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Updated: October 18, 2025
It doesn't do us any good to wring our hands over the far-off things." The music ceased and he arose, taking a standing position before her, as if to rest himself. "Why don't you get into some good, strong comedy-drama?" he said. He was looking directly at her now, studying her face. Her large, sympathetic eyes and pain-touched mouth appealed to him as proofs of his judgment.
He looked at her in such a peculiar way that she realised she had failed. It moved her to add: "I want to, though." "I should think you would," he said. "You have the sort of disposition that would do well in comedy-drama." It surprised her that he should speak of disposition. Was she, then, so clearly in his mind? "Why?" she asked.
William made his first professional appearance in Toronto in the autumn of that year with Joe Mertle's Company in Old Etobicoke, a rural comedy-drama that was immensely popular in its day and had a long run. The company was two weeks in the old Academy of Music before taking the road, and from the first night drew large audiences. William had two parts.
The business of government in these archipelagoes was bizarre comedy-drama, with Tartarins at the front of the stage, and a cursing or slumbrous audience. Count Polonsky, a Russian-born Frenchman, appeared in court to answer to the charge of letting his automobile engine run when no one was in the car.
Success had given her the momentary feeling that she was now blessed with much of which he would approve. As a matter of fact, her little newspaper fame was nothing at all to him. He thought she could have done better, by far. "You didn't go into comedy-drama, after all?" he said, remembering her interest in that form of art. "No," she answered; "I haven't, so far."
"You leave it to me," he said, pocketing the correspondence, "and we'll teach them a lesson." I left it to him. My only excuse is that at the time I was immersed in the writing of what in those days was termed a comedy-drama. The little sense I possessed must, I suppose, have been absorbed by the play. The magistrate's decision somewhat damped my ardour, but only inflamed his zeal.
He looked at her in such a peculiar way that she realized she had failed. It moved her to add: "I want to, though." "I should think you would," he said. "You have the sort of disposition that would do well in comedy-drama." It surprised her that he should speak of disposition. Was she, then, so clearly in his mind? "Why?" she asked.
As I write, Padre, I am back again in that salon jaune, and he is walking in at the door, pausing a second on the threshold at sight of me. I will give you the little play in one act. We smile. The hero of the comedy-drama has a rather big mouth, and such white teeth that his smile, in his brown face, is a lightning-flash at dusk. It is a thin face with two dimples that make lines when he laughs.
It doesn't do us any good to wring our hands over the far-off things." The music ceased and he arose, taking a standing position before her, as if to rest himself. "Why don't you get into some good, strong comedy-drama?" he said. He was looking directly at her now, studying her face. Her large, sympathetic eyes and pain-touched mouth appealed to him as proofs of his judgment.
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