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*****
A Ci.
LAUGHTER ON A SEA BREEZE with
‘ The Girl From Out Yonder 9
Lines and Situations From the Play Which Comes to the Atlanta
Theater This Week.
A LL is eaoitement at Terry's Harbor Club
House wring to the heroin rescue from
drowning of Mrs. Lliner, a Smr York society
matron. Who has rescued her, Mrs. Ulmer herself
does not know, for the led, as she describes him, ,
has disappeared. The city people who frequent the
club are in direct contrast to the plain, everyday •
flsher-folk who make their homes on the nearby
islands and frequently visit the mainland.
Mrs. Elmer's nephew, Edward, is very much con
cerned about his aunt's health, while Clarice, a dis
tant cousin, cannot hide her snobbishness even at
such a time. Hubert, another of the party, is al
ways to be found in Clarice's wake, although he ad
mits be doesn't know why he should love one of
whom he so thoroughly disapproves.
Such is the situation when Flotsam steps into the
picture. Flotsam is the daughter of Captain Amos
Harton, who keeps the lighthouse. She is a dainty
girl of seventeen, but has been brought up very
much like a hop. In her oil-skin breeches and coat,
her sweater and high rubber boots and her curls
tucked under an old sou'wester, she might easily be
taken for a boy of twelve. Her manner, however,
is not rough nor boyish, but is child-like and sweet
The rescue is under discussion and Flotsam comes
on the scene.
CLARICE—And when yon wens overturned, I sup
pose you thought of all the mean and disgraceful
things you ever did In your llfef
MRS. ELMER—Clarice, I’ve been In society for
20 years. How could I think of them all? Fancy,
Edward. 1 was going down for the fourth time—ac
tually for the fourth time Why, there la the
child now who rescued me! Come here, my boy.
FLOTSAM—Boy? Tou don't mean you took me
for a boy! Well, I guess not. Boy? Ha, ha, ha!
ELMER—Mistake quite unintentional We beg
your pardon.
FLOTSAM—-Oh, that's all right; tt's the breeches.
I wear them because skirts are such a thundering
nuisance when I’m hauling In the flsh. Besides, I
like the pockets.
MRS. ELMER—Then it’s even more remarkable!
To think of a young girl like that saving my life! I
was going down for the fourth time—I Insist upon It—
for the fourth time, sinking silently to my doom.
FLOTSAM—Silently? Not much! You yelled like
a Southwest gale.and wiggled like a—say, 1 thought
I'd have to give you one under the ear to keep you
quiet—honest, I did. You look water-soaked yet.
How do you feel?
MRS. ELMER—Well, slightly—er—
FLOTSAM—Didn’t any one hold you up by the
heels?
MRS. ELMER (Shocked)—By the heels?
FLOTSAM (Seriously)—Why, of course. That's
the first thing we do when you’re drowned.
MRS. ELMER—And who is “we!” You haven't
told me your name yet, my dear.
FLOTSAM — Oh, I’m just Cap'n Barton's daugh
ter, Flotsam. I come from out yonder.
ELMER- And where Is out yonder?
FLOTSAM —Why, out to Oreat Reef Light House.
That’s where I lived always.
MRS. ELMER—Let me Introduce you to my friends,
child Tills U Miss Stapieton, a cousin of mine.
FLOTSAM (Bows rather awkwardly) — How’s
your health’’ You’re dressed so pretty 1 feel awful
queer alongside of you in my Ashing clothes. Hope
> ou’ll excuse 'em If I’d known I was going to come
ashore and be introduced to folks
HUBERT I say, me next, please.
MRS. ELMER—Mr. J. Hubert Hughes, of New
York, and the laziest man on earth.
FLOTSAM — How’s your health?
HUBERT Don't you believe I’m lazy. Walked
<h .n to the postoffloe for Mrs. Elmer this morning—
If a mile. Won’t do It again. But I’m charmed.
Miss—er—Flot — Flotsam. (To Clarice) I say, did
you notice her eyes? They're deep enough to drown
In.
MRS. ELMER—My nephew and adopted son, Mr.
