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whaP fhppenec in the Chomr lei if ( \i 'V -A.?iderbilEs *250,000Ball) Some of the Unsched uled Events Mrs. Vanderbilt's Lady Guests Didn’t See, and Their Husbands Will Never Tell (By One Who Was in the Tent When It Happened.) MRS. CORNELIUS VANDER- BILT gave r. costume ball at Newport .ouple of weeks ago that cost a .u r'.er of a million dollars and brought out several mil lion dollars' worth of jewels and fixings. However, .his isn’t about the actual ball given by Mrs. Vanderbilt —not the ball itself. The official, properly censored story has already appeared of that. What I'm writing is the uncensored story, the (Oh, diamonds am. Jecdlete, what a hackneyed phrase behind the scenes story. Who am I? It doesn't mat ter. 1 was there. 1 am, in fact, in the chorus of the "Merry Countess” company. Not many months ago I was on the fringe (that's a lot closer than being on the edge) of Mrs. Van derbilts's sot. 1 simply give a bit of my history to show that while Ned Berwind and Arthur Iselin and Pembroke Jones and the others didn’t know me. I knew them very well tnd - hep 1 won't make them uncomfortable to have me say It. Iw BORf O&0 ? Hf! ? m >x\ "Under each arm they carried wine. Elsewhere they carried more." Mrs. Vanderbilt (you know this, too, but 1 have to lead up to the real story ) had the 'asliu Theatre closed in New York that nieht so that "The Merry Countess company could ex clusive!} entertain hei guests. We were a happy crowd when we got in at Newport Weren't we to mingft' with the elite, to scrape el bows with the biggest bunch o£ aohnnies ever eei., e < e under one root, to it dew at the table with Cornelius himself and perhaps drink out of the same loving cup? We wore —not! But th* girls- didn't know it, "The only thing that troubles me.” said Chlorinda to me, as we ap proached the wharf, “is that the dear boys 1 know may be afraid to recog nize ms. because their wives aro there.” It was then about > o'clock. "What a dinner 1 suppose well have at Beaulieu." .nused Rosie, the blonde. "1 expect 111 sit down at th' festive board with Cornelius on my right and Alfred on my left and a champagne cup if. front of me. In fact, 1 did promise Clarence—the dear boy—that I’d bring him home the cup " But what has .mppened? Here we are at the wharf and Cornelius is 9 not here to meet us! How very, very careless of him! We will call up his little cottage am find out what keeps him. “Hello! Is this Beaulieu? Well, this i.i the company. We've just got in. Shall we come right up? What's that? You can't accommodate us at the villa? We’ll have to put up at the hotel? You think the hotel will be all right. Oh, ery well; we’ll go right up." Gloom! Gloom, ndeod! We girls of the merry, merry chore-us don't feel half as chipper now. But let as wait vntll we see the hotel Mrs. Van derbilt yes, the man on the phone said he was Mrc. Vanderbilt—has selected for us. "Oh, no, driver! This can’t be it! It is, you say? Very v ell, we'll get out. It certainly isn't the Knicker bocker or the Plaza. But Mrs. Van derbilt selected herself.” We are installed. We are seated at upper. Supper comes. There is a silence. "And this," at last murmurs Bllxle, of the- pony ballet, in words made famous bv Mayor t'aynor, “and this is Newport!" I pass rapidly on. The company was not to go on until midnight. Be tween now and 10 we look over the town. At 10 we put oa our costumes. "The poor unfortunates!” says Jo. the little brunette. "1 hired one of those queer, unfortunate buggy-ef fect rigs and drove down the Ave nue. There were Johnnies to the right of me. Johnnies to the left of me, Johnnies all over, and not one of them volleyed or thundered. The poor boobs! 1 don’t believe they know they’re alive!” What’s the use of fussing?" said Rosie. "We should be annoyed by these poor unfortunates!” We are carted down to Beaulieu in carry alls and stages. We go Into the big tent that constitutes the theatre. And now the famous gold-painted chairs are brought in and the ball room becomes a theatre. The cur tain goes up anu we do our little stunts, it takes less than an hour, for we have time only a few of our specialties And for this «e are paid $5,000. Just as we are get ting into the swing it’s all over! W’e retire to our tent. From be hind the wings appear Pembroke Jones and Arthu. Iselin. Do they know me? (An anx-x-x-xious mo ment). Thank weaver they do not Here apnroacher j. Bluebeard h. re a Persian Prince Under each arm they carry wine, many, many r- ■ ; '■ . ’■ -J • ~~ “ ? / ' _ s' ~ ~~ ’ —~~ 5 '~y ' -W I 'AJ Z ' Z////'/l-/ / Z'<Z/Z x Z z . / T/// /' / i 1 ?'