the old rules, and I evaded it only by diplomacy. But even to-day
every act that carries a full set of scenery--such as a playlet
requiring a special set--must carry its own stage-carpenter.

Therefore, to the problem of original cost and transportation
expense, now add the charge of forty dollars a week against
scenery--and an average of five dollars a week extra railroad fare
for the stage-carpenter--and you begin to perceive why a vaudeville
producer asks, when you request him to read an act: "What scenery?"

There is no intention of decrying the use of special scenery in
vaudeville. Some of the very best and most profitable acts, even
aside from great scenic one-act dramas like "The System," [1] would
be comparatively valueless without their individual sets. And
furthermore the use of scenery, with the far-reaching possibilities
of the special set in all its beauty and--on this side of the
water--hitherto unrealized effectiveness, has not yet even approached
its noon. Together with the ceaseless advance of the art of
mounting a full-evening play on the legitimate stage [2] will go
the no less artistic vaudeville act. But, for the writer anxious
to make a success of vaudeville writing, the special set should
be decried. Indeed, the special set ought not to enter into the
writer's problem at all.

[1] See Appendix. [2] The Theatre of To-Day, Hiram Kelly Moderwell's
book on the modem theatre, will repay reading by anyone particularly
interested in the special set and its possibilities.

No scenery can make up for weakness of story. Rather, like a paste
diamond in an exquisitely chased, pure gold setting, the paste