Edward Elmer, who foolishly Insists upon earning
his living by the sweat of his brow. •
FLOTSAM—It’s too bad to make you sweat.
MRS. ELMER—He’s a civil engineer.
FLOTSAM-f()h, are you? I knew a llreman once,
but 1 never knew an engineer.
ELMER — Very proud to meet you, Miss Flotsam.
FLOTSAM—How's your health?
ELMER—We're all proud to meet such a little
heroine.
HUBERT—Do you mean to say that you live over
there at that lonesome lighthouse all the time?
FLOTSAM—But the lighthouse Isn’t lonesome
And anyhow, I’ve lots of company. Dad, and Cousin
Simonson, and Melchizedak. He’s a snapping turtle
IH show him to you. (Produoes turtle from pocket
of oil skins.)
CLARICE (Hysterically)—Oh, take him away, do!
The awful—oh!
FLOTSAM (Fondling turtle)—I’m afraid you’ve
hurt hie feelings, saying that. (Addressing the tur
tle.) Of course she’s not acquainted with you, and
doesn’t know how sensitive you are, Melchlzedek*
ELMER (Amused)—You don't honestly believe
that turtle understands what you say to him?
FLOTSAM—I think he does. But of course no
body knows what a turtle knows but a turtle. Isn’t
that so, Melchlzedek? He follows me all around the
Island. But I must signal to dad. He thinks I’m aft
er blackflsh yet, I calculate. I’ve been out In my
boat for hours and hours.
HUBERT—I say, what a strenuous life!
FLOTSAM—Oh, I can manage a boat, all kinds of
boats. Dad says he'd trust me to manage the crew
of a sailing vessel around Cape Horn if I was rut
to it.
ELMER—And what would you do, for Instance.
In a tornado, with the Balls blown down, the vessel
rolling In the trough of the sea, and the crew rushing
for the lifeboats?
FLOTSAM —I’d line the devilish landlubbers up In
fro.pt of me, and tell ’em to bring her head to wind,
close reef all sails from malnshect to Jib, batter
down the hatches, and let her rip under bare poles.
And If they didn’t I'd knock out their cussed brains
with a belaying pin. (Suddenly embarrassed.) Or
something like that. Excuse me, please. I've lost
something.
HUBERT —What is it?
ELMER—Your handkerchief?
FLOTSAM—I’m sure I laid it down here some
where. Miss Stapleton, aren’t you sitting on some
thing?
CLARICE—No, I hardly think so.
FLOTSAM—But I think you are.
CLARICE—CanH you wait until I go into the
house?
FLOTSAM—Oh, yes, of course I can. Only Mel-
chizedek gets .awfully smothery, and he bites when
you sit on him too long.
CLARICE—That dreadful turtle. Oh, the very
Idea of such a thing. Oh!
FLOTSAM—He siays he’s breathing. It’s all right.
But you can thank your landlubber’s boots I didn't
get mad at you for sitting on him.
MRS. ELMER—But, my dear, you've too sweet a
nature—
FLOTSAM—Oh, no, no, you mustn't think that
I'm not'a bit sweet. Oh. dear, I hate owning up. but
I get ripping mad at Cousin Simonson sometimes
Once when she nagged me I threw the dishcloth at
her. Oh, I’ve got a hell of a temper.
MRS. ELMER (shocked)—Good heavens!
FLOTSAM (Innocently misunderstanding her)—
Wasn’t It awful? It struck her right In the face,
and It was all soapy, too.
While Flotsam Is visiting her newly-found city
friends and is keeping them well entertained by
her quaint remarks, Joey Clarke, a fisher lad very
much in love with Flotsam, has been hovering
about listening to the conversation and growing
more and more Jealous because of the attentions
paid the girl by Elmer.
Cap’n Amos Barton, too, has been looking for
Flotsam, and with his faithful shipmate, Ben Cooke,
in tow, appears at the club house. Cap’n Amos for
twenty years has been trying to live down a crime
which he has been led to betteve he committed on
shipboard. As the man killed at the time was the
father of young Elmer this tragedy, when finally
revealed by Joey, naturally come* between Flotsam
and Elmer. Flotsam’s great love for her Dad is at
all times evident, and she introduces him to Mrs.
