“Behind the Grand Stand.”

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One. The Sharrocks are mind-readers, mental telegraphists or any term that may be preferred to describe the people who can apparently read each other’s minds. Not since the ays of The Zancigs have a mind-reading couple played New York who could eclipse the Zancigs memory until the Sharrocks showed at the Palace this week. The Zancigs were remarkable, for their rapidly and correctness – the Sharrocks are wonderful in the same ways. The Sharrocks had to overcome the handicap of the “No.2” position on a long bill that called for the removal of the Weekly Review to the closing position. They did it. Owing to the composition of the program, The Sharrocks were unavoidably placed there, but closing the first half is their spot on any bill, if not placed in the second half. The turn has a sketch opening in “one,” a faking gypsy fortune telling tent, with the man the spieler and the woman the worker. The turn contains comedy throughout, with a solid laughing finish. Following some talk at the opening, Mr. Sharrock goes into the audience, Mrs. Sharrock remaining blindfolded upon the stage. Sharrock moves quickly up and down the aisles. Mrs. Sharrock calling out a mass of articles he touches or looks at. This has not been uncommon among mind-readers, but it’s the way this couple work. Even the wise ones are more mystified than any others ever caused them to be. Tuesday night in the extreme rear orchestra seat a spectacles auditor handed Mr. Sharrock something. Even the operator had to ask what it was. Mrs. Sharrock, 100 feet or more away, on the stage, could not possible have heard the remark, but almost more than man could answer, Mrs. Sharrock had called out “A clinical thermometer.” The suggestion of a plant for this is very remote. Hardly anyone seated could see it, excepting a few standing near, and at the time Sharrock was on the rush to the left-hand orchestra aisle, from the center one he had just finished. If in concentration or anything they have evolved in system or otherwise, to cue or tell, either one of them ever thought of a clinical thermometer, they must be marvels of record ingenuity. Returning to the stage, Mr. Sharrock drops down his gypsy tent, and they prepare to depart. Mrs. Sharrock berates him for going through a crowd like that and coming back empty handed. He replies, as they exit, that he went through right, showing eight or ten gold watches on chains as his booty. The Sharrocks make an excellent vaudeville number that can’t possibly fail.

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