typified in the small role of _Lew Ellinger_, in "The Witching Hour,"
Thomas was happiest in his humour, most unaffected in his inventions,
most ingenious in his "tricks." The man on the street is his special
_metier_, and his skill in knitting bones together gives one the
impression of an organic whole, though, on closer examination, as in
"As a Man Thinks," the skeleton is made up of three or four unrelated
stories. Only skilful surgery on Thomas's part carries the play to
success, for we are nearly always irritated by the degree to which he
falls short of real meat in spite of all the beautiful architectonics.
He "thinks things," declares one critic,--"that anybody can see; and
sporadically he says things; but he does not say them connectedly and
as part of some definite dramatic theme."

Thomas's interesting prefaces suggest this limitation in him, whether
it be a psychic subject he is to handle or an historical period he is
to cover. His manner of cogitating a theme has always been in terms of
the theatre, and he is willing to curtail any part of his theme for
a "point." His explanation, therefore, of the growth of detail, while
lacking in the high seriousness of Poe's explanation how he conceived
"The Raven," has nevertheless the same mathematical precision about
it. In other words, Thomas plays the theatre as Steinitz played chess,
with certain recognized openings and certain stated values to the
characters. We doubt whether, if the truth were told, many changes
ever occur, once a Thomas scenario is planned. His whole game is to
capture as many of his audience as he can by strategy, to checkmate
them by any legitimate theatrical move, regardless of tenability of
subject, and in despite of truth. Hence, when he fitted up "Arizona"
in clothes to suit recent Mexican complications, and called his play
"Rio Grande," he found he had lost the early sincerity of "Alabama,"
and his raciness was swamped in an apparent sophistication which only