s rich enough in sense of humour, told him that he had
better eat the birds promptly in order that corruption might not be
added to bribery.

In the fact that, except in rare cases, no efforts are made to bribe
London critics there is an agreeable tribute to their honesty. A good
many thousands of pounds are at stake; there are not a dozen critics
worth bribing; the production budget would only require a small
proportionate increase to provide quite a handsome sum to the dozen, yet
the offer is not made.

The uncharitable will say that there are not a dozen, or even two or
three, worth bribing; yet, although from time to time managers, or
rather actor-managers, allege that the critics have little influence,
nearly all the managers, actor-managers included, occasionally admit
that even if the critics cannot make plays succeed they may be able to
kill some.

After all, a failure may be more or less disastrous: the receipts of a
piece which runs only three weeks may amount to a thousand pounds more
or less; and, using a slightly Irish phrase, the three weeks may be
either a fortnight or a month, during which there are gross takings
greater or less, while the disbursements are a constant figure. Probably
the critics could not kill a production--the word "production" is ugly,
but needed to cover both play and performance--which has real elements
of popularity in it, assuming that the management has the bold wisdom to
run it against bad notices. Moreover, the most amiable criticisms in the
world could do no more than mitigate the disaster of an essentially
unpopular production.

Some managers place a rather extravagant reliance upon our fairness. Not
only do they dissemble their love for some of us, but they even kick us
upstairs, and some of us are compelled to pretend that we can see a play
better from the dress circle than the stalls. On a first night in
certain theatres there are unimportant deadheads in the best seats of
the stalls, and the representatives of great English newspapers are
hidden behind pillars or put in what, after the first night, will be
fourth or fifth rows of the pit, or sent to Coventry in the dress
circle--sometimes back rows of it--and one may well feel proud to belong
to a craft in the honesty of which the managers have such profound
confidence.

There are moments when the thought comes that managers put some of us
into very bad seats because they feel that, conscious of unmerited
ill-treat