The evening world., 1894-05-10
THE CHECK-BOoK."

THE Check-Book," produced at the
Madison Square Theatre last night by
Rose Coghlan, was nasty. and nothing
else. The well-dressed audience laughed
n little at the second and third acts. but
they did 1t simply to dissemble their
chagrin and uncasiness. A laugh W.
ers n multitude OF miseries sometimes,
and every laugh thai ventured into the
Madison Square last evening found plen-
ty OF misery business to attend to.
We all know that there are women
who buy their husbands as they do their
bric-a-brac and bonbons, and we like
wise know that there are men who
make n profession OF matrimony, be-
cause the work Is light and pocket-mon-
ey comes easy; but we don't care to
have these disagreeable things con
stantly dinging In our ears or blotting
our vision. There Is no harm in poking
fun at the dollar-mark domesticity of
this class OF people. but to take them
seriously, and to ask the public to look
at and enjoy them in Ibsenesque bald
ness for two hours and n half is very
much like inviting friends to n recep-
ton In honor of Il carbuncle on the back
OF ones neck or the debut of a small
pox pustule on the bridge OF his nose.
A pleasant pilloryinB of Cupid's pen
sioners woul not hurt anybody, but
haturalism applied to such personages
and their environment liz nauseating.
CHARLES Coghlan, who Is the author Of
the Check-Book," shows us a cring-
Ing, whining, begging. dependent hus-
band, whose disgusting position is best
described by his wife when she says
that all she has to do is to put her
hand on her check-book. when 10! there
he Is, just as the genial din responded
to Aladdin's rubbing OF the wonderful
lamp. The p%anegyric OF this delightful
creature Is pronounced later on, when
his wife. who Is desperately grieved
over his absence. takes up her check
book and writes: PAY to the order OF
THOMAS Pringle one thousand pounds!
One thousand pounds! One thousand
pounds!' she shouts, waving the check
aloft. while she looks around for Tom
my. and then seeing that the bank-note
Incarnation doesn't work she tumbles
herself upon a promiscuously cushioned
lounge and means, He must be dead!'
with his wife's money he buys a dress
for another married ms with whom
he Is platonically involved, and the ar.
rival or this dress in his rooms, wher
his wife first gets 1t, furnishes the only
complication of the evening, II we except
the Cool Burgess way In which Joseph
Hollands side whiskers become tan
gled over his bump Of reverence in the
last act.
Mrs. Pringle, the husband-owner, the
part played by plump. dumplIng-cheeked
Miss Coghlan. who clothes 1t magnif-
~cently-almost galoptiously, as a Kan
sas belle would say-starts out to be a
woman OF advanced Ideas, talking of
man as IAN undeveloped product of a
paleozoic age" and OF woman as 1.-THE
record-breaker of civilization" which
latter was deemed a sufficiently smart
saying to be made the tag of the
first act; but after delivering herself of
this hunk Of buncombey brilliancy she
forgets all about her in-de-siecle intel
~lectuality and settles down to writing
out checks for her snivelling but dar-
ling Tommy. Miss Coghlan was exceed.
ingly interesting In all she did, and ex.
ceedingly good, too. The way she leaped
over furniture. vaulted across a three.
quarter brass bedstead and crawled
under n grand plano in her chase altar
Lord Whifletree was unroe rioualv