French Drubbed

In a Manhattan theatre dressing room, a tall, angular actor scrubbed furiously at the grease paint on his gaunt features. The curtain had just rung down on his matinee (That Smith Boy) and he* had an engagement even more pressing than seeing a manager at the Algonquin or sipping something cold in a friend's flat. He jerked on his overcoat, flung himself into a taxi, leaped out again at the Seventh Regiment Armory, where he plunged into a dense crowd of humanity and was seen no more, until he emerged in tennis costume on a brilliantly illuminated court surrounded by a crowd. There, for three hours, pausing sometimes to wipe honest sweat and perhaps a few remaining traces of grease paint from his face, he labored to vanquish with sizzling drive and cannonading serve, a bounding little Basque called Jean Borotra. Eventually he did so, 6-4, 8-10, 11-13, 6-1, 6-3, thus atoning somewhat for the drubbing Borotra had given him a week before in the national indoor championship (TIME, March 1). The crowd loudly announced its pleasure at this denoument which won, by three matches to two, an international team match wherein Vincent Richards and this tall actor had each been beaten individually by U. S. Indoor Champion Rene Lacoste. But Actor-Champion William T. Tilden had little time for curtain calls in the Seventh Regiment Armory. Another public was waiting. What he needed was another taxi, more grease paint and a certain cue in That Smith Boy.

*Mr. Tilden does not play the lead. His part is small.