balloon juice.

It's beautiful billiards all right for the time being, but I always feel
so on the blink the next morning.

Wilbur doesn't care; that is, he said he knew I had artistic
temperament, and if I wanted to get it out of my system, vaudeville was
as good as anything.

I was talking to a guy the other day that is in vaudeville, and he said
that down around the St. James Building you could buy acts by the pound.

Another guy wanted to take my money and star me in a musical comedy.
Wasn't he the kind gent?

Gee, I didn't tell you how Wilbur come to get pinched, did I? Well, it
was this way:

You know Wilbur is of Spanish descent even though he was born in
Canarsie, and he has a very jealous disposition; so the night after I
had promised to be his own little star of hope he discovered me in a
certain cafe with another party. This other party was a dramatic critic
and I was touting Wilbur's show, but Wilbur didn't know that, so when he
saw me sitting there having the time of my young life he lost his nanny
and caused a scene, forgetting this other party was a critic in his
passion.

The head waiter threw them both out, and the critic, seeing the police
coming, said: "This is an actor trying to lick me," and naturally the
cops nearly beat poor Wilbur to a pulp.