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Updated: June 8, 2025
So Mogley went alone, playing the melodramatic father in the first act, and later the secondary villain, who in the end drowns the principal villain in the tank of real water, while his heart was with the pain-racked little woman pining away in the small room at the top of the dingy theatrical boarding-house on Eleventh Street.
The voice ceased. There was a convulsion at her throat. Nothing stirred in the room. From the street below came the sound of a passing car and a boy's voice, "Morning papers." Mogley was weeping. The dead woman's hand clutched the paper. Her face wore a smile. This is no fable; it is the hardest kind of fact. I met Craddock not more than a week ago. His inebriety prevented his recognizing me.
I suppose he 'roasted' Gugley, or whatever his name is. Ah, here it is." And he read on the proof: "The revival of an ancient burlesque on 'Faust' at the Theatre last night was without any noteworthy feature save the pitiful performance of the part of Mephisto by a doleful gentleman named Thomas Mogley, who showed not the faintest of humour and who was tremendously guyed by a turbulent audience.
"I would be resigned, Tom, if only if only you would make a success before I go." "If only I could get the chance, Alice!" As the days went by, Mrs. Mogley rapidly grew worse. She seemed to fail perceptibly. But Mogley had to seek an engagement. They could not live on nothing. Mrs. Jones would wait with the daily increasing board-bill, but medicine required cash.
In all burlesques of "Faust" the role of Mephisto is the leading comic figure. The actor who assumes it undertakes to make people laugh. Mogley made people laugh that night, but it was not his intentional humourous efforts that excited their hilarity. It was the man himself. They began by jeering him quietly. Then the gallery grew bold.
His performance created an abundance of merriment, and it was the manifest thought of the audience that a new type of burlesque comedian had been discovered." All of which was literally true. And the dramatic editor laughed over it later over his bottle of white label at the club. By what power Mrs. Mogley managed to keep alive until morning I do not know.
Mogley, having sent up the last page of his notice of the new play at Palmer's, was confronted by the office-boy ushering to the side of his desk a tall, spare, smooth-faced man with a sober countenance, an ill-concealed manner of being somewhat over-awed by his surroundings, and a coat frayed at the edges. "I'm Mr. Thomas Mogley," said this apparition. "Ah! Have a cigarette, Mr.
She lived in the hope of his triumph, and, as she had more time to think than he had, she suffered more keenly the agony of yearning unsatisfied. She was a little, fragile being, with large pale blue eyes, and a face from which the roses had fled when she was twenty. But she was very much to Mogley: she did his planning, his thinking, the greater part of his aspiring.
Thomas Mogley, had kindly consented to play Mephisto, at short notice, without a rehearsal." He had never heard himself called a talented comedian before, and he involuntarily held his head a trifle higher as the startling and delicious words reached his ears.
Mogley reported to the stage manager, who showed him Renshaw's dressing-room and gave him Renshaw's costume for the part. His mind ever turning back to the little room at the top of the house and then to the words and "business" of his part, he got into Renshaw's red tights and crimson cape.
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