Like beaten puppies, the snarling folk of Broadway often cringe from the hand that is raised to stroke them. For example, Edgar B. Davis, an obscure but very wealthy operator in oil, produced a play called The .Ladder (TIME, Nov. 8, 1926), which dwelt, with confused eloquence, upon a theosophical theory of reincarnation.
A feeble fable held no interest for the gay dogs of Broadway; yet, when they scorned it, Producer Davis took pity on them. "It has a message for you," he said, and offered free seats to any who would have them. Almost no one could believe that a man...
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