The moment an actor closes his eyes, hitches up his trousers, and starts gaspeing for words he creates in the mind of his audience a favorable prejudice which will make up for all the sins he may subsequently commit. William Hodge has mastered this sort of stage helplessnoss. He has learned to lie down and let the rest of the cast walk over him in the same passive manner in which Andrew Gump, that great idol of the middle West, obeys the call of Min.

Hodge blunders through his part, in a manner so highly normal and idiotic that one comes to forget sooner or later that he is acting at all. Truth to tell, it is as if you and I were up there on the stage, trying desperately to cope with a lot of things which we do not understand. And so, sooner or later, Mr. Hodge obtains our sympathy, and our interest as well. We must acknowledge his powers of persuasion whether they be those of an actor or a demi-gog.

Unfortunately for some people he writes his own plays, and aims them straight at the blunt heads of the middle-class. His purpose is to make people happy, and in the cheapness of his conception he can see only such trite comedy props as boot-leg whiskey, puppy-love, and husband vs. wife warfare in three rounds. As a playwright he has never tired of such obvious tricks of the trade as Owen Davis uses in many of his off moments. Still as a star he remains wholly sincere and genuine. It is fortunate for his plays that he usually acts in them himself, and adds to their odd trite jumble the flickering genius of his own stage presence.

He plays but one part in comedy, that of the stuttering country wit, misunderstood, despised, but in the end triumphant. He has never to my knowledge attempted other characters, nor is it necessary that he should. This vehicle has sufficed often enough to redeem trashy plays and hopeless casts. It is far better that an actor should give himself entirely to the audience once, that to display portions of himself a number of times.

In his present production Mr. Hodge is more fortunate than usual. "The Judge's Husband" is not nearly as bad as "Dog Love", a recent effort, nor is the cast by any means weak. Mr. Hodge has delved into the legal archives of Connecticut and extracted a law which permits a judge to act as witness in his own case, provided both parties agree to allow him. Starting with this comparatively simple point, Hodge complicates the plot by making the judge a woman, the plamtiff the husband of that woman, and the attorney the other man in the divorce case. In other words Mr. Hodge has superimposed his eternal triangle on a compound legal structure that leaves the audience totally bewildered.

Such a situation calls to mind immediately Brieux' play "Accused", which E. H. Sothern brought to Boston during the Christmas holidays. The French dramatist takes a difficult point in legal philosophy and seeks to clarify it; his American contemporary does exactly the reverse.

Apart from the courtroom scene, the play is one of homely American wit, complicated by illicit love, bootleg whiskey, and women's rights. The acting was good. Miss Hanson went through the part of the Judge with a certain dignity and carriage which lent breeding to the play where one would not expect it. Little Miss Lyons in the somewhat impossible role of the daughter who sinned was young, and eager, and refreshing. Miss Hill and Miss Milne did excellent character bits. Although we have already suggested the charm which Mr. Hodge continually displays, it is impossible to put down an accurate estimate of his dramatic ability. Nowhere have we called him a great actor, but our sympathies will not allow us to attack him.