There are, of course, more ways of viewing the question than could be compressed into so short a play.  Myself, I confess to a sneaking sympathy with the standpoint of Crawshaw.  Money for him did not mean mere self-indulgence; it meant outward show—­a house in a better neighbourhood, a more expensive car, a higher status in the opinion of his world—­all the things that somehow help in what is called a career.  By accepting the fifty thousand pounds he would gain something in the public eye; by assuming the name of Wurzel-Flummery he would lose something.  He weighed the two against one another, and concluded that he would gain more than he would lose.  This argument furnished a good enough motive according to his lights.

Meriton, on the other hand, after professing to prefer a clean heart to filthy lucre, is persuaded by Violet Crawshaw, who argues that he would surely make any sacrifice to save her from starving, and she was starving for love.  So he yields, saying, in effect, to Honour, “I love thee, dear; I love thee much; but I love Violet more.”  Incidentally he takes care to overlook the fact that he was not nobly suffering an indignity for the sake of a great cause—­such, let us say, as the founding of a hospital—­but that he himself stood to gain at least as much as the girl.  I am almost afraid that Meriton was a bit of a hypocrite.  Certainly, in view of his exalted standards, he came out of the business worse than Crawshaw did.  Perhaps, after all, Mr. MILNE meant him to be a Tory.

But I must not exploit the pleasant field of casuistry opened up by the author’s theme, but content myself with complimenting him very heartily on his share of this triple bill, in which, at the first attempt, he held his own in the company of so experienced an artist as Sir JAMES BARRIE.  I ought to add that he had an excellent cast, very quick to appreciate and reproduce the iridescent gaiety of his humour.

O.S.

* * * * *

    “MOTORS & CYCLES.

    Wanted to purchase a few good 1916 laying Pullets.”—­South Bucks Free
    Press.

Having regard to the second item in the heading a correspondent suggests that “Pullets” is a misprint for “Pushits.”

* * * * *

From a feuilleton:—­

    She had not wanted to come at all, for she avoided everyone now.  But
    Olive had begged her, with ears in her eyes.”—­Daily Paper.

If Olive was, as we are inclined to suppose, a flapper, she was remarkably well equipped.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  The Padre. OWING TO A COLD, PRIVATE STAYER WILL NOT BE ABLE TO SING ‘FROM SATURDAY NIGHT TILL MONDAY MORNING’ AS INTENDED, BUT SERGEANT STICKETT HAS KINDLY CONSENTED TO PLAY ‘FOR ALL ETERNITY,’ AND AS IT WILL THEM BE GETTING!  RATHER LATE WE WILL CONCLUDE WITH THE NATIONAL ANTHEM.”]