Elmer proudly.
FLOTSAM—Oh, Mrs. Elmer, this is my Dad, Cap
tain Barton. He keeps the brightest light on the
Maine roaat, don’t you Dad? And he’s awful smart,
too. He knows latitude and longitude, and the com
pass, don’t you, Dad? And I love him like a turtle
does hts shell, and this Is Mr. Hughes and Miss Sta
pleton—and I know they're both proud to meet you.
AMOS—Here’s hopin'.
FLOTSAM—Dip your colors. Dad. And here comes
some of our folks. This 1* Dad’s Cousin Simon
son.
SIMONSON — Fine day, ain’t tt?
FLOTSAM—And this Is Ben Cooke. Ben plays
Jackatones more than any man on Potato Island, and
he’s In love with Cousin Simonson, only she won’t
marry him because
BEN—Thunder, Flotsom, you needn’t tell all you
know an’ more too.
SIMONSON—No, she needn't. But I’m willing to
say, I won’t marry him because I’m a wtdder, an’
know when I'm well off, although men is handy to
pilot you fcround. You needn’t stray too far long
shore, Ben Cooke. 'Twon’t take me more’n a minute
to do my marketin’.
MRS. ELMER—Captain Barton, how can I ever
express my gratitude? Your little girl here saved
me from drowning. I was positively at my last gasp.
You keep the lighthouse, she tells me. Do you find
tt interesting?
AMOS—It might be worse—same time I’m a fish
erman an’ If my right arm hadn't gone back on me,
'count of bein' frozen in a haddockin' trip, I’d rather
taken my chances flghtin' the old sea till I died.
MRS. ELMER—I don’t wonder. For any human be-
inj; to be shut up In a lighthouse, especially in the
winter time, with only one's past sins to think
about
FLOTSAM—But my Daddy hasn't any past sins—
have you, Daddy? If you open your mouth to say
you have. Daddy, I'll put my flst way down you.
throat. Oh, Mrs, Elmer, you don’t know, you just
can't imagine how good my Dad is.
AMOS—And here comes Ben and Simonson work-
in’ their jaw tackle for all they’re worth.
BEN—Come, now, Simonson. Here I be a propos
in’ to you
SIMONSON — For the seventeenth time. An’ I'm
going to refuse you now, same as I have the other
sixteen time before.
BEN—What for, I like to know?
SIMONSON —> Because there’s nothin’ like bein' a
widder. An' If I married you, no tellin' when I’d git
a chance to be a widder the second time. But so
long as your mind is set on me, Ben, my advice is,
not to git discouraged. Jest keep on proposin’.
BEN—1 swow, all I believe you're actin’ this way
fur is to keep me a danglin' like a flsh. an’ I don’t
like it. I’m gittln’ sore In the gills! Men have their
rights, that’s what I say.
SIMONSON — They have, have they? Well, what
about women's rights? We don’t have none when
we’re young girls. We’re a-spendin’ all our days an'
nights a-studyin' out how to catch a man. an' if we
do catch him we have to wait on him hand an’ foot
the rest of our lives, an’ if we don't catch him, we re
a miser'ble, looked-down-on old maid; an’ one state
is as bad as the other an' worse. The only chance we
women have of leadin' a free, independent, joyful
existence is when we’ve caught a husband and killed
him off. We're widders after that, Ben Cooke, with
the right to make a man dangle as long as he'll stay
on the hook. An’ for the sake of my sex, that’s
what I’m goin’ to do.
***** * • * *
Finding that Elmer really loves Flotsam and is not
Hkely to* fall into the, net she has spread for him.
Clarice turns to Hubert, who even surprises himself
by waking up and taking Clarice by storm. Simon
son, having told Clarice’s future by the teagrounds
in her cup, has by no means been flattering to her.
SIMONSON — And you wind up by never marry -
in' no one. You’re an old maid. You never git no
husband at all, extinct or otherwise.
HUBERT—Oh, yes, she will, although she doesn’t
deserve one. She’s going to marry me.
