e wants to get any out, he'd better call in somebody to
rewrite it. You don't have to engage me if you don't want to. But I
know I could make a good job of it. There's just one little twist the
thing needs and you would have quite a different piece."

"What's that?" enquired Mr. Goble casually.

"Oh, just a little ... what shall I say? ... a little touch of
what-d'you-call-it and a bit of thingummy. You know the sort of thing!
That's all it wants."

Mr. Goble gnawed his cigar, baffled.

"You think so, eh?" he said at length.

"And perhaps a suspicion of _je-ne-sais-quoi_," added Wally.

Mr. Goble worried his cigar, and essayed a new form of attack.

"You've done a lot of work for me," he said. "Good work!"

"Glad you liked it," said Wally.

"You're a good kid. I like having you around. I was half thinking of
giving you a show to do this Fall. Corking book. French farce. Ran
two years in Paris. But what's the good, if you want the earth?"

"Always useful, the earth. Good thing to have."

"See here, if you'll fix up this show for half of one per cent, I'll
give you the other to do."

"You shouldn't slur your words so. For a moment I thought you said
'half of one per cent. One and a half of course you really said.

"If you won't take half, you don't get the other."

"All right," said Wally. "There are lots of other managers in New
York. Haven't you seen them popping about? Rich, enterprising men, and
all of them love me like a son."

"Make it one per cent," said Mr. Goble, "and I'll see if I can fix it
with Pilkington."

"One and a half."

"Oh, damn it, one and a half, then," said Mr. Goble morosely. "What's
the good of splitting straws?"

"Forgotten Sports of the Past--Splitting the Straw. All right. If you
drop me a line to that effect, legibly signed with your name, I'll
wear it next my heart. I shall have to go now. I have a date.
Good-bye. Glad everything's settled and everybody's happy."

For some moments after Wally had left, Mr. Goble sat hunched up in his
orchestra-chair, smoking sullenly, his mood less sunny than ever.
Living in a little world of sycophants, he was galled by the off-hand
way in which Wally always treated him. There was something in the
latter's manner which seemed to him sometimes almost contemptuous. He
regretted the necessity of having to employ him. There was, of course,
no real necessity why he should have employed Wally. New York was full
of librettists who would have