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Updated: June 20, 2025
After all, one could do something even with a pittance like twenty-five thousand. "If I'd twenty-five thousand," said Augustus Bartlett, the first to rally from the shock, "I'd buy Amalgamated..." "If I had twenty-five thousand..." began Elsa Doland.
Ginger threw his cigarette out of the window. He was shocked to find that he was smoking. Nothing could have been farther from his intention than to smoke. He nodded. "Whom has he married?" Ginger coughed. Something was sticking in his throat, and speech was difficult. "A girl called Doland." "Oh, Elsa Doland?" "Yes." "Elsa Doland." Sally drummed with her fingers on the arm of the chair.
The real thing that mattered was the question of who was going to play the leading part, that deftly drawn character which had so excited the admiration of Elsa Doland. She sought information on this point. "Who will play Ruth?" she asked. "You must have somebody wonderful. It needs a tremendously clever woman. Did Mr. Cracknell say anything about that?" "Oh, yes, we discussed that, of course."
"Oh, go and choke yourself!" said Miss Hobson, crisply. And, swinging round like a blue panther, she strode off. A door banged, and the sound of it seemed to restore Mr. Cracknell's power of movement. He, too, shot up stage and disappeared. "Hello, Sally," said Elsa Doland, looking up from her magazine. The battle, raging all round her, had failed to disturb her detachment.
Dotted about the house in ones and twos were members of the company whose presence was not required in the first act. On the stage, Elsa Doland, looking very attractive, was playing a scene with a man in a bowler hat. She was speaking a line, as Sally came in. "Why, what do you mean, father?" "Tiddly-omty-om," was the bowler-hatted one's surprising reply.
The papers, not always in agreement with the applause of a first-night audience, had on this occasion endorsed the verdict, with agreeable unanimity hailing Gerald as the coming author and Elsa Doland as the coming star. There had even been a brief mention of Fillmore as the coming manager.
Angry woman... blames the first person she sees... This paper-knife..." Fillmore's voice trailed off into pained silence. "Mr. Faucitt said Elsa Doland was good." "Oh, she's all right," said Fillmore indifferently. "But " His face brightened and animation crept into his voice. "But the girl you want to watch is Miss Winch. Gladys Winch. She plays the maid.
Variety, the journal which, next to the dog Toto, was the thing she loved best in the world, had informed her on the Friday morning that Mr. Foster's play had got over big in Detroit, and that Miss Doland had made every kind of hit. It was not often that the old alumni of the boarding-house forced their way after this fashion into the Hall of Fame, and, according to Mrs.
I've private information that Battling Tuke has been got at and means to lie down in the seventh..." "Say, listen," interrupted another voice, "lemme tell you what I'd do with four hundred thousand..." "If I had four hundred thousand," said Elsa Doland, "I know what would be the first thing I'd do." "What's that?" asked Sally. "Pay my bill for last week, due this morning."
"Gone to Detroit, he has," said Mrs. Meecher. "Miss Doland, too." She broke off to speak a caustic word to the boarding-house handyman, who, with Sally's trunk as a weapon, was depreciating the value of the wall-paper in the hall. "There's that play of his being tried out there, you know, Monday," resumed Mrs. Meecher, after the handyman had bumped his way up the staircase.
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