"WILL YOU KISS ME?"
Even before the era of Prohibition (there were cocktails in this play)
strange things must have happened in "God's own country" under the
banner of the Bird of Freedom. But never so strange as the effects you
get on the stage when very English people play at being Americans. You
have to be rather young and unsophisticated if such phrases as "He's
putting it over on us," or "I'm not going to stand for that," generously
peppered about the dialogue and recited in the purest of English
accents, can persuade you to believe that you are getting the real
local stuff. At the same time you accept cheerfully the most farcical
conditions on the vague assumption that all things may be possible over
there.
So, when _John W. Brook_, of Fifth Avenue, millionaire, engaged the
services of _Alexander Y. Hedge_, plenipotentiary representative of an
Efficiency Company, to introduce economic reforms into his motherless
household during his temporary absence, we regarded it as a most
reasonable experiment. And for a time it made excellent fun. But after
a while it began to wear thin for lack of fresh stimulus, and by the
end of the Second Act there was a general feeling in the audience that
something would have to be done about it.
The same thought seems to have occurred to Mr. CYRIL HARCOURT, the
author, and he started, a little late in the day, to introduce an
element of sex-romance into what so far had been an absolutely bloodless
proposition. But at first it was with sinister intent that _Brook's_
elder daughter made advances to _Alexander Y. Hedge_. As soon as she
could induce this monster of inhumanity to become a prey to her charm
she would repulse him with scorn, and then he would have to go.
The children's allowances having been cut off on the ground that
they did nothing to earn them, she offered her services as his paid
secretary. "Propinquity" did its work and she was soon in a position
to offer him the privilege of an experimental kiss, thus incidentally
justifying the dreadful title of the play.
The first, delivered on the cheek, was a wash-out; but the second,
pressed home on the lips, had the desired effect. Then she turned and
rent him, telling him exactly what she thought of his treatment of the
family. He replied with an eloquent philippic directed at the vices of
a bloated aristocracy (this was the ante-bellum age, before things had
been made so much safer for democracy). Almost before the applause of
the gallery had died down, the father burst upon the scene, furious
at the report that this hired commercial had been making love to his
daughter.
Explanations follow which appease his wrath, and he is further mollified
by the statement that the Master of Efficiency had cut down the expenses
of his _ménage_ by some nineteen thousand dollars. But why, when his
feats of economy had all the time been the matter of his offence in the
children's eyes, the announcement of the total should have favourably
affected the girl's heart I cannot say, and I don't think anybody else
can. Yet the fact remains that the next moment she undertakes to marry
the object of her previous loathing.
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.
[Illustration: STEPS TOWARD EFFICIENCY.
_Horace, the Butler_ (MR. C. V. FRANCE) lengthens his stride in
obedience to
_Alexander Y. Hedge_ (MR. DONALD CALTHROP).]
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.