So she
said no more--till he asked for a basket.
"A basket, papa? What for?"
"It might be ashes."
CHAPTER IX.
The earl and Washington started on the sorrowful errand, talking as they
walked.
"And as usual!"
"What, Colonel?"
"Seven of them in that hotel. Actresses. And all burnt out, of
course."
"Any of them burnt up?"
"Oh, no they escaped; they always do; but there's never a one of them
that knows enough to fetch out her jewelry with her."
"That's strange."
"Strange--it's the most unaccountable thing in the world. Experience
teaches them nothing; they can't seem to learn anything except out of a
book. In some uses there's manifestly a fatality about it. For
instance, take What's-her-name, that plays those sensational thunder and
lightning parts. She's got a perfectly immense reputation--draws like a
dog-fight--and it all came from getting burnt out in hotels."
"Why, how could that give her a reputation as an actress?"
"It didn't--it only made her name familiar. People want to see her play
because her name is familiar, but they don't know what made it familiar,
because they don't remember. First, she was at the bottom of the
ladder, and absolutely obscure wages thirteen dollars a week and find her
own pads.
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