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An Unprintable Interview With Miss Cowl 307
have as much as a cup of coffee. It may have been all right, but it’s not my idea of Spanish hospitality.”
A touch of serious theater is, I fear, working in. Jane is telling me how she suffers on first nights, how she wishes she could “open” just “for people” and not have to face New York’s hideous “death watch.”
“They had me licked in the first act on the first night of ‘Smilin’ Through’,” she tells me passionately and colloquially. “Those body-snatchers wouldn’t have me at any price. My performance became a battle, a fight, a scrap. Well, I got ’em in the second act and in the last act I had 'em standing on their hind legs — but it took twenty years out of me.”
“You don’t look it,” says I, bright as a gilt chair or a brass institution.
It’s so feeble she is compelled to laugh, and is somehow reminded of a couple of treble youths whom she describes as “sweet cookies.” These nancified lads were at the historic premiere of “Smilin’ Through,” and this is a bit of their conversation as it was reported to Jane (0 girls, I wish you could hear her mimic them !) :
Sweet Cookie ( contralto ) — Well, she holds them, doesn’t she?
Sweeter Cookie ( altissimo ) — Holds them? My dear, she clutches them!
For dessert we have sublimated mousse baited with marons glaces — and cherry tart. (I insist on the cherry tart, although you might say that we don’t really have it; you might say that we have only the spirit of it. Symbolists may read what they like into this chapter of the Cherry Tart.)
“I threw it at Dolph,” says Jane, in a confession