EDITOR'S NOTE: This is the sixth article in a series that embodies a new idea in monthly criticism. The writer of these articles visits the current plays, but, instead of reviewing all of them, he selects for detailed analysis that one play which he considers most worth while

MR. FRANK CRAVEN made a name for himself as an actor by his performance of a single part; and he now seems in a fair way to make a name for himself as a playwright by the composition of a single play. The great success of Mr. George Broadhurst's "Bought and Paid For" was due not so much to the "big scene" which the author had borrowed from "Maternité" as to Mr. Craven's acting of the egregious little bounder of a shipping-clerk. It was a hard part to play. In the hands of a less ingratiating actor, this vulgar little creature might have seemed annoying instead of amusing. But Mr. Craven made this character a classic of its kind; and his performance was applauded with equal enthusiasm in New York and in London.

Whenever an actor ventures to write a play, the critic feels inclined to assume the attitude of the gentleman from Missouri and to say, "You'll have to show me." As soon as the curtain rose on the first act of "Too Many Cooks," it was evident to the entire audience that Mr. Craven held the necessary cards. Before the dialogue began, he had already shown that he could make a play; for he had invented a novel device of stage-direction to catch the eye at once and to stimulate the expectation of amusement. His piece is assured of a long run in New York, and it is nearly as certain of a success in London. It should succeed in London because it is so utterly American.

A DOZEN years ago, the London public looked unfavorably upon American plays, because it considered them provincial. Nowadays is looks upon them favorably, for precisely the same reason. Many of the leading successes of recent London seasons have been imported from America; and these plays, almost without exception, have represented the most frankly provincial aspect of our authorship. Those phases of our life which are similar to life in Europe are not interesting to the London public. The British prefer a record of those traits which are peculiarly American and have no counterpart in any other country.

IT IS always instructive to see ourselves as others see us; and there can be do denying that, in British eyes, the ideal American playwright is Mr. George M. Cohan. It is to comedies of the type that we have come to call Cohanesque that London is most hospitable; and though it is always comparatively difficult to do honor to a prophet in his own country, this fact may justly lead us to inquire if the Cohan type of comedy is not, after all, the freshest and most vigorous type of drama that is being created in this country at the present time.

What are the ingredients of the type? . . . First of all, a novel narrative idea that is rich in possibilities of farcical development. Second, a scenario so visual in its appeal that it might be acted out in moving pictures. Third, a cast made up entirely of character parts, each of which exhibits vivid observation of the actual. Fourth, a fresh and buoyant and slangy dialogue, that is always good-humored as well as humorous. Fifth, a rapid tempo in the acting. Sixth, exemplary stage-direction, exhibiting a complete mastery of all the tricks of the trade.

THIS has been a bad year for American playwrights, and most of the good plays of the current New York season have been imported from abroad; but it is interesting to note that the few American plays that have been favorably received have all been comedies of the Cohanesque type. The only plays by native authors that have notably succeeded are "Seven Keys to Baldpate," "Potash and Perlmutter," "The Misleading Lady," "Too Many Cooks," and "A Pair of Sixes." The first of these was written by Mr. Cohan; the second, though prepared by an anonymous playwright said to be Charles Klein, was produced in one of Mr. Cohan's theatres; and the other three were fabricated in conformance with the Cohan formula. These are the plays by which we are destined to be represented in London during the coming season; and those Americans who may prefer the work of Augustus Thomas or Eugene Walter or Edward Sheldon or Percy Mackaye must bring themselves to recognize the fact that the Cohan type of play is more alive and kicking at the present moment than any other that our native authors have attempted.

OF THE Cohanesque comedies of the present season, the best is Mr. Craven's "Too Many Cooks." It is the best because it is the most intimately related to the general experience of life. It is scarcely less amusing than any of the others, and it is much more real. Light as it is, and slight as it is, it is enriched with the quality of sagacity. It awakens in us not only the reaction of surprise but also the more educative response of recognition. It tells us nothing new about life; but it reminds us of much which we seemed to have forgotten until the author told us.

