"Peaches"

A one-inch advertisement and a brief publicity notice appeared in New York City newspapers one day last week announcing the return of a famed young woman. A year ago the shrug of her well-rounded shoulders was worth a big black headline. But that was history by which many a newspaper profited and was shamed. Last week's item was that Mrs. Frances Heenan ("Peaches") Browning went on the stage of the vast Keith-Albee Hippodrome in uptown Manhattan. Adequately clothed, she sang briefly and badly in a vaudeville act, introduced by a sleek whippersnapper. To a few newsgatherers in her dressing room, Mrs. Browning talked intelligently, familiarly; referred to her onetime husband as impersonally as to a street car conductor. "What's the old man doing now?" queried she. He has be-become comparatively obscure, has attempted to contribute to the letter columns of various dailies. But she has been traveling the "big time" vaudeville circuit, from coast to coast, during the last year.