The air, ladled by scores of cardboard fans, washed about the tiny Clinton (N.J.) Music Hall like warm soup. A maple branch that had grown in through an open window drooped damply over the audience. The house shifted on its bone-hard, $2.40 seats, grumbling at the hard facts of summer theatergoing.
Then the scrofulous old curtain rolled up and all was forgiven in a gusty belly laugh. Edward Everett Horton, the 60-year-old grandpa of summer theater, blustered onstage and stood staring dazedly at the audience.
Giggles & Leers. So, last week, began Horton's 1,180th...
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