omphe between two
rippling little streams of comment and admiration, with, "Comme elle est
belle!" "Quelle aplomb!" "Matin, quelle chic!" "Elle est forte
gentille!" "C'est le coup de grace!" "Le chapeau! le chapeau!" "La belle
Pearl! la belle Pearl!" reaching her distinctly at every other moment.

And that was the origin of the back-turned, broad-brimmed hat that had
such vogue before the arrival of the Gainsborough or picture hat.

If I were a young actress, I would rather be noted for acting than for
originating a new style of garment; but it is a free country, thank God,
and a big one, with room for all of us, whatever our preferences. And
though the young actress has the clothes question heavy on her mind now,
and finds it hard to keep up with others and at the same time out of
debt, she has the right to hope that by and by she will be so good an
actress, and so valuable to the theatre, that a fat salary will make the
clothes matter play second fiddle, as is right and proper it should, to
the question of fine acting.

_CHAPTER XIV

THE MASHER, AND WHY HE EXISTS_

Thousands of persons who do not themselves use slang understand and even
appreciate it. The American brand is generally pithy, compact, and
expressive, and not always vulgar. Slang is at its worst in contemptuous
epithets, and of those the one that is lowest and most offensive seems
likely to become a permanent, recognized addition to the language. No
more vulgar term exists than "masher," and it is a distinct comfort to
find Webster ascribing the origin of the word to England's reckless
fun-maker,--_Punch_.

Beaux, bucks, lady-killers, Johnnies,--all these terms have been applied
at different periods to the self-proclaimed fascinator of women, and
to-day we will use some one, any of them, rather than that
abomination,--masher. Nor am I "puttin' on scallops and frills," as the
boys say. I know a good thing when I hear it, as when a very much
overdressed woman entered a car, and its first sudden jerk broke her
gorgeous parasol, while its second flung her into the arms of the
ugliest, fattest man present and whirled her pocket-book out of the
window, I knew that the voice of conviction that slowly said, "Well, she
is up against it," slangily expressed the unfortunate woman's exact
predicament. Oh, no, I'm not "puttin' on frills," I am only objecting
with all my might and main to a term, as well as to the contemptible
creature indicated by it,--