BISON BILLIAM.
A Moderately Good Show, But a
Bad Crowd.
A fellow could hang his hat, ulster and
umbrella on the atmosphere at the Academy
last night. The house was insufferably over-
crowded, and the management owed it to the
comfort and convenience of their patrons to
have closed the doors long before
they did. And then the gods!
A more unruly set of divinities never shouted
and stamped and whistled and yelled and guyed
actors from a gallery, or threw pebbles and
corn . on the luckless heads in the orchestra.
But it was not until dismissal time came that
the gallery mob let itself loose. Such
pushing, crowding, and jamming, mingled with the
cries of children and the frightened ejaculations
of women made a scene such as has been
rarely witnessed at the Academy. The play,
"20 days, or Buffalo Bill's pledge." wasn't
bad It savors less of gore and gunpowder,
and has more artistic merit than William's
plays usually have. But something ought to
be done with the last act. It's too incon-
sistent to live. "I'm no actor," said Bill
once to an interviewer, "I'm a star,"
and that was the time he hit the bull's eye.
He is a star, just as Mrs. Langtry and the
Ford boys, and other celebrities who adopt
the stage as the most available way of exhibit-
ing themselves to a curious people are stars.
It is noticeable, however that Bill is becoming
much more at home to the glare of the foot-
lights than he was a few seasons ago, and his
nervousness while shooting is wearing off.
Last night he made but two
misses in 20 fancy shots. W. J. Bailey as-
sumes three characters, and does them all
justice. Lole Fuller as "Pepper," a vivacious
waif, who can shoot and talk slang, is fairly
good and sings well. Speaking of singing
reminds THE PRESS critic that the piece
ought to be equipped with more taking songs.
Italian operas and church music don't catch
on with the class of audiences that Buffalo
Willaim draws. Jule Keene is a good come-
dian, but he's so everlastingly homely. W. C.
Donaldson as Capt. Merton Montlake, is un-
questionably the weakest spot in the cast.
The redskins danced a war dance, the trick
mule threw up his heels and Frank Thompson
played cornet solos between acts. One of
the most thrillingly exciting incidents
of the evening was the usual go-as-you-please
between the orchestra and the gallery when
the former struck up "Mary Ann, I'll tell your
ma." The gallery, as usual, came in ahead
on the ninth inning with laps to spare.
