The Washington herald., 1918-02-09

New York, Feb. S-Moet playwrights
sit around in feverish anxiety until
the morning papers arrive after the
opening night of their new play. but
Eugene walter-Sho did not sleep on
a park bench before selling q play
despite reports-never reads the news
paper criticism OF the efforts from his
pen.
His latest play dealing with family
taiRt was a Pandora box OF horrors,
and it was pretty generally fayed,
but Walter did not read a single re-
view. He used to be a reporter him
self and sometimes did dramatic re-
views and he confesses now that he
didn't know anything about the
drama. Perhaps that 10 what he
thinks Of a lot OF other carping critics
He got out of the habit OF paying
attention to what critics say a num-
Der of years ago. He was in an ante
room at the Metropolitan Opera House
with several well-known music critics.
They were all having a between-act
drag" at their cigarettes and one
Of the morning newspaper critics be-
gan to tell a funny story.
1t was an old yarn and Walters
was bored. About this time the strains
Of a tenor's voice fioated into the
room from the stage and Walter used
| the singing as an excuse to get away
from the chestnut that was being
spun. He also thought the tenor
had a good voice.
Pardon me-" he said, 81 want to go
out and hear that fellow sing"
why waste time?" chorused sew
eral critics Every second black
smith in Italy can sing as we'll"
Well to make a short story still
shorter. the opera Aida and a new
tenor was being tried out. His name
was Enrico CarusO. That is why dra-
matte criticism means nothing in his
chubby young life. And Furthermore.
his new play, which the critics pam
ned almost to a man is still chugging
along and each week Walter rolls
around in his limousine to gather in
the fat but not cumbersome royalties.
A sweatered, shivering bartender in
a chilly, unlighted saloon suggested
to one of his patrons on Heatless
Monday in the lobster belt. that the
patron have a Garfielday cocktail.
Sure: shoot it over! Nothing makes
me SICK" said the patron. He got
glass of porter.
"Why do you call that Garhelday
cocktail" he asked.
Because it is dark, cold, and bit
ter" was the snappy rejoinder.
1t was an Eighth avenue car He
was holding her hand in a desultory
fashion, while looking across the way
to read the headlines of a late pink
extra. She became pOuty at his neg
Iigence and he noticed it with yawn.
Gee, kid, I love you. don't be-
lieve l could get along without you
and he stified another yawn.
Her eyes blazed. You poor seed,
she snapped. "You have all the pas
sion of an infuriated clam. What do
you think you're doing, asking the
conductor for a transfer?
And everybody laughed and the
young man blushed and the car roll
ed on and on.
Those who have. Prince Albert coats
rattling around in the moth balls and
most of US have, will be pleased to
learn that they are to become au fait-
whatever that may mean-again. Two
officials of the new administration
known as classy dressers are wearing
them, At a mans fashion show this
week they are showing Prince Alberts.
Two have been seen at the opera. And
along Fifth avenue at parade time
several of the Prince Alberts may be
spotted.
1t is argued that so many people
have Prince Alberts yearning for US
age that 1t will save much cloth to
revive them. But New York tailors
are unanimous in the verdict that the
Prince Albert is as dead as the dodo.
An officer in the Medical Reserve
Corps recently stated that he has