Packing a Trunk with Violet Mersereau (1916) 🇺🇸

It all happened before breakfast.

by H. H. Van Loan

The milkman was making his calls and the policeman was just recovering from his last “snooze,” with that shiny early morning look, as I hurried down the Forty-second street rail to Tenth avenue. And, as I scuffled along, taking in the scenes about me, I was more impressed than ever with the miserable way in which the world gets up. If the derelict can get through that stretch between five and eight in the morning without “ending it all,” he ought to be able to creep through the nether regions without an asbestos suit and not get a bit scorched.

Just what possessed a perfectly poised maiden, with a name as big as Violet Mersereau’s to invite me to interview her at such an unreasonable hour was more than my fertile mind could fathom. I admit I was at a loss whether to accept it as a compliment or a curse. If it was a compliment, I most certainly didn’t feel flattered; if it was a curse, what had I done to deserve it. However, the farther I journeyed down West Forty-second street the more thankful I became to Violet, for it was the first time I had ever seen the sun rise, and I discovered that it rises, quite contrary to my former beliefs, in the east.

Arriving at the foot of the street I discovered the Weehawken Ferry lazily creeping into her slip, and from the speed was making I concluded she was about half asleep.

While waiting for the boat to reach the American side of the Hudson I studied the sky-line of the dull gray city behind me. New York is just about as attractive at sunrise as an old maid before she has taken her hair out of curl papers. It is nothing but an unbroken line of ash cans, ill-smelling streets, drowsy policemen and noisy ferryboats.

After a trip on the ferryboat and a long ride on the trolley — on both of which I fell asleep — I finally arrived at the Universal studios. It is situated practically nowhere, but the people who happen to live in that vicinity call it West Fort Lee. To avoid further confusion I must explain that this place is pronounced in various ways, according to the individual pronouncing it. The inhabitants refer to it as Fort Lee, and the children call it Fort Lee.

However, I arrived there. Violet had been there for some time, according (o a semi-conscious individual who appeared to he talking in his sleep was stationed just inside the office, and I’ll bet a stick of licorice against a slide backward down the Grand Canyon in front of the El Tovar, that if a burglar had slipped a pistol under his nose and told him to throw up his hands, he would have ordered him to go ahead and shoot, rather than be put to the exertion.

I found Violet’s dressing-room, after a little expedition in which I acted as my own guide, sight-seer and all that sort of thing. I stopped before a gray-paneled door and knocked three times. My noise brought a well-developed, golden-haired little lady, who looked for all the world like a little wood nymph who had escaped from a nearby forest and was evading capture. She had a couple of big blue eyes, full of pep. which smiled out at me. “What d’ye think this is, a gambling house?” she inquired. “No, it’s too quiet for that,” I replied.

“Well, then, what’s the idea of three strikes? Think you’re being called by the umpire?” she continued.

“If you hadn’t answered I suppose you’d been out,” I retorted. “Don’t,” she pleaded; “I haven’t had my breakfast yet.” “The only food I’ve seen thus far today was a sandwich enclosed in the hand of a porter on the ferryboat,” I replied.

“Is that so?” she said sympathetically. “Tell me the story of your downfall. How did you get like this?”

“Oh, it’s the same old story: a woman is responsible for it all,” I began. “You see I received an assignment to come over here and get a good story from you before you left town. I learned last night that you are leaving early this morning for some out-of-the-way place to take some scenes for ‘Autumn.’ I am a delicatessen fiend, and as everything was all closed when I started I had to come over without my breakfast. Believe me, I’m just about as empty as the boat I crossed in — and I was the only passenger on that.”

“Well, you poor, dear man,” she laughed. “I’m in terrible straits myself. I came over here food-busted before the day broke. I’m packing my trunk. All I can offer you is to help me pack it.”

With these words she beckoned to me to follow her into the dressing-room. I followed. There, in the middle of the floor, was a huge trunk. In fact, it increased in size as I looked at it. The trays were out, and each one was scattered in various places about the room, and all were empty. The trunk had just a few things in it. Everything in the room had the appearance of moving. Hats were piled up in a corner and dresses were mounted high on the table, which ran the length of the room. The place resembled a defunct concern after the receivers had taken inventory. And I was to help her pack! As soon as she entered she began at once to rifle the wardrobe. More gowns, dresses, costumes, shoes and hats came flying out of that place than I had seen since my sojourn on earth. I discovered in two minutes the real reason for department stores. “How long do you expect to be gone?” I asked, as I dodged a shoe, which came within an uncomfortable distance of upsetting the part in my hair, and over which I had spent considerable time that morning.

“Why — (out came a gown) — I — (a second shoe missed me by a hair’s breadth) — Would you mind putting those on the table?”

“Which do you mean, the shoes or the gown and the shoe you threw first?” I inquired.

“The — both. Now, then, what else do you want to — (lost when the door closed, submerging her voice).

“I understand you are going to the North Woods to take part with —

The door was pushed out, from inside. “Would (still distributing clothes) — you — mind? I’m awfully sorry to trouble you like this, but I’ve lost a pair of cream-colored stockings. They are brand new, and I only purchased them yesterday at Simpson’s. What was that you asked? Oh, yes — well, I’ll tell you. I — expect — Have you found them yet?”

By this time I was submerged with gowns to the neck, but I managed to swim out and began to look for the “pure silks.” I discovered several of them lying around helpless, but none of them were cream-colored!

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Collection: Photoplay Magazine, May 1916
(The Photo-Play Journal for May, 1916)