Spring Fever. The first production in many weeks that has not been definitely distressing moved in last week to tell a tale of golf and tender passions. I: is true that the latter toughened up a trifle in the final act when Mr. A. H. Woods pulled one of his laciest beds out of storage and gave the public what he found it wanted long ago. The scene was often in bad taste and quite irrelevant to the rest. Like the rest, however, it loosed a light supply of laughter.
The hero of...
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