CLARICE—Not in a thousand years!
HIT BERT—Of course not to-day—right off—soon
as we can get back to the mainland and find a min
ister.
CLARICE—I—Clarice Stapleton—marry you? You,
When Flotsam (Miss Billy Long), meets the young New Yorker, Edward Elmer (Edwin Vail),
DON’T DO THAT=A FEW IDEAS ON ETIQUETTE,
DON’TS FOR AUTHORS
D ON'T forget that the pen Is mightier than the sword
—except In romantic plays.
R R R
Don't think that because a plat reads well it will am
well; the Declaration of Independence reads well, but tt
doesn't act as well as a prize fight,
R * R
Don't think that because you are a playwright you al-
<\nvs write a pla,v right.
RPR
Don’t ever admit that you wrote a bad play—always
Wnme failures on the manager, company or production.
R R R
Don’t forget that stage dinners do not fill the actors
or the house.
R R R
No matter how gross the play, you get your share of
the gross. Don’t do that.
R. R R
DON’TS FOR ACTORS
Don't take liberties with the author's lines; always
respect royalty.
R R R
Don't think because you hold the center of the stage
you are the center of attraction.
F R R,
Don’t overlook the fact that while you support the
star, lie supports you.
R R R
Don’t forget that, although Cleveland was a great
President, it’s a bad shown town.
R R R
Don't bank too much on a good newspaper notice; just
try to buy a pair of shoes with one.
R R R
Don't ignore tne fact that, although an actor needs
good lines, he also needs a good situation.
Don t try to raise your salary, the manager has a hard
enough time trving to do It.
R R R
The Koran says, "To lend is to lose one’s money and
one's friends." The Koran is right; don't have friends
who haven’t any money.
R R R
Don't , on the stage from the argument, “Come with
i and s • the world;' The only scenery the actor sees
is in the baggage car.
R R R
Don't forget when you make up your face to play, make
vour mind to work.
R R R
Don’t count too muen on quiet scenes—beware of the
man behind the drum.
Don't strive to wear another man's mantle, make oue
of your own.
R R k
Don't laugh at your audience, no matter how funny
they look.
R. R. R
Don’t wear all your good clothes on the stage; you
may he asked out to dinner.
R R R.
Don't tell your friends or manager how much you could
do with the star's part ; do something with your own.
R R R
Never play in two performances a day—work In both
of them.
R R R
Never ask the advance man or the manager for the
route—ask the property man or first old woman.
R R R
Why should anybody else be “featured” when your
features are just as good as the ones featured? Don’t
do that.
R R R
“If business permits,” we will give up two; if it doesn’t,
you give us two. Don’t do that.
R R R
Never suggest a change in the cast you may be out
of work. Don't do that.
R R R.
Don’t put too much of your own “stuff" in a perform
ance—let the backer do that.
R R R
Remember a three-sheet never made an actor—a third
shirt may. Don't do that.
R R R
Never teil your "real" salary—get it. Don't do that.
R R R
DON’TS FOR AUDIENCE
Don't mistake a small house for an author's ’shor;
comings. ,
R R R
Don't think because you are sitting in the gallery you
are above suspicion.
R R R
Remember that when you are sitting in the theater
with another man's wife, there tre ladies in the cast.
Don't do that.
r r a
Don't come to the theater lste. Remember that the
early bird catches the plot.
R R If.
Don't Ignore the proper function of the theater,
mothers; when baby cries, bring it to the theater so that
everybody can hear it.
Women forget that when they say they “saw her fif
teen years ago,” they make themselves fifteen years older
than they like to be thought. Don’t do that.
R R R
When you buy theater tickets, don't ask, "Can I see
from there?” A ticket seller is not necessarily an ocu
list. Don’t do that.
R R R
Don't get discouraged if you fail at your real trade;
plumbing or manicuring. Go on the stage; all the world's
a stage.
R R R
Don't come late and know it all; come early and see
it all.
R R R
Don’t believe all you
hear of actors—we
read the papers also.
R R R
Don't shudder at the
villain’s cruelty to the
heroine—she may be
his mother.
