When a lady�s face is her fortune a stranger�s tribute may be an insult.
Lizzie Graham, playing the Panjandrum circuit for the tenth � or was it the fiftieth?�� time in her life, left her hotel shortly after dinner to walk to the theater. She had all the time in the world to make her show, for they wouldn�t have dared to give her any spot in the bill but next-to-closing, headliner that she was. It was Spring and the evenings were pleasantly warm now, the distance from hotel to theater was not very great and lay in a straight line along the city�s liveliest and most attractive thoroughfare. Moreover she had developed a fondness for window shopping, killing time on her way to the theater by pausing and gazing her fill at whatever was on display and happened to interest her in the showcases en route. And this particular town, this Coast metropolis, had such attractive ones � fully equal to those in New York itself and much more centrally located, all on this one main thoroughfare that cut through it from hill to harbor. So each evening of the split week she was playing here she had walked, and tonight she was doing it again.
Lizzie�s looks had been the making of her. In a strictly professional sense, that is. She had reached the topmost rung of the vaudeville ladder with scarcely any trouble at all, and had stayed securely perched up there over a period of fifteen years while others came and went. And even now, when everyone was saying that vaudeville was no longer what it had once been, she still had no trouble getting bookings � when there were any bookings to be got. And when there weren�t, she got them anyway. Because she knew, and every manager from coast to coast knew, and every agent knew, and every stagehand knew, that all Lizzie Graham had to do was to step out on a stage and the audience was hers. Such homeliness as she boasted was rarely to be met with � at least assembled all in the same person � and when a flair for comedy went with it, as it did in her case, the combination became irresistible. The wonder was not that she was in the big-time, but how she could have very well stayed out of it with the set-up she had.
She needed no make-up at all to go on, had hardly ever used any. Just put on louder clothes than she wore on the street, twisted her brick-red hair into a freak knot on the top of her head, walked out there and interrupted the �straight� man she used for a partner in the middle of his song-number � and before she had even opened her mouth she had the audience rolling about helplessly in the aisles. It never failed to work.
It was swell behind the footlights, but it wasn�t always so much fun the rest of the time. When she�d walk along the street window-shopping on her way to the theater, as she was doing tonight, she�d stand and look at the wax mannequins inside the cases sometimes, with their pretty doll-like faces, and try to imagine herself looking like that. And then a mirror would come along and she�d glance into that and well, she�d never have any trouble getting bookings, that was about all the consolation it could give her.
On the street she wore her flashing red hair more appealingly arranged, and wore quieter, more becoming clothes � like most ugly women she had very good taste in dress � and walked along rather more gracefully than most, but that was as far as improvement went, or could go without the kindly intervention of a miracle. No amount of powder could altogether do away with the clusters of tawny freckles that decorated her face, nor lessen the effect of the jutting, pointed chin and hawk-like nose. Plenty of heads always turned her way when she was passing, but she had long ago stopped wondering whether it was because they had recognized her as a performer or simply had never seen anyone so arrestingly homely before. Either explanation left her cold � and the one she would have welcomed, the one that would have warmed her, she knew enough not to accept.
About a block away from her hotel she stopped, her first momentary stop of the evening; a brightly-lighted display of finery that called irresistibly to any woman passing by. They�d rearranged this window since theater-time last night; it was all new tonight. She took it in, slowly, enjoyably, item by item. Then, reflected in the glass, the shadowy outline of another figure a few feet away, standing looking in just like she was, caught her attention. What interest could
Her next stop was a flower-shop, nearly a block farther on. She wondered what they called those pretty yellow�? The same blurred outline as before glanced back at her from the transparent glass after a moment. She didn�t think anything of it; he happened to be going in the same direction she was, no doubt, and probably was thinking that flowers made a less expensive gift than a frock, that was all.
She moved on. Ah, here was something! Flashing, dazzling trays of jewelry. She�d already studied this one last night, but its contents were worth a second and a third inspection. She shifted about a little, inspecting now from this angle, now from that � and then all at once that same reflection on the surface of the plate-glass. This, though, was stretching coincidence a little too far. Why, when she herself couldn�t afford most of the tantalizing items in this window, how could he, an ordinary, everyday sailor, expect to? She stole a surreptitious sidewise glance at him for the first time. And then � momentous discovery � he wasn�t looking at the case at all, he was looking at
She moved on again immediately, not hurriedly though by any means, but simply indifferently, just as indifferently as she had been moving all along until now. At the very next corner she crossed over to the opposite side of the thoroughfare. The theater was on that side, anyway. She would have had to cross sooner or later to get there. But there was no reason for him to. If he did, that proved that he was following her.
He did. She stopped again at another window, and saw him coming up out of the tail of her eye. He wasn�t drunk, either; he seemed to know perfectly well what he was doing. She decided to stay right where she was until he had gone by and lose him in that way, by forcing him to go ahead of her. But he didn�t; he stopped before the same window she was standing at, and stood there, a foot or two away from her. She could
She therefore turned her full face toward him and met his gaze, squarely and directly. And held it for a second or two, just to give him time enough to take everything in. He didn�t waver and he didn�t flinch, and the only expression she could read on his own face was a deeper determination than ever. He drew a step nearer and seemed to be trying to summon up enough courage to open a conversation with her. �Excuse me�� he began confidentially.
She didn�t wait to hear anything further; she walked off again and left him there. But when she turned her head and stole a look back, from what she considered a safe enough distance away, he was again coming after her, and holding her carefully in sight, meanwhile, in order not to lose her in the crowd. And this time it
When she had reached the theater and turned aside into the short alley leading to the stage entrance, she couldn�t resist taking one last look in back of her. He was still in sight, still stalking after her down the street. She smiled a pleasant good-evening to the doorman sitting out in the alley in his chair and went inside. She wondered if he�d come right up to the stage-door after her, and wondered what he�d do then, when he got to where he couldn�t go any farther. She lingered inside, in the passageway leading to the dressing-rooms, for a moment or two, standing where she could command a view of the stage-door without being seen herself. In a minute or two her vigil was rewarded. He came straight down the alley without any loss of time, stopped beside the doorman, and then remained there chatting with him. �Of all the nerve!� She turned and went back to her dressing-room. She should have been scowling deeply about this whole thing; she may have been, but if she was the scowl looked more like a gratified smirk than anything else.
�Decent?� Her partner came into the room while she was doing her hair up. �What are you so nervous about?� he asked after watching her for a moment. She turned toward him. �Listen, will you do something for me? A fresh sailor, no less, followed me all the way to the theater tonight. He�s out there now. Step out there and tell him where to get off, will you? I don�t want to have to run into him again after the show.�
He gave her an amazed, almost incredulous look; then he turned and went out. When he had come back again, �What was the big idea?� she asked. But the triumphant look in her eyes belied the indignation in her words.
He held out a small, leather-bound book toward her. �Oh, he didn�t mean to insult you,� he reported, �He told me to tell you that. He was trying to get up courage enough to ask you to sign his autograph-album. That was all. His hobby is celebrities� signatures, and he recognized you��
The book struck the opposite wall with a violent smack. A tin of cold-cream and a hair-brush followed in quick succession. Her partner retreated hastily as far as the door and stood there, scratching his head. �What�s the matter, Lizzie?� he asked, mystified, �You act sorer now than you were before, when you thought he was trying to insult you.