o into his father's date business."

Mr. Goble was impressed. He had a respect for Wally's opinion, for
Wally had written "Follow the Girl" and look what a knock-out that had
been. He stopped the rehearsal again.

"Go back to that Khayyam speech!" he said interrupting Lord Finchley
in mid-sentence.

The actor whispered a hearty English oath beneath his breath. He had
been up late last night, and, in spite of the fair weather, he was
feeling a trifle on edge.

"' In the words of Omar of Khayyam'...."

Mr. Goble clapped his hands.

"Cut that 'of,'" he said. "The show's too long, anyway."

And, having handled a delicate matter in masterly fashion, he leaned
back in his chair and chewed the end off another cigar.

For some minutes after this the rehearsal proceeded smoothly. If Mr.
Goble did not enjoy the play, at least he made no criticisms except to
Wally. To him he enlarged from time to time on the pain which "The
Rose of America" caused him.

"How I ever came to put on junk like this beats me," confessed Mr.
Goble frankly.

"You probably saw that there was a good idea at the back of it,"
suggested Wally. "There is, you know. Properly handled, it's an idea
that could be made into a success."

"What would you do with it?"

"Oh, a lot of things," said Wally warily. In his younger and callower
days he had sometimes been rash enough to scatter views on the
reconstruction of plays broadcast, to find them gratefully absorbed
and acted upon and treated as a friendly gift. His affection for Mr.
Goble was not so overpowering as to cause him to give him ideas for
nothing now.

"Any time you want me to fix it for you, I'll come along. About one
and a half per cent of the gross would meet the case, I think."

Mr. Goble faced him, registering the utmost astonishment and horror.

"One and a half per cent for fixing a show like this? Why, darn it,
there's hardly anything to do to it! It's--it's _in_!"

"You called it junk just now."

"Well, all I meant was that it wasn't the sort of thing I cared for
myself. The public will eat it. Take it from me, the time is just
about ripe for a revival of comic opera."

"This one will want all the reviving you can give it. Better use a
pulmotor."

"But that long boob, that Pilkington ... he would never stand for my
handing you one and a half per cent."

"I thought _you_ were the little guy who arranged things round here."

"But he's got money in the show."

"Well, if h