We play every day, and in addition we travel without rest over enormous distances. Often we play twice in one day. The wildest imagination can hardly realize what we have to stand in the way of punishment. From New York we went to Philadelphia, Baltimore, Pittsburgh, Chicago, Milwaukee, and back to Chicago. Five days on the Mississippi, and in a rush to Indianapolis and Cincinnati; in February back to New York, and again Philadelphia, Baltimore, and Buffalo. Are we not the true highwaymen? We hold 'em up on the open street, that is to say, where we discover even the slightest interest for the drama, be it only a hick town, there we exploit the public over night. The American actor would not do that! We Germans alone in this country of material acquisition are complete barbarians. We respect no ideals, we dream not of art, we only want to earn money. We should be ashamed of ourselves. But one loses one's shame living like robbers and in this magnificent country where everything seems to urge to use the moment and to squeeze the fleeting present like a lemon. The German artist's emigration is particularly strong this year, due to the war. What companies haven't been formed! People who never were prominent except with itinerant troupes now step into the limelight and compete with us - in the chase for the golden dollar. The little tribe of 2German artists, with bee-like industry, builds itself a theater anywhere, and gives Schiller and Goethe even in barns. Barbarous! But no matter, there certainly is a store of ability and gusto for hard working in our nation. And even the German actor participates in that. War takes his bread away in the home country. He packs his bag, crosses the ocean, and seeks support for his wife and child unto the very edge of the primeval wood.