New-York tribune., 1919-10-12
Zoe Atkins, Author of ''Declassee.''
Hands the Palm TO George Cotan
AS Great American Playwright
By Rebecca Drucker

The first Wednesday matinee was
proof hat Ethel Barrymore hac
matched the success of her brothers in
The Jest" with Zoe Akins's play
"Declassec." Matrons from Suburbia,
schoolgirls cutting periods. actresses
fortunate enough to have their matt
nees fall on Thursday, the usual scant
sprnAling of nysteriously-at-l
men; they flowed into all the seats
and overflowed into the standing space
of the Empire Theatre. | stood aside
and wondered What | should find Zoe
Atkins, whom | had come to meet, to
be like. She would be very sophisti-
Gated looking, with that foreign ac-
, cent in clothes that Americans bring
back from q residence abroad-ear-
rings, perhaps, and odd pendent things
Then some one said Miss Akins," and
| turned to meet a tall, plump, pleas
ant faced, quite disconcertingly Amer
lean girl. She wore the substantial
kind Of clothes a sensible mother picks
out for daughter who is q bit care
less of them-very plain, rough coat
and a severe little round hat that
looked as though it could>withs stand
its owners disposition TO mistreat il.
The curtains going up in min
ute" said Miss Atkins, as | effected a
few rapid revisions, there's one va
can't chair in that box over there.
Let's go and sit on that"
We did. The curtain went up and
the play began. Ethel Barrymore
spoke and the tom-toms Of passion
under the surface of the play set up
q soft drumming. | leaned forward
and balanced myself more and more
precariously on my edge of chair to
keep out Of Miss Akins's line of vision.
Don't mind" whispered Miss Akins,
Owe seen the play" I looked up
quickly. Yes, she was serious.
Between acts there was no opportu-
People kept coming in to tell Miss
Atkins how much they liked the play.
What variety OF them A priest,
half dozen famous actresses, an
author, a plutocrat. How much New
York is the small, friendly town to the
successful onel A large man passed
and said benignant few words TO Miss
Atkins.
That's Mr. Hayman.' she said. "On
the night of the opening, after the
second act, when there we're applause
ana cHeeTS, SCO0Q lcanlng against the
wings, a little faint. Then suddenly
Mr. Hayman turned on me and said.
They want you. Go on oh, no. |
protested. knowing how ghastly !
would look before the footlights with
out a makeup-a point a woman must
always consider. But Mir. Hayman
looked quite ferocious. Go on.' he
said, and l trembled and went on The
applause continued as I rushed back
into the refuge OF the wings, but there
| met Mr.. Hayman, standing still I'M
placable. Go on and say something,
he hissed in deadly sort of way.
balanced quickly in my mind whether
I was more terrified of the audience
or of Mr.. Hayman, and ! faced the
audience again and said Thank you"
After the matinee, over tea and Gig
arettes, Miss Atkins could no longer
shirk her plain duty as lady author
being interviewed. She has had asva-
ried life. Her home is in ST. Louis.
where she has been one OF more or
less Bohemian group that includes the
poetess. Sara Teasdale. They have
written poetry and have put on plays,
and by great deal Of unorthodoxy
ruffled the compacency of the south
western city. William Marion Reedy,
that large minded editor, became inter