To have arrived naturally at such an end would have meant a couple more Acts, in which the man Hedge might have had time to live down the evil effects of his efficiency. But with so much economy in the air the author appears to have caught the infection of it and economised in his processes to save our time. That is the kindest excuse I can find for him.
As for the moral, it would seem to be that, if (as is more than probable) you have no copy of the works of Aristotle in your Fifth Avenue library, and imagine, never having heard of the happy mean, that virtue lies in one of two excesses—an excess of idle luxury or an excess of efficiency—the former is the one to choose.
Mr. Donald Calthrop as Hedge bore the burden of the play with a high hand that had a very sure touch. It was extraordinary with what alertness and confidence he commanded every situation—except, of course, the absurd climax which nobody could hope to handle. Mr. C. V. France, as the English butler (ex-clergyman) who had taken a long time to learn how to disfigure his aspirates (out of deference to the American legend), gave a very fresh and attractive performance. Some of the best things in the dialogue—not always very humorous—were given to little Alice Brook (aged 14), one of those precocities for which America has always held the world's record. I don't know, and should not think of asking, Miss Ann Trevor's age, but she looked to me a little old for the part of this child, however precocious. Miss Marjorie Gordon played with intelligence as the elder sister, but never for a moment suggested a New York atmosphere. Indeed she adopted just the mincing kind of speech which out there is held to bewray the "Britisher." The only performance that made any real pretence of being American was that of Mr. Turnbull as the manager of the Efficiency Company.
Still, after all, local colour is no great matter so long as you get some recognisable aspect, though farcically presented, of human nature; but the trouble with this play is that while our sense of the probabilities is never too much outraged so long as the chief character is just a piece of inhuman machinery, the author lapses into the incredible the moment he tries to introduce a little humanity into his scheme. However, I have perhaps taken things too seriously, instead of being properly grateful for some very good entertainment.
O. S.
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