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Updated: May 11, 2025
He was writing a play, and talked a lot about the Shuberts having promised to star him in it when it was finished. "Hell!" he said, and turning, spoke to somebody in the room. "We can go into the back room," I heard him say, and he closed the door. When he opened it again, the room was empty.
I am an actor out of employment, forty-one years of age, short, stout, and bald, married to a woman I would like to be quit of, and I am writing myself a play in which the Shuberts intend to star me, or in which I intend the Shuberts to star me." "Very well, Mr. Ladley," I said, trying to enter into the spirit of the thing, and, God knows, seeing no humor in it.
"'The husband was also an actor, out of work, and employing his leisure time in writing a play." "Everybody's doing it," said Mr. Howell idly. "The Shuberts were to star him in this," I put in. "He said that the climax at the end of the second act " Mr. Holcombe shut his note-book with a snap. "After we have finished gossiping," he said, "I'll go on."
Bill Opus and Jeremiah Fugue have no secrets from him none whatever and in conversation he creates the impression that old Issy Sonata was his first cousin. He can tell you offhand which one of the Shuberts Lee or Jake wrote that Serenade. He speaks of Mozart and Beethoven in such a way a stranger would probably get the idea that Mote and Bate used to work for his folks.
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