Ever since a person revelling under a euphonious _nom de plume_, which recalls to mind the romantic days of Robin Hood, perverted the function of dramatic criticism, imitators have sprung up all over the country. "Imitation is the truest flattery." To be caustically funny at the expense of truth, to deal in impudent personalia, to lose one's dignity in belittling that of others is the construction of the gentle art of criticism which American reviewers reserve unto themselves. Will's friends were a convivial lot. Before the evening was over our party had been considerably augmented. Each newcomer added another round of drinks. "Have one with me" is a strictly American characteristic. When we broke up I had a handful of cards and a confused list of tea, dinner and supper engagements. Fortunately I was not the only one to get mixed. Several of the whilom hostesses simplified matters by forgetting the invitations they had extended. While we were waiting for the automobile one of the women chaffed Will in the following manner: "Why, you sly, handsome pup! You never told me you were married when you were here before." "I supposed you knew," was Will's response. "O, you did! Um! I never say anything about being married, either, when I go away for a lark.... Never mind, I'll forgive you if you'll call me up. Where are you stopping? How long is your wife going to be in town?" The rest was drowned in the approach of the car. We did not go to Mamma Heward's this time. Heretofore when Will played Chicago we had lived at a theatrical boarding-house kept by a dear little old Scotch lady. Her's was one of the few good ones throughout the country. Unfortunately one had to take a long trolley ride to reach her house and Will's performances ended late. Then, too, he had heard that the table had gone off and that the service was inadequate. I imagine, however, that Will felt he had outgrown the boarding-house days. He decided upon a family hotel on the north side. During the week I called on Mamma Heward and took Boy with me. It was the first time she had seen him and she raved over him sufficiently to satisfy even a young mother's vanity. She enquired after Will and had kept in touch with his progress. She had always been fond of him and had dubbed him Bobby Burns, whom he somewhat resembled. I saw she felt hurt by our apparent desertion and tried to assure her that we should be much happier and more comfortable with her; that if it were not for the distance from the theatre---- The dear little old lady patted my hand as if to spare me further dissemblance.