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■ ■■ - • -tf ■w.»wwwifa ***** 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” A A A. \ J[ ■ -_J\ J rr I 2 • Har-ver Ptjrre . Jo, H — I U* o* UlmI 1