Nothing Is Wet About S.S. "Triumphant" Says Sunny Jack Donahue-Philosophizes Amid Falling Scenic Smokestacks

Backstage in "Sunny" land at the Colonial his life endangered by a maze of ropes, "props" and the frantic haste of Herculean property men constructing the "S. S. Triumphant", his wits distracted by the Eight Marilyn Miller Cocktails rushing from the spotlight to their respective dressing rooms and the thunderous applause of a Saturday makinee audience, a panicky. Crimson reporter tried to follow the witticisms of Jack Donahue, famous for his funny feet.

"What you need is a Scotch drink," sympathized the co-star of "Sunny," observing the shaky hand of the scribe, "but, considering that even the bar of the S. S. Triumphant is a fake, I can only brace you up with a Scotch joke. Have you ever heard about the Scotehman who happened to be a volunteer fireman in his native village?"

"No, shoot," gasped he of the pen and pad as one of the lighting fixtures over head began to show effects of the force of gravity.

"Well, his old woman, she was expiring, dying passing out,--get me-passing out, dying, expiring in their picturesque little shack-no, not right, she was giving up the ghost in their delepidated little bungalow, and the Scotchman sat by her bedside, holding her hand.

"Then suddenly, unexpectedly, startingly the fire bells rang out! Alarm! Shrieks of flames! No, shrieks of women--get me? Watch out for that smoke stack! What the --! Anyway it was the call of Duty. But even at such a time he was a Scotchman. 'I've got is leave you Martha,' he said, shaking his head sadly. 'It's a call from the department and I've got to go. I hope you get over your illness, Martha, but if you feel yourself slipping before I get back-please blow out the candle.

"Where and when did I start dancing? Well, I first manifested my terpsichorean proclivities--this is a a Photoplay interviews, isn't it?--on the street concerns of Charlestown, Massachusetts-no, not Charlestown, Black Bottom-not for Art's sake but for pennies. Next came a platform and a Dr. Bunkum who sold potent medicines while I held the crowd. I quit when he tried to use me as an illustration for the benefits of Peppy corn plasters.

"I'm sure that the college boys of today are not what they used to be. They no longer have the courage to hang outside the stage door. I blame this--well, we might as well blame it on football. I guess that royal sport can stand one more knock. It's-well, that's my oue, Au revoir."