He regards Al Woods as the most competent commercial manager in the American theater. His library contains every known book on the drama published in the English, French, German, and Italian languages. He owns many of the original Dunsany manuscripts. Accused by certain of his critics of a flippant attitude toward the drama, he in reality takes the drama very seriously. The theater, on the other hand, he regards four out of five times as a joke. He concurs in the Walpole philosophy that life is a tragedy to him who feels and a comedy to him who thinks. He is a good listener. His invariable practice with talkers is to let the latter talk themselves out and then, after a moment’s studious silence, to nod his head and say yes. He never argues, never disagrees, no matter how bizarre the conversationalist’s pronunciamentos. The Paris journal, _Le Temps_, frequently translates his critical articles and quotes from them copiously. He owns an autographed photograph of the Russian mystic, Rasputin, presented to him by the latter six years ago. He dislikes all forms of publicity. He has an aversion to self-advertisement that amounts almost to a mania. He believes, with Mencken, that whom the gods would destroy, they first make popular. He takes a companion with him to the theater only on rare occasions. He uses the extra seat sent him by the managers as a depository for his hat and overcoat. He always has thirty or forty lead pencils beside him when he writes. The moment one becomes a trifle dull he picks up another. He cannot sharpen the pencils well enough to suit himself and has the job done by his secretary. He hasn’t the slightest intention of ever getting married. He believes that the motor trip from Watkins Glen to Elmira, in New York State, is the most beautiful in America. Among the Presidents of the United States he admires most—and by long odds—the late Grover Cleveland. He believes the dirtiest spot in the world to be the Azores. He believes Shaw’s “Cæsar and Cleopatra” to be the best modern British play, Brieux’s “Les Hannetons” the best modern French play, and Dunsany’s “Gods of the Mountain” the best modern Irish play. He gets squiffed about once in six weeks, usually in company with John Williams. He has a headache the next day. He carries a tube of menthol in his pocket and sniffs at it forty times a day. He has been writing his monthly article for _The Smart Set_ since 1909. He and Mencken became editors of the magazine in August, 1914. He began his career as a man of letters by reporting for the New York _Herald_. He reads the _Times_ and _Globe_ daily. Among his critical contemporaries in New York he has the highest respect for Louis Sherwin. Of American dramatists he most admires Avery Hopwood. Of American dramatic critics his vote is probably for Henry T. Parker, of the Boston _Transcript_. In his own opinion, the best thing he has ever written is “The Eternal Mystery.”