Memo.—David produced a new play called “The Very Minute” last Monday night [April 9, 1917], at his N. Y. theatre, with Mr. Arnold Daly in the principal part. All about bad effects of drinking too much liquor, &c. Novelty—striking! Good old Towse calls it “a shallow pretence of a serious play” and says it is a “nightmare.” Commends D. B.’s “meticulous attention to the material and manner of production.” Also commends A. D. for “moments of powerful acting.” Well—he was there and I was not; but how A. D. must have changed! I never saw any more “power” in him than there is in a pennywhistle. Used to have a sort of sonsy quality that was pleasing. Competent in a commonplace way: unusual assurance—great conceit. Knows his business—generally definite, which is a merit. Disagreeable personality. Head turned with vanity. And nothing really IN him—that ever I could see.

This play written by John Meehan. Young man, said to be related to me by marriage. I never met him and do not know. Suppose I must see his play and write about it. Don’t want to! “What, will the line stretch out to the crack of doom?” Where do they [plays] all come from, I wonder? Hope David has got another success, but surmise it’s an awful frost,—as ’twere “the very last minute of the hour,” I fear. Wish he would stop producing plays altogether until after I get through writing this “Life”!

[“The Very Minute” was first acted at The Playhouse, Wilmington, Delaware, April 5, 1917: it was “an awful frost,” as my father surmised, and it was withdrawn on May 7—the Belasco Theatre being then closed.—J. W.] This was the cast: