Because its intentions are modest and its spirit pure, "A Gentleman at Heart," now at the Globe, deserves at least a civil hello. It is a loose little comedy that idles along in carefree fashion without ever being very sprightly or intolerably dull. Around the standard design plot of the shady character of limited culture who takes a flier in the "art racket," the authors have concocted a minor escapade that makes light use of more than one cliché—and so, for that matter, does Milton Berle, whose running commentary of snappy sayings falls below the belt pretty frequently. But if "A Gentleman at Heart" is just the opposite of unusual, its sins are guileless. It doesn't make many promises and therefore doesn't break them.

A pretty face—and Carole Landis has nothing if not that—can start almost anything. It could, conceivably, give Cesar Romero, as a race-track bookie, enough of an inferiority complex to try his hand at running an art gallery. But with Mr. Berle as his witless runner-up, the bookie discovers that art has its "angles" too, that faking old masterpieces can turn in a tidy penny, and that even the experts can't always tell the difference—proving, we suppose, that if you know what you like, your taste is as good as the next man's, which is a solidly democratic point of view to take. All in all, "A Gentleman at Heart" is a law abiding little farce that doesn't try to fool anybody.