THE theme of Mr. Craven's comedy is that, when a young couple undertake the difficult and delicate task of building their House of Life together, it is very necessary that they be let alone by all their relatives and friends. Two is company and collaboration; but more than two is interference and a crowd. This theme is subtly symbolized to the eye by the gradual erection of an actual house upon the stage. The scene is in the suburbs, where the young hero is building a house that is to be his home after he is married to his feminine collaborator. In the first act, we see the brick foundations of this house, and listen to the somewhat divergent ideas of the hero and the heroine concerning its completion. Their little disagreements are accentuated by the unsolicited advice of many relatives and friends. In the second act, we see the wooden framework of the house erected to the roof; and now the discord between the hero and the heroine is so fomented by the interference of the other characters that they break off their engagement and part with angry words. In the last act, we see the little house completed, standing snugly on the stage and awaiting its occupants; but a "For Sale" sign is hanging on it, and this ominous legend is not removed until the heroine returns repentant to the arms of the hero and both of them forswear the crowd of their friends and relatives for the sake of the company of each other.

THIS novel device of erecting a house upon the stage awakened the interest of the audience at the very moment when the curtain rose, and illustrated the theme of the play as a lesson is illustrated on a blackboard; but it imposed a difficult task upon the stage-director. No less than twenty characters had to be grouped and moved about in the few square feet of space left available for acting; but the piece was so skilfully staged by the author, with the assistance of Mr. John Cromwell, that the audience never even noticed that an unusually exacting problem had been successfully solved.

THE hero of "Too Many Cooks" is a young clerk named Albert Bennett. He has always been ambitious to have a home of his own; and to this end he has set aside his pennies, until he has accumulated five thousand dollars. At this point in his career he meets his mate. This meeting, which is merely narrated in the dialogue, is characteristically American in its pattern of romance. It occurs in a quick-lunch restaurant. The hero looks across the marble table into the eyes of his future wife. The man beside her tries to steal her purse; and the hero, by requesting this marauder to change the scene of his activities, makes acquaintance with the heroine. Her name is Cook—Alice Cook. She is a working girl, and Albert is a working man; so he sagaciously invites her to go into partnership with him in the business of life. He meets her parents; but Alice refrains from mentioning that she is encumbered with other relatives.

Then Albert begins to build his house. He means to marry Alice Cook as soon as his suburban home is ready to receive her; and, in the first act, he is expecting her to bring her parents to view the foundations of the house that is to be. Alice arrives, accompanied not only by her father and her mother but also by two aunts, two sisters, an uncle, two brothers, and a girl named Ella Mayer, who is her best friend. Several of these prospective relatives express a willingness to come and live with the young couple as soon as they are married, and all of them give different suggestions as to how the house should be fitted up. The hero now realizes for the first time that he is expected to marry an entire family.

Albert has always planned to set aside a little room on the second story as a den and smoking-room, where he may potter about and fling his ashes on the floor; but Ella Mayer suggests that Alice should use this as a sewing-room. A disagreement on this point is the first rift in the lute of these romantic members of the crowd express opinions on one side or the other; and the act ends with the hero arguing for the sewing-room and the heroine arguing for the smoking-room,—each of them combatting the other while endeavoring to fight against himself.

IN THE second act, the ideas of the heroine are opposed by the best friend of the hero, and also by the hero's uncle, on whom he is dependent for his future; and the ideas of the hero himself are more malignantly oppugned by the entire family of Cooks. It is evident that too many cooks are going to spoil the broth that he is brewing. His uncle wants him to marry another girl, who happens to be wealthy; and, in jealousy of this particular intruder, Alice breaks off her engagement and returns to the very centre of her extended family circle.

When we reach the last act, we discover that Albert's best friend has fallen in love with Alice's best friend. They buy the house from Albert; but, fortunately, they also fall to altercation before the deal can be completed. Ella Mayer wants to travel; and, though her lover desires eagerly to settle down after many years of wandering, she leads him away on another tour of the world. Then Alice returns to Albert, renouncing all other Cooks; and the couple remove the "For Sale" sign from the little house that is to be their home.

The dialogue is brisk and natural and funny; and the stage-direction is as clever as Mr. Cohan's. Mr. Craven makes the part of the hero exceedingly ingratiating. From every point, "Too Many Cooks" is entertaining; and, in this dull season, it deserves the generous reception which has been accorded it by the public.