le, the first chap you are going to meet is the old Stage Door
Tender. You will find him at every stage door, sitting there in his old
arm chair, calm, quiet, doing nothing; he is a man of few words; he has
heard actors talk so much that he has got discouraged. He sees the same
thing every week; he sees them come in on Monday and go out on Saturday;
the same questions, the same complaints, the same kicks. So he just sits
there watching, waiting and observing.

He seldom speaks, but when he does, he generally says something.

* * * * *

At the Orpheum Theater in Des Moines there was an old fellow who looked
so much like the character I portray in "Town Hall To-night" that
everybody used to call him "Cressy." Finally we came there to play and
he heard everybody call me "Cressy." He pondered over this for a day or
two, then he came over to me one afternoon and said,

"What do you suppose they call you and I 'Cressy' for?"

He expressed his opinion of actors in general about as concisely as I
ever heard any one do; I asked him what he really thought of actors; and
with a contemptuous sniff he replied,

"I don't."

* * * * *

Nobody in the world could ever convince "Old George" on the stage door
of the San Francisco Orpheum that that house would survive a year
without his guiding hand and brain. Old George was hired by John
Morrisey, the house manager, while Mr. Myerfelt, the president of the
Orpheum Company, was abroad. George's instructions were to admit no one
back on the stage without a written order from Mr. Morrisey. A month or
so afterwards Mr. Myerfelt returned and started to go back on the
stage.

"Here, here," said Old George; "where are you going?"

"I am going up on the stage," said Mr. M.

"You are not," said George, barring the way, "without a pass from Mr.
Morrisey."

"What are you talking about?" demanded Mr. M. "I am Mr. Myerfelt, the
President of the Orpheum Company."

"Yis, and I am King George, The Prisidint of this Door; and me orders is
that no one goes through here without a pass from Mr. Morrisey. And
there is nobody goes through."

So deadly earnest is Old George in this matter that, should it be
absolutely necessary for him to leave the door for a moment, he has
bought himself a little child's-size slate upon which he writes out a
detailed account of where he has gone, and why, and how soon he will be
back.

"Gone to g