R R R
Don't tell funny sto
ries to one another
during the play—let us
amuse you.
R R R
Don't overlook the
fact that the theater
Is yet to l>e built in
which all the seats are
on an aisle, and all the
tickets for only five
rows from the stage.
R R R
Don’t complain when
you are told that chil
dren under five are not
admitted to the theater
mid that ladies over
forty never admit it.
R R R
If you have had a
falling out with your
husband, don’t spoil
his dinner. Keep It to
yourself and come and
spoil the play. Don't
do that.
with not enough money to support one persons com
fortably, let alone two?
HUBERT—More when real estate in Dakota rises,
but we won’t wait for that. I’m marryin’ you to im
prove your disposition, you know, and mustn't lose
time.
CLARICE— How can you imagine, that, under my
circumstances, I would ever consent to marry you?
HUBERT—You’d marry any fellow that took you
by storm. You simply couldn't resist.
CLARICE—Hubert Hughes, the lazy veranda or
nament, taking a woman’s heart by storm. The idea
Is too ridiculous. Ha, ha, ha!
HUBERT—Oh, I know I’m lazy sometimes, but
when I get waked up I’m a terror. Now I’m waked
up. I’m going to put my arms around you.
CLARICE!—Really? And what do you expect to
gain by such an unconventional proceeding?
HUBERT—Y’ou'll fall in a heap.
CLARICE—Insulting!
HUBERT—Get ready.
CLARICE— Absurd!
HUBERT (suddenly seizing Clarice in his arms)
—I’ve got you in my arms and you like it. It’s the
proper thing. We can get back to the mainland in
half an hour. Quarter of an hour more to find a
minister. Three minutes for the ceremony and all
the rest of our lives to regret it. Will you marry
me?
CLARICE (faintly)—Oh, what has come over me?
HUBERT — Love. Old-fashoned article. Knew it
BY VV1LLIA
DON’ TS FORMA NA GERS
Don't try to get away from the fact that while good
plays make good actors, they also make good managers.
t* * *
Don’t be so fooled by curtain calls, applause, bravos,
slaps on the back or glowing accounts of your produc
tion Tuesday morning; wait for Tuesday night’s box
office receipts.
* a* »»
Don’t try to educate the public; we have public ,
schools for that purpose.
was waiting to grab you all the time. I can hear
your heart beat. Do you love me? Will you marry
me?
CLARICE (breaking away)—Oh, wait, wait Give
me tim?.
J HUBERT—You don't need any. Will you marry
me?
• CLARICE—Oh, but Simonson hasn’t brought my
umbrella!
HUBERT — Confound the umbrella! (Pulls her
back into his arms.) Kiss me.
CLARICE (struggling)—I won’t.
i HUBERT—You can’t help yourself. (Kisses hpr.)
Will you marry me?
CLARICE—I’m afraid I will. (Hubert kisses her
again. Clarice pulls away and looks at Hubert with
deep reproach.) Oh, w*hy didn’t you wake up before?
*********
With Clarice married to Hubert and Simonson
obliged to turn about and propose to Ben, there re
mains little to do except to straighten out the love
affairs of Elmer and Flotsam, which the captain's
past has badly complicated. Flotsam, although sin
cerely in love with Elmer, never falters in her love
for her father, and even when he is believed to be
guilty of a crime she stands by him and becomes
keeper of the light during his enforced imprisonment.
Her reward comes, however, when it finally comes to
light that her father was wrongly accused. Then
it is that she is free to marry and the dream of hap
piness of these tw’o young people comes true.
Now Playing In
‘‘NEVER SAY DIE.”
Don’t lose sight, of the fact that, although “the play’s
the thing,” the playing of the play’s the thing also.
R R R
Don’t put any dressing rooms In the theater you build.
Make the actors dress in the public park—you can save
all “fixtures” that way.
R R R
Don’t overlook the fact that you can substitute paste
for diamonds, tea for whisky, candy for food, but you
can not substitute a blacksmith for an actor.
R R R
The purpose of the theater is to hold the mirror up
to nature, but first clean the mirror and be careful it
Isn’t cracked. ;
’A City Square”
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