So saying, he obliterated the last two lines with a large and imperial
blue pencil.

'But it's impossible,' Henry protested. 'You've not read them.'

'I don't need to read them,' said John Pilgrim. 'I know they won't do. I
know the public won't have them. It must be give and take--give and take
between the characters. The ball must be kept in the air. Ah! The
theatre!' He paused, and gave Henry a piercing glance. 'Do you know how
I came to be _du theatre_--of the theatre, young man?' he demanded. 'No?
I will tell you. My father was an old fox-hunting squire in the Quorn
country. One of the best English families, the Pilgrims, related to the
Earls of Waverley. Poor, unfortunately. My eldest brother was brought up
to inherit the paternal mortgages. My second brother went into the army.
And they wanted me to go into the Church. I refused. "Well," said my
old father, "damn it, Jack! if you won't go to heaven, you may as well
ride straight to hell. Go on the stage." And I did, sir. I did. Idea for
a book there, isn't there?'

The blue-pencilling of the play proceeded. But whenever John Pilgrim
came to a long speech by Hubert, the part which he destined for himself,
he hesitated to shorten it. 'It's too long! It's too long!' he
whispered. 'I feel it's too long. But, somehow, that seems to me
essential to the action. I must try to carry it off as best I can.'

At the end of the second act Henry suggested an interval for lunch, but
John Pilgrim, opening Act III. accidentally, and pouncing on a line with
his blue pencil, exclaimed with profound interest:

'Ah! I remember noting this when I read it. You've got Hubert saying
here: "I know I'm a silly fool." Now, I don't think that's quite in the
part. You must understand that when I study a character I become that
character. Perhaps it would not be too much to say that I know more
about that character than the author does. I merge myself into the
character with an intense effort. Now, I can't see Hubert saying "I
know I'm a silly fool." Of course I've no objection whatever to the
words, but it seemed to me--you understand what I mean? Shall we strike
that out?'

A little farther on Henry had given Veronica a little epigram: 'When a
man has to stand on his dignity, you may be sure his moral stature is
very small.'

'That's more like the sort of thing that Hubert would say,' John Pilgrim
whispered. 'Women never say those things. It's not true to nature. But
it seems to f