Judge — October 30, 1915 — page 17: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

PX Sa BE TWE RPBECCA LUSSKIN had just slammed the door on her irate father and his realistic pawn-shop, and gone out into a broader life. The curtain fell on the second act of “The Bargain.” The critic looked nervously around, scanning the faces of his fellow writers. It was evident that he hadn’t quite decided whether the play was a success or a failure. This was rather unusual; as a rule, his decision was made before the first act was well under way. The suburbanite was thumbing his mileage book and estimating the date when it would be necessary to purchase a new one. Even the débutante was pensive, which was really quite a phenomenon. Then the tired-business-min yawned. “Bored?” asked the criti said the tired-business-man, ‘I’m But I do get tired of seeing other people’s troubles put on the stage for my amusement.” The critic declined to comment on this point. He was obviously ill at ease. But the débutante rushed into the breach, “T think,” she said, “that this is a perfectly sweet play. I love plays that go deep into life’s mysteries.” Unfortunately, thought I, “The Bargain” also went deeply into old plots. Certainly it was not strikingly original. And it was quite amateurish, in spots. Moreover, it put the audience on the wrong trail, in the first act—which is always a bad thing to do, the critics tell us. But it acted very well, at least for Mr. Calvert and Miss Victor. Their acting really was ‘a bargain.” “The trouble is,” said the suburbanite, “that the producers don’t seem to realize that there are some people who dislike sit- ting in one uncomfortable seat until almost midnight. I went to ‘Town Topics’ and to ‘Stolen Orders,’ and what train did I catch? The one-fif 1 The one-fifteen! Now, you take the Hippodrome—” The critic groaned. ‘The Hippodrome! Well, of course if you prefer Barnum and EN SY Bailey to Barrie and Bjornson, go ahead!” “Exactly!” said the débutante. “The Hippodrome is stupid. There isn’t a single problem of life in the whole thing.” “And you sit so darned far away,”’ said the tired-business-man, “that you have to use opera glasses to see whether there are any girls on the stage.” It was curious: first the débutante had championed a play, and the other three had rebuked her. And now it was the subur- banite’s turn. Human nature, I suppose. Still, I rather sided with the suburbanite. Talk all you want about the Hippodrome show being staged with Ringling Brothers technique, everybody has to go sce it, if only to show their disapproval. “Of course,” said the critic, “you don’t tealize it, but there’s a splendid play by a really great dramatist being performed in New York for the first time, this season. It hasn’t any chorus girls, but it will be alive long after the last chorus girl has tangoed into her mossy grave. I refer to ‘Das Weite Land.’” The tired-business-man was rather dumfounded. “Never heard of it,” he said. “Musical?” “Of course not!” said the critic. a drama by Arthur Snitzler.” “Oh,” said the _ tired-business-man. “Arthur Snitzler, eh? Well, I never heard of him. He’s a new one, I guess.” “T's CURTAINS “He’s one of the greatest writers alive!” said the critic, rather warmly, “and his plays are produced all over Germany!” “And is this New York performance in German?” asked the tired-business-man. “Yes,” said the critic, “at the Deutsches Theater.” “And do you understand German?” per- sisted my commercial friend. “Well,” said the critic, “I—er—no, I can’t say that I do.” “Then I call it an affectation of high- browism to go to see it!” said the tired- business-man. “T call it a waste of time,” said the suburbanite. “7 think it must be a terrible bore,” ” said the débutante. Poor critic! Well, it was his turn. Bee sides, he'd let himself in for it. But there was no denying that Arthur Snitzler was a worth-while dramatist, even if you had to guess at some of the particularly atrocious German words he uses. At any rate, I thought, there was one play that would be sure to meet with praise, rather than abuse. So I said, did you like ‘The New York Idea’? “T didn’t,” said the tired-business-man. “Awfully stupid.” “No thrills,” said the débutante. “Another darned four-acter,” said the suburbanite. “Out of date,” said the critic. style construction and artificial.” Well, I suppose it wes artificial, and old style, too, But I thought that even the old style and the artificial could occa- sionally be delightful, especially if it were done by so clever an actress as Grace George. However, I was probably wrong. “T’ll tell you a real play,” said the tired- business-man. We leaned forward in eager anticipation. Utter demolition awaited him. But Fate was kind: before he could walk into the lions’ jaws, the lights went out, and the cur- tain rose on the third act of “The Bargain.” “Old comicbooks.com