/h Z I ># czb'F ?’■ ' 1 jk n f'h.zF w FtF Mk'i i> FFB R Jnc' R' 1 zz fZ•'<W As I tRWriF' zwzzAZmFAzz . I \ ZzZ . II vz___L-- z O=ZZz = —-r AjJ Z2.z>— za\ H zihU rvOz g bottles of it. .elsewhere, it is ap parent, they carry more. Things are beginning to Icolt up. A flunky appears with a tray of glasses. Arthur and Pembroke pour for the la< es. (. her ladies of the haute monde deep hi at us. Every body drinks. Th- it is cracked, if not broken. The poor unfortunates are beginning to how evidences of life. But who is thiojuJred as a sheik? Why, Lizotte, ' Cornelius him self! He tries 1 make every one feel at home. He invites them to a tent where a specia. supper is to be served to them. W raps nre thrown over the filmy and abbre viated costumes nd all hands troop down to the tent. It is far removed from the villa, where the guests are now being entertain ed nt supper. How odd. Is It not? Yes. it is not. it will be seen. In the tent, we find six round tables where places are laid nt each for twelve. There is not a Vanderbilt to be seen. We might just as well be back in New York for all the signs of wealth we can see Blixie al most bursts in to tears. “And this Is Newport!” she walls. The waiters a." filling our bouil lion cups It is sc silent and dull. Hut what is this they are bringing in pitchers and pouring into the big tumbler* ' By garters and stays — it is wine! (1 use the Broadway term for champague). “Cornelius must think we are more accustomed to drirking the stuff that comes in pitchers than the bubble water and serves it this way to make us feel t home," says Gladys, whose dearest friends are three Pittsburgh millionaires .nd ye 1 think it very thoughtful of him. But who ar ■ th peeping behind the curtains ana making their way through the teni door? I won t tell. But you wo.lid t.uow them in a mo ment’ if I did. One is a Prince and the other a very stout, famous char acter in the “Arabian Nights.” We shift to make room tor them. The Arabian Nighter is feeling very gay. He sits down at on of the fables and. with a glais of wine in each hand drinks both a. once to the gjrl on each side of him. They are the only wo happy g.rls in the room for the moment. Soon the Prince makes two more happy Bui what can two fellows do with si::ty-odd girls? Yei .ve are now a very happy bunch We are drinking “wine" by the pitcherful. Other powers and potentates arrive. They glance rrour.d the curtains and approach. Oh. look at them, Ciar. •’ See the six Hindu Gods i that table and the seve” Arabian Nights notables at that, and there is Sir.dbad the Sailor and Aladdin and Haroun-al-Raschid making merry at this. There are more millionaire* in this little tent than Btoadway in a season! The waiters ire handing around food, but no one bot: ers about it. We should worry about the eats! (My. how slangy I’n. becoming.) What is Bluebeard doing’ He seems to be the life < f the party, a b'.neh t iris an gathered around him now trying how far they can plunge the ■ pretty arms into g ' ♦ /fl \ F® F A \ lw< Vw(- capacious paunch, i. must be great tun, tor ho sjent to ?< enjoying !t. "Held i : : n.. ankles. Bl’xie!' cries dabel, wl ha already estab lished the eeord foi getting in as / Jf z V//•Ir' 7 ’ x:'A ; - F; r ,- ' ■z.-' , kfezz '' “A millionaire Oriental beg* Mabel to i eturn hi* hat.’’ fur r elbow. "This time I’m geing ! o ee if 1 .an .ouch bottom!” Larry Wa, rbu-y waxes communi cative. He tells us who’s who in the Chorus Tent. 1 appear to be igno-» / /I 1 * X'"~ ‘4 ! ■ " F <v, • ’ ; - I \ 'SML SO. \ I y ; R® - «■■ e . m, (JS n'’-» • & "Avaffl vsi* 7 ' / /8K f v Mai ipA ■; •-i ri® J* \ v JK® 7* - jt—-- f ■ A?