An Actress Made

The patter of little feet about the house, one recalls, was the single feature of any true importance during the recent prize fight proceedings at Shelby, Mont. The feet belonged to one Patricia Salmon and the house was the Red Onion Dance Hall. Patricia was leading lady of the Hyman-Welly traveling tent show.

Visiting critics, dramatic and sporting, acted as though they had seen the Moscow Art Theatre. Columns of frenzied adjectives flashed eastward. For two weeks the adjectives knocked around the managers' offices. Suddenly they penetrated three heads at once. Almost simultaneously Florenz Ziegfeld, Lee Shubert and Irving Berlin started burning the Western wires with gold-leaf offers for Patricia's pilgrimage to Broadway.

But the West has swallowed the Hyman-Welly show, and Patricia cannot be found. In some small mountain town she is doing her stuff for the dusty miners, unconscious of a higher destiny among the gaudy longshoremen at Long Beach.