--a statement that goes far to show my distressed state of
mind,--for generally speaking that is an unusual day which does not
bring along with its worry, work, and pain some bubble of healing
laughter. It was a joke of Mr. Le Moyne's own special brand that found
favour in my eyes and a place in my memory. Any one who has ever served
under Mr. Daly can recall the astounding list of rules printed in fine
type all over the backs of his contracts. The rules touching on
_forfeits_ seemed endless: "For being late," "For a stage wait," "For
lack of courtesy," "For gossiping," "For wounding a companion's
feelings"--each had its separate forfeiture. "For addressing the manager
on business outside of his office," I remember, was considered worth one
dollar for a first offence and more for a second. Most of these rules
ended with, "Or discharge at the option of the manager." But it was well
known that the mortal offence was the breaking that rule whose very
first forfeit was five dollars, "Or discharge at the option of," etc.,
that rule forbidding the giving to outsiders of any stage information
whatever; touching the plays in rehearsal, their names, scenes, length,
strength, or story; and to all these many rules on the backs of our
contracts we assented and subscribed our amused or amazed selves.

When the new French play "L'Article 47" was announced, the title aroused
any amount of curiosity. A reporter after a matinee one day followed me
up the avenue, trying hard to get me to explain its meaning; but I was
anxious not to be "discharged at the option of the manager," and
declined to explain. Many of the company received notes asking the
meaning of the title. At Mr. Le Moyne's house there boarded a walking
interrogation-point of a woman. She wished to know what "L'Article 47"
meant; she would know. She tried Mr. Harkins; Mr. Harkins said he didn't
know. She tossed her head and tried Mr. Crisp; Mr. Crisp patiently and
elaborately explained just why he could not give any information. She
implied that he did not know a lady when he saw one, and fell upon Mr.
Le Moyne, tired, hungry, suavely sardonic. "_He_ was," she assured him,
"a gentleman of the old school. _He_ would know how to receive a lady's
request and honour it." And Le Moyne rose to the occasion. A large
benevolence sat upon his brow, as assuring her that, though he ran the
risk of discharge for her fair sake, yet should she have her will. He
asked if she had ever seen a