-- < v,■ -A ' iff 1 rinces, Mandarins and Hindu Gods invade the chorus tent!” I *■ ATI ‘‘An emotional Persian turns to the driver: 11l give you a SI,OOO for your seat!” rant so I won't give myself away. That man over there with a girl on each knee is Jack So-and-So. That one drink ing wine out of a pink slipper is Willie - What’s His Name. why do you keep y warm turbans? d give them to the , that is much bet on’t you find those • wraps too warm? Certain ly. Take them off and give them to the men. Thanks, ever so. much. Don’t we all look funny. And the lights are really much too bright. They dazzle one’s eyes so, you know when one has been used only to the sub dued glare of the footlights. They are turn ed away down. Ah, that is much better. The ballet girls haven’t much on to keep them warm. Their little white 9 knickers have never had more But, gentlemen, on those terribly Take them off an< girls. Thank you, ter. And, girls, at than a passing acquaintance with their knees, and they are feeling chilly. Never ulna, bring more pitchers. And now the lights are out! Whoops, m de —. Oh, there they go up again. Messengers arrive from the villa to locate missing husbands. They go back empty-handeu. A mandarin suggests a midnight swim at the beach. A dozen girls take up the cry. Down to the beach, evervbody! Chairs are upset, wine is spilled and there is a rush for the doors. The stage management pro tests. A special train is scheduled to leave at two-thirty. It's almost time to leave now. Leave? Well, we guess not. "What time’s the matinee to-morrow?” "Two-thirty.” "Well, girls, you just stick around. Let the train go. We’ll take care of you if we have to carry you home." The girls ere willing. They have the costumes, you know, and the company can’t go on without them. We ll make a night oi it. Broadway was never like this. Again the lights go out. Again there are long, loud shrieks. Mes sengers come over from the villa to find out what’s the matter, but are kept out. Other messengers come over. “Mrs. So-and-So wants her. hus band.” “Mrs. So-and-So says she has called the motor.” "Mrs. This-and- That says she’ll apply for a divorce to-morrow.” There are only ten women to every man up at the villa. Everybody is much annoyed. Down at the tent the turkey trot and the bunny hug are being danced all over to the peril of the tables. Things .re serious. The lights go up and Mr. Cornelius Vanderbilt ap pears. He has been summoned by a tribunal of matrons and a distracted stage manager. He begs his guests to let the girls go. The response is not enthusiastic. In the midst of the confusion the lights go out again. Mr. Vanderbilt is furious and lec tures the ilectricians. Some of the things he says I cannot repeat, for I am, after al), still a lady, with Maude Adamish ambitions. The stage manage? reads the riot /// \ I [I i Ze/ •'« s» Mrs. Cornelius Vnmlrrbtlt (Who Gar* the Boll.) act to the girls. A Persian Prines seizes a ballet planet and darts sos the door. He is followed by halt a dozen others. A wild chase through the grounds follows. Gradually some of the girls realize that things are getting critical, and they begin to fall into line, tearing themselves away from their admirers. On the driveway a large carryall waits. Into it th ; girls are bundled, pursued by a mob of millionaire Orb entals. One han lost his blue Silk turban. He begs Mabel to return it to him. "It will spoil my costume." h« pleads. “Well, give me the rest of the cos tume,” she ‘ replies, and dances around him. “Give me the hat and I’ll send you one you can wear,” he offers, and the offer is accepted. At last the carry-all is full. Into the driver's seat jumps a very emo tional Persian. He is hustled out by an enraged stage manager. He turns to the driver: “I’ll give you a thousand dollars for your seat.” He is dragged away. Believe me this is not fiction. It is expurgated fact. And then come the farewells. Such a hugging and kissing and promis ing. If all the promises are kept the house will be sol' l out for five years. We get the train. We go home to New York. No, mamma, when I get to be Maude Adams, I won’t take you of! the fringe and put you in the middle of the mat. I’ll take you a thousand miles off the fringe on the other side. “O/i. the poor unfortunates!" That’t why.