part--the world of the theatre, a
shallow, artificial, unreal land, with laws and manners all its own; a
region of lights and tinsel and mock emotions, its people frankly
unmoral and irresponsible as a child, yet ever interesting and not
unlovable; luxury-loving and extravagant, flush to-day, bankrupt
to-morrow; inflated with false pretense and exaggerated self
importance, yet tender-hearted and ingenuous to a fault, and not
without their sphere of usefulness--theirs the mission "to hold, as
'twere, the mirror up to Nature," and in tragedy and comedy, move
mankind to tears and laughter, while upholding the best traditions of a
noble art.

Sweeping northwards from Herald Square as far as Forty-seventh Street,
the Rialto, on this particular morning, did full credit to the famous
public mart in Venice, from which it took its picturesque name. Here in
the heart of theatredom was the players' curb market, the theatrical
rendezvous of the metropolis, where the mummer comes both to talk shop
with his fellow actor, and seek a new engagement. On every side
luxurious theatres reared their stately facades, box-offices open for
business invited all to enter, obstreperous ticket speculators jostled
passersby in their eagerness to sell their seats. Street hoardings, ash
barrels and sandwich men were plastered with flamboyant multi-colored
show bills. The play, and nothing but the play was certainly the thing;
the hapless stranger was buffetted in a maelstrom of theatrical
activity. The very air reeked of calcium and grease paint.

The sidewalks were crowded with actors of all ages, some smartly
dressed, others seedy-looking and down at heel. They stood chatting
idly in little groups, thronged the doors of managers' offices and
dramatic agencies, promenaded up and down with self-conscious strut. If
some were seedy, all looked sanguine and happy. Actors and actresses
both, they laughed and joked and patted one another on the back, as
they strove to outdo each other in narrating wonderful experiences on
the road. Right and left one heard the younger players exclaim
exuberantly: "Great notices!--made the hit of my life!--am to be
starred next season!--manager crazy for me to sign!" The bystanders,
older than the speakers, listened politely and nodded approvingly, but
did not seem otherwise impressed. Old-timers these, they knew too well
the symptoms of the novice. Every beginner had these illusions, like
the measles; then, as one got o