CRIMSON PLAYGOER

To find oneself basking in the midst of fifty six of the world's most pulchritudinous young ladies is considerably worse than being under the scrutiny of any number of Aunts intent upon finding resemblances of dear departed Cousin Oswald. But for all of that familiar fish-estranged-from-water feeling there was plenty of compensation behind the scenes of Earl Carroll's "Sketch Book" during an evening performance. But the chief substance of this is that from the point of view of an eye witness the far famed fifty six have earned their title.

The first persons of importance that were met were the Lovely Sisters, Nelda and Violet respectively. Arriving at a door market "Quiet, Stars in meditation" whence issued a highly non-meditative bit of harmony, the interviewer was suddenly thrust into a small room containing numbers one and two of the fifty six with no further warning than "Get Decent" on the part of the Stage Manager. "Ooooo," sagaciously remarked the fair Miss Nelda, and this interviewer retreated hastily, having been warned by that expressive exclamation that the young lady behind the screen (Miss Violet) was not to be seen. A few seconds later another entree was attempted and successfully attained. It seemed that Miss Violet had been doing a bit of reading and had not yet had the time to "change". The book was Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche's "Beyond Good and Evil."

"So you want to know all about us," began Miss Nelda a little more calmly, "Well, there isn't anything, we are just like other people."

"And I wish some of the boys out at Harvard would realize that," interjected Miss Violet a bit strenuously. "You see," she continued, "We happened to be out with two of these gentlemen the other evening and they were so intent upon informing us what 'big' men they were that we really had quite an uninspiring evening. They seemed to think that actresses had to be impressed or otherwise they would consider their escorts inadequate."

"Why I would marry the milk man if I loved him," added Miss Nelda more or less relevantly, accompanying her remark with a smile that would have made the Marquis of Queensbury look upon milk vending with an envious eye.

And then, from milk men and marriage the conversation slowly drifted to reading by a rather inexplicable process of evolution.

"Incidentally," said Miss iVolet, "I have just read a book about how to think and it left me in such a muddle that I couldn't sleep. I was in a worse state than Nelda learning her French."

At that moment an impressive knock informed the interviewer that further discussion was impossible, so he betook himself to the wings where he happily just avoided bumping into Miss Laverne Barker, the form Divine. Miss Barker, it seemed was from Kentucky, and the glorious South, pleasant shooting and what not served for a few minutes of pleasant conversation.

Miss Physical Culture, Regina Mona, in the train of no less person than Miss Irene. Ahlberg, Miss America to be specific, arrived on the scene at this moment, all exuberance and powder. And these two were followed by such a galaxy of Bodies Beautiful that any further coherent conversation was impossible. A ripple of voices, a few whisps of silk, a hasty retreat and the fifty six candle power light of beauty had vanished behind a very final looking stage door