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Updated: May 11, 2025
In an old cemetery, amid the crumbling bricks, Barnes was buried, his sealed tomb above ground bearing in its inscription the answer to the duke's query: "Thy Best of Life is Sleep." After the manager's death and Constance's retirement from the stage, it naturally followed that the passengers of the chariot became separated. Mrs.
In one night she had established herself as a trump card in the manager's hand against the rival house, an accession which he so appreciated that, unsolicited, he raised her salary from five hundred to two thousand pounds. Mlle. Alboni's voice covered nearly three octaves, from E flat to C sharp, with tones uniformly rich, full, mellow, and liquid.
"Robert Price of Penzance in the Kingdom of Great Britain Esquire" was the absentee owner of Worthy Park. His kinsman Rose Price Esquire who was in active charge was not salaried but may have received a manager's commission of six per cent, on gross crop sales as contemplated in the laws of the colony.
Thankfully, he only had to watch them once, when he filled in for the Manager's weasel-featured nephew/projectionist Neoldner, who had called in sick to buy grass in Beloit. In return, Neoldner was going to clean out theater two this evening, and Tom couldn't wait for his shift to end. One good thing about the Ed Wood freaks they bought all the popcorn Tom could make.
And then, when we had gone away from there and had traveled a homeward mile or two, our friend found that the new shiny five-franc piece was counterfeit as false a thing as that manager's false smile. We had bucked the unbeatable system, and we had lost.
"If you're that kind of a gink, I'm damned glad to get rid of you at any price," he rasped; and then went to the district manager's desk and wrote me the letter, "To Whom it may Concern," practically as I dictated it. That ended it, and when the letter was signed and flung across the desk at me I lost no time in getting out of the noxious atmosphere of the place.
At one o'clock precisely I was shown into the manager's office. M. Thierry, his nose more congested than ever, and his eyes more crafty, preached me a deadly sermon, blamed my want of discipline, absence of respect, and scandalous conduct, and finished his pitiful harangue by advising me to beg Madame Nathalie's pardon.
The best paid did not get more than twenty-four sous a day, and all of them had excellent reputations, for they had been selected at her own request by the manager's wife, a devout woman of ripe age, whom I hoped to find obliging if the fancy seized me to test her choice. Manon Baletti did not share my satisfaction in them.
They have dynamited the most ticklish part of the work on the Man-killer!" "The scoundrels!" cried General Manager Ellsworth. He was a man who believed in working along easy lines when possible. His career as a railroad man had taught him the value of meeting other people half way. Now the general manager's white face and flashing eyes revealed the fighter in him.
Like Gilbert's policeman, the manager's life at times is not a happy one. "You seem to be put out about something, Governor?" All managers of theatres as a rule are governors, through courtesy, and they like to be so addressed. "I am. Say, let me ask you a question. Did you ever have a date broken on you at short notice?" "Did I?" exclaimed Handy, with a smile.
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