miss Moores’ mamma answered for her. “But do you think, Clara,” she warned, “that we had better discuss the secrets of publicity for publication!”
“She was supposed,” said Miss Moores, “to have been sitting out in front so often, to see her husband, that the part just stuck to her memory — that was the publicity. But it didn’t help business any, and I was able to tell the author that I guessed I drew about as well as Dorothy Gish. Oh, yes; do smoke your pipe.”