Judge — November 20, 1915 — page 17: what you’re looking at

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

BET W E “T's is my idea of a show,” chuck- led the Tired Business Man, as the lady ushers began to dis- tribute water to the audience be- tween the acts of ‘‘Abe and Mawruss.”” “From the applause and laughter of those about us,” said the Critic with a cold smile, “the idea is e' idently not original with you. Apparently this is what the public wants, so I don’t suppose it is for me to complain if they ge! Pretty poor, I call it.” “Well, you admit the crowd likes it, all right,” retorted the Tired Business Man. “And it goes because people understand it and it amuses. Besides, isn’t the acting of the principals—” “Oh, there’s some good acting—of a genre sort. But it’s all so common, you know,” said the Critic. “But there's ” retorted the 's a lot of real life that’s com- mon, Tired Business Man, “and when you show something like life itself you're doing a thing worth while in the theatre.” “I think it’s very funny myself, the Suburbanite. “But,” insisted the Critic, “the subject isn’t worthy of treatment. What do the people who count care about the adven- tures of two clothes merchants?” “What do the people who count care about anything that is popular?” I suggested cautiously. “Nothing, obviously. Why?” snapped the Critic, as c ! snap when ignorant persons “TL was only wondering,” I continued in- nocently, “if I was a person who counted. I see Tam not. I care a lot about things please me. And I like Shakespeare.” “That,” said the Critic, “is different.” “And so do I,” cooed the Débutante. This admission amazed us all. “Some of the people who count—people with half the alphabet after their names— aren’t so sure of what they like,’’ I said. “Shakespeare certainly brought home the * put in EN Oy By CYRIL ANDREW bacon,” said the Tired Business Man. The Critic looked at the Tired Business Man sternly. No, it was quite impossible. The pun was unintentional. The Tired Busi- ness Man went on. “With your crush on highbrow shows,” he said to the Critic, “I suppose you thought the Washington Square Players were im- mense?” fore replying. “They are at least striving after the best in the dramatic arts. They deserve some sort of a reward. I think everyone should contribute something to help them. Personally I am thinking of allowing them to place my name on their advisory committee.” “TI paid fifty cents for my seat,” Tired Business Man, brutally. “I'm simply crazy to join their company! contributed the Débutante. “Father ob- jected to my becoming an actress at first, but after he'd seen the plays, he said he guessed I was perfectly safe!” “Oh, come now,” I said, “aren't you rather hard on them? They don’t pretend to be anything but amateurs, and I must confess I thought Philip Moeller’s play, ‘Helena’s Husband,’ very amusing and clever.” “Yes, of course it was,” said the Critic, with an enthusiasm which showed he had said the The Critic weighed his words be-* quite forgotten our little tiff about “Abe and Mawruss.”” “Well,” declared the Suburbanite, “we've about exhausted that subject. Let’s talk about the war.” “It’s no use,” sighed the Critic, “the playwrights have exhausted the subject. Have you scen the latest atrocity, ‘Sherman Was Right’?” “Don’t speak of it,” replied the Tired Business Man. “It was pretty tough. The poor actors couldn’t get anyone to think the play was funny. Whenever anyone gave any token of appreciation the people on the stage had all they could do to stay where they were. They wanted to come down and kiss the careless party who'd let it slip out before he thought. Think of them taking that title for that play!” “Yes,” said the Suburbanite, “if I were the manager of that show, I’d treat it just the way a sheriff treats a bad man in the West.” “And how is that?” asked the Débutante. “Vd give it a week to leave town,” re- plicd the Suburbanite. “Well,” said the Tired Business Man, “I'd send ‘The Mark of the Beast’ after it.” “Would you, really?” inquired the Déb- utante, and raised her eye-brows. “I thought it was too sweet and amusing. It was such a joke on the husband who'd been talking morals to his friend with the guilty ~—I hate morals, don’t you?—to find that his wife was unfaithful too.” “Really,” I began mildly, for 1 was be- ginning to feel that risky things were being talked about. But the Tired Business Man cut it. “Mr. Critic,” he said, “can you, in all your bunkum about art, find any reason for discussing a play like ‘The Mark of the Beast’?” My dear chap,” remarked the Critic, as the curtain rose on Potash and Perl- mutter’s old establishment, “art is no longer discussed.”