Two young and smiling faces a-top banjos which some said had been heard in Spokane stopped beaming at the bevy of upturned faces--the Pathe news of the Leviathan--and then Bebe the inimitable, the exquisite--the comedienne is off in a cloud of dust, traffic cops, contortionists--and who hasn't wanted to break a big vase--or be a million dollars out and five millions in.

"Miss Brewster's Millions" does affect one. At least it affects staid Cantabridgians who invade the gilded realms of alabaster cherubims and sera--so forth and so long enough to wonder why garlic never loses its saver and to smile, laugh, weep at the perils and pleasures of Bebe Daniels of the Enterprise Productions and a pleasant, very pleasant smile.

And then there is the man who lifts his hat with both hands--no, he is in the comedy. But they are all comedies? No--one is really tragic. For is it not tragedy which stalks in the contoritionist's soul as he leaps, jumps, hurls himself before Bebe's car--to die? Of course not. Contoritionists never die when automobiles hit them. They just confort. So she saved the fifty thousand dollars and the Boston lawyer quel homme! So droll, and with what a black eye.

"Miss Brewster's Millions" is an excellent picture. It is a triumph. And the man with the pedestrian protector is a hero. They are all heroes--except Bebe. She is a heroine--and if you know of a better heroine--The Lamb's Club--well, she is rather amusing--quite amusing. But one doesn't go to the Lambs' Club. "Miss Brewster's Millions" is most entertaining.