“Everybody can get there most cheaply and easily,” Brainard returned.
From this point interest waned visibly, and the company merely gave a polite half attention to the remaining notes, including the plan for a great summer festival of drama.
“It sounds like a Chautauqua,” Butterfield superciliously remarked. He detested these popular efforts for education, regarding them as “scabs” on the genuine industry.
“It would be exceedingly drafty, an open-air theater in the American climate,” said an old gentleman. “Think of a Bar Harbor fog!”
When these trivialities had passed, Brainard hastily read a few notes on the ideals of the enterprise—the careful staging of plays, the giving of classics, the revival of old plays, the need for purity of speech, something about poetic plays and the new drama.
As he read, there were signs of impatience. At the close came the hard, round voice of the Rev. Thomson Spicer:
“What sort of plays, may I inquire, Mr. Brainard, do you propose to give in your theaters?”
“All sorts,” Brainard replied, surprised.
“I trust there will be a strict moral censorship.”
“I agree with you, Dr. Spicer,” Mrs. Pearmain added in a severe tone. “The greatest care should be taken not to incite the people to discontent with their lot. Many of the plays given to-day are most dangerous in their tendency. They hold us up to ridicule, and even criticize our morals and our fortunes!”