EVES. Oh, poetry.

PRATTLE. Poetry? Good Lord!

DE REVES. Yes, that sort of thing, you know.

PRATTLE. Good Lord! Do you make any money by it?

DE REVES. No. Hardly any.

PRATTLE. I say--why don't you chuck it?

DE REVES. Oh, I don't know. Some people seem to like my stuff,
rather. That's why I go on.

PRATTLE. I'd chuck it if there's no money in it.

DE REVES. Ah, but then it's hardly in your line, is it? You'd
hardly approve of poetry if there _was_ money in it.

PRATTLE. Oh, I don't say that. If I could make as much by poetry
as I can by betting I don't say I wouldn't try the poetry touch,
only--

DE REVES. Only what?

PRATTLE. Oh, I don't know. Only there seems more sense in
betting, somehow.

DE REVES. Well, yes. I suppose it's easier to tell what an
earthly horse is going to do, than to tell what Pegasus--

PRATTLE. What's Pegasus?

DE REVES. Oh, the winged horse of poets.

PRATTLE. I say! You don't believe in a winged horse, do you?

DE REVES. In our trade we believe in all fabulous things. They
all represent some large truth to turn us. An emblem like Pegasus
is as real a thing to a poet as a Derby winner would be to you.

PRATTLE. I say. (_Give me a cigarette. Thanks._) What? Then you'd
believe in nymphs and fauns, and Pan, and all those kind of
birds?

DE REVES. Yes. Yes. In all of them.

PRATTLE. Good Lord!

DE REVES. You believe in the Lord Mayor of London, don't you?

PRATTLE. Yes, of course; but what has--

DE REVES. Four million people or so made him Lord Mayor, didn't
they? And he represents to them the wealth and dignity and
tradition of--

PRATTLE. Yes; but, I say, what has all this--

DE REVES. Well, he stands for an idea to them, and they made him
Lord Mayor, and so he is one....

PRATTLE. Well, of course he is.

DE REVES. In the same way Pan has been made what he is by
millions; by millions to whom he represents world-old traditions.

PRATTLE. (_rising from his chair and stepping backwards, laughing
and looking at the POET in a kind of assumed wonder_). I say.... I
say.... You old heathen ... but Good Lord....

(_He bumps into the high screen behind, pushing it back a little._)

DE REVES. Look out! Look out!

PRATTLE. What? What's the matter?

DE REVES. The screen!

PRATTLE. Oh, sorry, yes. I'll put it right.

(_He is about to go round behind it._)

DE REVES. No, don't go round there.

PRATTLE. What? Why not?

DE REVES. Oh, you wouldn't understand.