Cheerful - By Request | Page 7

she bawls she bawls. I'll say that
for her. From the looks of this front breadth she must have worn a
groove in the stage at the York."
No gently sentimental reason caused Hahn & Lohman to house these
hundreds of costumes, these tons of scenery, these forests of furniture.
Neither had Josie Fifer been hired to walk wistfully among them like a
spinster wandering in a dead rose garden. No, they were stored for a
much thriftier reason. They were stored, if you must know, for possible
future use. H. & L. were too clever not to use a last year's costume for a
this year's road show. They knew what a coat of enamel would do for a
bedroom set. It was Josie Fifer's duty not only to tabulate and care for
these relics, but to refurbish them when necessary. The sewing was
done by a little corps of assistants under Josie's direction.
But all this came with the years. When Josie Fifer, white and weak,
first took charge of the H. & L. lares et penates, she told herself it was
only for a few months--a year or two at most. The end of sixteen years
found her still there.

When she came to New York, "Splendour" was just beginning its
phenomenal three years' run. The city was mad about the play. People
came to see it again and again--a sure sign of a long run. The Sarah
Haddon second-act costume was photographed, copied (unsuccessfully),
talked about, until it became as familiar as a uniform. That costume had
much to do with the play's success, though Sarah Haddon would never
admit it. "Splendour" was what is known as a period play. The famous
dress was of black velvet, made with a quaint, full-gathered skirt that
made Haddon's slim waist seem fairylike and exquisitely supple. The
black velvet bodice outlined the delicate swell of the bust. A rope of
pearls enhanced the whiteness of her throat. Her hair, done in old-time
scallops about her forehead, was a gleaming marvel of simplicity, and
the despair of every woman who tried to copy it. The part was that of
an Italian opera singer. The play pulsated with romance and love,
glamour and tragedy. Sarah Haddon, in her flowing black velvet robe
and her pearls and her pallor, was an exotic, throbbing, exquisite
realisation of what every woman in the audience dreamed of being and
every man dreamed of loving.
Josie Fifer saw the play for the first time from a balcony seat given her
by Sid Hahn. It left her trembling, red-eyed, shaken. After that she used
to see it, by hook or crook whenever possible. She used to come in at
the stage door and lurk back of the scenes and in the wings when she
had no business there. She invented absurd errands to take her to the
theatre where "Splendour" was playing. Sid Hahn always said that after
the big third-act scene he liked to watch the audience swim up the aisle.
Josie, hidden in the back-stage shadows, used to watch, fascinated,
breathless. Then, one night, she indiscreetly was led, by her, absorbed
interest, to venture too far into the wings. It was during the scene where
Haddon, hearing a broken-down street singer cracking the golden notes
of "Aïda" into a thousand mutilated fragments, throws open her
window and, leaning far out, pours a shower of Italian and broken
English and laughter and silver coin upon her amazed compatriot
below.
When the curtain went down she came off raging.

"What was that? Who was that standing in the wings? How dare any
one stand there! Everybody knows I can't have any one in the wings.
Staring! It ruined my scene to-night. Where's McCabe? Tell Mr. Hahn I
want to see him. Who was it? Staring at me like a ghost!"
Josie had crept away, terrified, contrite, and yet resentful. But the next
week saw her back at the theatre, though she took care to stay in the
shadows.
She was waiting for the black velvet dress. It was more than a dress to
her. It was infinitely more than a stage costume. It was the habit of
glory. It epitomised all that Josie Fifer had missed of beauty and
homage and success.
The play ran on, and on, and on. Sarah Haddon was superstitious about
the black gown. She refused to give it up for a new one. She insisted
that if ever she discarded the old black velvet for a new the run of the
play would stop. She assured Hahn that its shabbiness did not show
from the front. She clung to it with that childish unreasonableness that
is so often found in people of the stage.
But Josie waited patiently. Dozens of costumes passed through her