The Billboard 1909-01-16: Vol 21 Iss 3 (1909-01-16)

mete le @ tpy as aie or -_ —— R E E The marriage of Fritzi Scheff and John Fox, Jr., the Kentucky novelist, ,.uthor of The Kentuckians, The Cardinal, The Aftermath, The Little Shepherd of Kingdom Come, and several other books that have enjoyed more or — ar TTT less vogue during the past ten or } | fifteen years, was not a surprise to their friends, nor even to the New York first-nighters, who have often seen them together, occupying box seats at the various Broadway premieres. Indeed, it has for some time been a matter of common speculation as to when the little blond gentleman from the Corncracker State and the petite prima donna of the Dillingham galaxy would be packing their clothes in the same trunk. John Fox, by the way, is not, in appearance at least, the typical Kentuckian, as represented on the stage, or even in his own novels; for the typical denizen of the state where they make quantities of whisky and are not licensed to sell it except in a very few counties, is a big, broad-shouldered fellow, with fierce moustachios, who wears a Prince Albert coat and a hat of the exaggerated Stetson style. Fox is, on the contrary, small, suave and more the Englishman than the American in manner and appearance. He knots his Kentuckian, however, as Boswell knew his Johnson, and his fund of reminisence and anecdote is inexhaustible. One incident he relates as having sccurred on a walking trip he made through eastern Kentucky. Stopping for refreshment at the cabin of a mountaineer, he was introduced to the wife of that individual. After the woman had left the room, Fox said: “That isn’t the same wife you had when I was here before.” ‘No,” replied the mountaineer, indifferently. “I traded that one for this'n ind a coon dog—and the coon dog’s a dandy.” ’ In addition to being a raconteur and novelist of most enviable reputation, Fox is credited with being an epicure. It was his particular delight to introduce Miss Scheff, before their marriage, to occasional novelties in cuisine, prepared according to the verbal recipes that he gave the waiters at the St. Regis Cafe Beaux Arts and other of their favorite dining places. There Was one thing, though, of which he was very fond, that he could never get her to touch, and that was oysters. He says that the first time they dined together in the oyster season, he ordered his inevitable plate of Blue Points, but she renigged and sat nibbling at the celery while he prepared them with the most delightful of gastric anticipations. “What do you put that stuff on them for?” she asked, with a mischievous smile, that he says bordered well on the malicious, as he deftly tipped the Tabaseo sauce. “Does it sort o’ chloroform them?” But Fox acknowledges that he’s willing to be a cannibal to that extent. { he still has his oysters with every dinner when possible. _ These lines are embossed over the call board of the Belasco Stuyvesant Theatre, New York: A sure way to success: Mind your business, A sure way to happiness: Mind your own business. AUGUSTIN DALY. ‘There's a story back of that sign,” said Mr. Pelaseo. “The only time I “as ever back of the stage at Daly's ' was taking an adaptation of a F rench play called La Belle Russe, : 4 ch I wanted Mr. Daly to buy. I had to sit on the bench waiting to be ‘mitted to the manager’s office, and while I was sitting there I thoroughly sested those lines. I made up my mind then that if the day ever came en | owned a theatre of my own in New York those lines should be in bed there with due credit to Mr. Daly. And here they are in the Stuyve nt ew people in Smoke Ridge had ever seen an automobile, so, when Col. Franklin's red devil stopped for a few minutes in the isolated village, ious inhabitants gazed at the snorting demon with a mixture of fear and awe, and the owner, who had entered the one general store to make a purchase, heard one rustic remark: “I'll bet it’s a man-killer.” “O’ course it is,’ assured the other. “Look at that number on the back of the car. That shows how many people it’s run over. That's accordin’ to law. Now, if that feller was to run over anybody here in Smoke Ridge, it would be our duty to telegraph 24 nee the next town ahead.” 1A ' : Vhat would they do?" demanded the interested auditors. me 0 ‘hy, the police would stop him and change his number to 1285. Fred Leggett, the advance agent, at one time had aspirations toward the medical profession, and his fund of reminiscences during his period of service as an interne in a big city hospital, is rich in humorous incidents Leggett tells of one patient who was s ) = brought to the hospital suffering from delirium tremens. He had been in the institution quite a while and was almost recovered by the time New Year’s Day came around. On that day of new-made resolutions he called the nurs to his bedside and asked her for a sheet of paper and pencil with which to write a letter to his home folks, telling them of his recovery and the early prospect of his returning to their midst. He had just finished the letter, addressed and sealed the envelope, and, having licked the stamp, was in the very act of sticking it on the envelope, when it slipped from hinervous fingers and in falling adhered to the back of a big roach that was crawling under his bed. As the roach went into its hole, the late victim of delirium looked after it sadly and ejaculated: “Oh! hell! I thought I was getting well, and here the snakes and bugs are coming back again. I guess I am good for another year in this place.” [ ( > That the age of miracles is not yet past is the firm belief of William G. Arthur, a cobbler who was recently evicted from his place of business in Milwaukee because he could not pay the Milwaukee Drug Company a rent bill of $29, owing to illness. Just when Arthur, now in the county hospital, was getting most despondent his fairy princess appeared and paid his bill. The fairy in reality is Helen Bertram, an opera singer. Arthur’s furniture and tools were thrown out in the rain. Miss Bertram heard about it. She called up Lieut. Frank Miller, central police station, and was told the circumstances. Nopoor cobbler, she was told. Tyg a whe UWP: zxcanmiilttgtAZ body seemed to care about the Later, in the Hotel Pfister, Miss Bertram counted $29 into the hands of Constable Daniel MacAvoy in full payment of the man’s rent bill, and Justice J. A. Graves will nolle the eviction proceedings and the furniture wil! be restored to its place in 143 Michigan street. “O, you know, I did not want that poor man to think that the world was all bad,” said Miss Bertram. “I have had hard luck and I know just how -it is.” Mme. Emma Eames is a foe to vivisection, and in Pittsburg the other day she praised the unselfish devotion of certain rich New York women anti-vivisectionists. “Really,” she said, “the work these women do, the suffering in the shape of snubs and insults they undergo, reminds me very forcibly of my dentist's first patient. “My dentist's first patient, the young man has often told me, was an elderly farmer. The farmer wanted four teeth pulled. They were very firmly ay IS) rooted. “After the dentist, his cuffs turned = ‘a \ : back, his lips compressed, his feet braced against the chair, had tugged vainly) at the teeth for sometime, he paused, wiped his moist brow, and said: “‘*‘Whew! You've certainly got, sir, the firmest teeth I ever saw.’ “*Well, take your time, young man, I'm in no hurry,’ said the farme: encouragingly. ‘It’s splendid practice, and it'll teach you we must all work for our livin’.’”’ Wilkie Cohen, who is manager of Hale’s Tour car in Clarksburg, W. Va tells an amusing s.ory of a man who labored under a tremendous souse starting out with the intention of getting himself a little lunch at the stand next door to the theatre. This lunch stand is made from discarded street car and, mistaking the theatre entrance, the drunk hand ed in his dime at the door and entered A little later he came out and went into the lunch car Sitting down at the counter, he exclaimed, utterly dis gusted: .“What kind of a bunco game is that next door? I found that there was nothing but a damned picture show! 4.