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in Chicago when He permitted you to be a riot on Thursday night in Pittsburgh?’ Not on your life!
“That’s where the human family is prone to err — in trying to make God work according to a human time-table. I remember Florence Nash coming to me in fear and trembling at the Palace. They’d changed her time from four to three, and she was afraid the second week’s opening audience would crucify her.
“ ‘See here,’ I says to Florence, ‘you’ve got a hell of a nerve fixing it all up with yourself that God will make you good at four o’clock and rotten at three. Why, you’re all trembling and sighing like a north wind — how do you expect the public to love you when you go out to them like that? That’s what’s the matter, Florence — you aren’t letting the public love you enough.’
“And while I talked to her the color came back to her face and her eves brightened — she had something to give. She wouldn’t accent my offer to trade nlaces with her in the bill, but went on at three and duplicated her four o’clock hit of the week before — and why not?
“God.” she summed, “has no union hours.”
And then she was asking me what was humor — as though T could answer that! And wasn’t it somethin?? childlike? — which nobody can denv? And don’t you feel in your heart before you do in your head? — which, of course, you do. And she named names to attest the juvenescenee of her favorite humorists of the stage.
“Laurette Taylor.” she said, “is a qarnine. Fred Stone is an urchin. Warfield is a St. Bernard — in his best moments a romping puppy of love and laughter.