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Updated: June 28, 2025
Sothern's acting, it affords a fine example of that quality so very difficult of attainment, it would seem perfect repose; and by repose we do not mean torpidity or sluggishness or inattention, as opposed to clamorous ranting, but we mean the complete subordination of subordinate parts; so that, if we may use the illustration, the gaudiness of the frame is not allowed to over-power and destroy the effect of the picture.
"Well, I'm not sick any longer. In a day or so I'll be around again. Then I'll pay you for your trouble." And seeing from the look in Sothern's eyes that the rude insult had registered he laughed and turned his face away from them. Sothern and the girl stepped outside together, without a word. "He is just plain brute!" the girl cried with passionate contempt. The old man shook his head gravely.
The eyes of both men kindled as they gripped hands, in Sothern's a look of affection, in Max's an expression compounded of liking and respect.
Dundrearys became quite numerous after Sothern's success; and the observant have remarked that not infrequently a stage character has verified itself by a species of ratification a remark that has a flavour of Ireland, or, if a famous essay by Miss Edgeworth is to be accepted, a flavour of France this is a reference to her essay on Irish bulls, a title itself which happens to be unconsciously a bull.
Carrying his burden with a strength equal to that of a young Kootanie George, Marshall Sothern made his way through the narrow lane they made for him. But he did not turn toward Père Marquette's. "Where are you taking him?" demanded Madden suspiciously, again forcing his way to Sothern's elbow. "That's not the way . . ." "I'm taking him to his own home," said Sothern calmly.
Sothern's smile, a little tense, seemed only the smile of age upon the vaunting ambition of youth. "I am not the man to doubt your ability to do pretty nearly anything you set your mind and hand to, Max," he said after a little. And then, "Isn't it a little strange that after all these years interest in John Harper Drennen should awake?" "Not so strange," replied Max.
Nothing makes his lack of human charm plainer than when we as audience enter the theatre at the middle of what purports to be the most passionate of scenes when the goal of the chase is unknown to us and the alleged "situation" appeals on its magnetic merits. Here is neither the psychic telepathy of Forbes Robertson's Cæsar, nor the fire-breath of E.H. Sothern's Don Quixote.
Suddenly he swung about upon McCall. "Andy," he said sharply, "you're going to do more than just look at Mr. Drennen's find with us. You're going to act upon his offer as you see fit. As a favour to me, Andy." Both Drennen and McCall looked at him curiously. Sothern's stern face told nothing. "As a favour to me, Andy," he repeated. "You bring me word of my promotion.
"Stop!" burst out Sothern's deep-lunged roar. "Can't you see the man is sick? By God, I'll kill any man who lays a hand on him!" Speaking he hurled his greater weight against Drennen, driving him back. Perhaps just then the strength began to run out of the younger man's body; or perhaps some kindred frenzy was upon Marshall Sothern.
The letter wasn't signed, even, and was typewritten, so you'd say it wasn't worth reading twice. And yet I know right now who wrote it." "Yes?" "Yes." There was triumph unhidden in Max's voice, in his eyes turned full upon Sothern's.
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