It is very difficult to identify a good play. When I was sixteen years old, and didn't know whether manuscripts were an inch thick or a mile, I felt quite sure that the manager who produced a bad play was a fool. I used to say this frankly in the newspaper on which I was employed, just as a lot of other cock-sure young men have been doing ever since. Latterly, however, I have observed that a great many experienced producers average about three failures to every one success, and I leave the superior attitude to the literatti whose cleverness is valued by their employers at from fifteen to fifty dollars a week. The late A. M. Palmer, after a long life-time of experience, said to me: "There does not live a man who can tell a good play from a bad one by reading it. If there were such a Solomon he would be worth half a million dollars per annum to any manager in New York. Personally, I have refused so many money-makers and accepted so many money-losers that I select material now-a-days by guess work. I tossed a coin once to decide whether or not I should buy what afterward proved to be one of the biggest hits of my career."
I have said that it is difficult to identify a good play; it should not be difficult to pass upon a bad one. Some of the things that reach our stage are so very bad that nothing in the foregoing paragraph excuses or explains their production. Several years ago there was referred to me a romantic drama, written by a visiting Englishman. I advised against it, but my employers were determined in its favor, and the piece was presented soon afterward at the Princess Theater.
On the opening night, just after the second act, Louis De Foe, dramatic critic of The World, came to me, and said: "I got here late, and so lost the thread of the story. Can you tell me what the play is about?"
"It is very difficult to identify a good play"
I tried and failed.
One of my employers stood nearby. "Let's ask him?" I suggested. We did—and he didn't know. "Haven't you seen it?" inquired Mr. De Foe.
"Yes", quoth the manager, "and I've read it, and—and it has something to do with love, but I—I forget the details." He suggested that we wait until after the performance and speak to the author.
That gentleman told us that the story concerned a soldier of fortune, who was about to do something or other—I don't remember what—when he received a letter that altered his intentions.
"So I observed", said Mr. De Foe. "But why should it have altered them? What was in the letter?"