far apart on the bill. And no two 'quiet' acts may be placed
together. The tempo of the show must be maintained--and because
tragic playlets, and even serious playlets, are suspected of
'slowing up a show,' they are not booked unless very exceptional."

These are but a few of the many sides of the problem of what is
called "laying out a show." A command of the art of balancing a
show is a part of the genius of a great showman. It is a gift.
It cannot be analyzed. A born showman lays out his bill, not by
rule, but by feeling.

3. The Writer's Part in a Vaudeville Show

In preparing the raw material from which the manager makes up his
show, the writer may play many parts. He may bear much of the
burden of entertainment, as in a playlet, or none of the responsibility,
as in the average dumb act. And yet, he may write the pantomimic
story that pleases the audience most. Indeed, the writer may be
everything in a vaudeville show, and always his part is an important
one.

Of course the trained seals do not need a dramatist to lend them
interest, nor does the acrobat need his skill; but without the
writer what would the actress be, and without the song-smith, what
would the singer sing? And even the animal trainer may utilize
the writer to concoct his "line of talk." The monologist, who of
all performers seems the most independent of the author, buys his
merriest stories, his most up-to-the-instant jests, ready-made
from the writer who works like a marionette's master pulling the
strings. The two-act, which sometimes seems like a funny impromptu