To the old theme of the prodigal son Grant Mitchell adds a humorous twist in "The Champion," now playing at the Park Square Theatre. This newest comedy is a modern and novel treatment of the much-abused parable; it offers ample scope for the peculiar talents of the star, and gives him a role that may be favorably compared with his immortal. John Paul Bart, the "Tailor-Made Man."

The Burroughs are a thoroughly conventional, conservative English family, living in the small, staid town of Knotley ("on-Thames," undoubtedly). Their irreproachable existence is rudely disturbed one afternoon by the return of William, the Black Sheep; or, as William aptly characterizes himself, "I'm the family skeleton; can't you hear my bones rattle?" Unable to abide the domineering influence of his father or his interminable demands for "an explanation" of each wayward act, William had fled to America fifteen years before; now he fails to find the fatted calf awaiting--in fact he receives a decidedly frosty welcome from all but his mother and sister. One brother, David, has become a meek and cringing rector, while George, the other, is a Conservative candidate for Parliament; both represent the views and ambitions of his father. The horror of the family reaches a climax upon the discovery that Brother William had adopted the career of a prize-fighter, and had retired from the ring as lightweight champion of the world under the name of "Gunboat Williams." Into this atmosphere, thick with rock-bound English traditions and customs. William introduces his slangy, breezy, Americanized presence, and thus furnishes the material for three acts of comic dialogue and situations, which approaches a sort of unintentional horse-play toward the end.

Mr. Mitchell, who, by the way, is a graduate of Andover, Yale, and the Harvard Law School, has in William a part eminently suited to his form of artistry. His matter-of-fact yet expressive Americanisms reflect all the more to his credit for interpreting them because they are set in a heavily-contrasting background of English stodginess. It is like a refreshing cold shower to hear his crisp, incisive ideas, his ready slang, after a period of drawling "I say"'s, and "Don' cher know"'s. Ann Andrews, who plays the role of Lady Elizabeth Galton, an instantaneous magnet for "Willie"'s attentions, is a self-possessed, stately heroine. She is most attractive in the truly British, undemonstrative manner. Arthur Elliott does a rare piece of character acting as the tyrannical paternal head of the household, although at times his apoplectic anger seems a trifle overdone.

Gerald Bamer is very successful with the rather difficult role of David; his timidness might easily be carried to extremes, but Mr. Hamer keeps it plausibly within bounds. Frank Westerton, as George, is a typically "silly ass" English man, while the other parts, with one or two unimportant exceptions, are consistently well-handled. A word might also be said for the "mob" of sporty English aristocrats, who contribute an ever-recurring ripple of laughter with such highly, accented expressions as "demn it!", "well, dear old precious!", "hello, old wonderful!" and the like.