Actorviews (1923)

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176 Actorvievus him on the stage: “I never laugh at you on the stage; I always wait till I get home.” “She could not resist uttering a witticism when it flashed to her lips,” said Arliss, ever her admirer, “but she was never unkind in her heart; she would be witty only to be sorry when her jests were spread about.” And I told Arliss of a day long ago, when, crossing the bay from Oakland to San Francisco, Mrs. Campbell’s press agent, poor devil, had pointed out a rocky peril to navigation and told her it was called Goat Island. To which she had replied, “Ah, your birthplace.” A minute later, I told Arliss, she was implanting the prettiest flower in her corsage in the press agent’s buttonhole. “The words and the deed,” said he, “are irresistibly like her.” George Arliss, I found, talks of himself but frugally. In what he tells he is habitually the witness, the innocent spectator bystanding spinsterly. And his best talk, for me, was about the author of his very fine melodrama; about William Archer, that permanently sane dramatic critic who first brought Ibsen into English and eventually made us like it if only in Ibsenic dilution, and then wrote a book on play-making, and finally, in the sixty-fifth year of his age, followed the book and made it good with the best drama of adventure since “Secret Service.” Listen to this Archer story. I think it is a perfect thing, if I do not make too much of a hash of the perfect words in which Arliss told it. “William Archer,” said he, “is the most retiring man I know ; and he looks it. He is a formal man, too. He is never without a dark suit, a bowler hat and an