New-York tribune., 1922-10-08


Co. 1922. 'o' y
NOR his sins in the first hundred
Ed and twenty-seven and three
Quarters pages Of his latest
book Mr.. Brooks deserves
sound thrashing. The two predatory
essays that precede "Wappin' Wharf"
are phenomenally vapid with fatuous
whimsicality that is only equaled in
the play itself. "Only the young in
of our play, he writes, and his truth
fulness, for any one expecting any
significance whatever, is painful to dis
traction. With such remark one
customarily imagines that the author
is endeavoring to ingratiate rather
than to inform; but Mr.. Brooks is not
at all ingratiating.
In spite of an occasional bright antic
"Wappin' Wharf" is sorry stuff; grog
without rum. A thin plot wabbles un-
steadily under thick-smeared sentl-
mentality; its phrases are shade too
commonplace even to be amusing as
satire, and Its dialect is uncertain.
Three retired pirates in cabin high
above Clovelly prosper wickedly by
Turing ships to the rocks below with
a lantern swung in their window Red
Joe, the fourth of their crew, is a
strange youngster picked up fort
night before. whom they suspect of
being unpiratical. A ragged old woman
mikes their grog, and in the scullery
is a beautiful maiden destined to we'd
one Of the pirates. But Betsy, herself
a child, prefers the romantic "Red" Joe.
On the night of big plot Joe is
bound and imprisoned in the cabin
while the evil old ruffians swing their
lantern; Betsy cuts her lover free, he
shoots out the light, the. ships crew
captures the pirates. Joe is the Prince
Of Wales incognito; Betsy a princess
in her own right And so is the Devon
coast made safe for navigators, and
Betsy made queen Of the land.
The last fourth of Page 1913 remains
to be accounted for. After what has
gone before an actual accounting is I'M
possible, for here quite different Mr..
!, Brooks succeeds at last in getting him.
self on paper. "Our candles have
burned to socket. Our pasteboard
cabin is bare and dark. No longer do
pirate flags faunt the ghostly seas.
The f stormy ocean, the dizzy cliffs Of
Devon, melt like an unsubstantial pag-
cant" The fantastic gives way
In the second play a confusing and
surprising contrast manifests itself;
after half-dozen lines tedium van
ishes. Perhaps the title-"At the Sign
Of the Greedy Pig'-is happy enough
to restimulate interest; certainly the
title, augmented by delightful Flory
picture, goes far in establishing lost
enthusiasm.
Who is this second Mr.. Brooks? An
ironic quirk tilts his lip, the miseri-
cord Of satire flashes in his hand. The
setting is deftly sketched, characters
take immediate. form. An atmosphere
is established with Sometimes, in a
mood of Spanish castles, there fits
across my fancy the vision of an
ancient city on a hilltop, with lofty
battlements thrust upward from the
rock and towers that stand on tiptoe.
One might think that second flood
had been foretold and that the houses,
like Noah's nimble sinners, had scam
pered UP to a dryer ground. =. The
time Of our play is remote. and !
choose to think the world is fat, that
comets. are Of evil prophecy and
witches still ride on the. windy moon.
. 1t is 9he end of night, but as
yet the house-fronts are not streaked
with dawn. The church is dark, but
light shines from the tavern window.
The devil, it appears, keeps longer
honrs.''
A watchman passes, singing: "It's 4
o'clock Of an April night. 70 ho! for