ring such drastic measures; but it is, I think, to
these reckless young wretches, and a few silly, sentimental simpletons
who permit themselves to be drawn into a mawkish correspondence with
perfect strangers, that we really owe the continued existence of the
stage-door "masher," who wishes to be mistaken for a member of the
_jeunesse doree_.

But the mammas and the aunties may feel perfectly safe for another
reason. The earnest, ambitious young gentlewoman you are watching over
is not often attractive to the "masher." The clever and promising
artist, Miss G----, is not his style. He is not looking for brains,
"don't yer know." He fancies No. 3 in the second row, she with the
flashing eyes and teeth; or No. 7 in the front row, that has the cutest
kick in the whole crowd. And his cheap and common letters of fulsome
compliment and invitation go to her accordingly. But the daring little
free lance who accepts these attentions pays a high price for the bit of
supper that is followed by gross impertinences. One would think that the
democratic twenty-five-cent oyster stew, and respect therewith, would
taste better than the small bird and the small bottle with insult as a
_demi-tasse_. Then, too, she loses caste at once; for it is not enough
that a girl should not do evil: she must also avoid the appearance of
evil. She will be judged by the character of her companions, and a few
half-hearted denials, a shrug of the shoulders, a discreetly suppressed
smile, will place her among the list of his "mashes." Oh, hideous word!

Of course, now and again, at long, long intervals, a man really falls in
love with a woman whom he has seen only upon the stage; but no "masher"
proceedings are taken in such cases. On the other hand, very determined
efforts are made to locate the actress's family or friends, and through
them to be properly presented.

Believing, as I did, that every girl had a perfect right to humiliate a
"masher" to the extent of her ability, I once went, it's hard to admit
it, but really I did go, too far in reprisal. Well, at all events, I was
made to feel rather ashamed of myself. We were presenting "Alixe" at Mr.
Daly's Broadway Theatre, just after the fire, and the would-be
lady-killer was abroad in the land and unusually active. There was
seldom a night that some one was not laughing contemptuously or frowning
fiercely over a "drop letter," as we called them. One evening my box
held a most inflammable communication.