man of
forty, with an attractive intellectual face, is seen standing by
the dining-table in the inner room, draining his liqueur-glass,
with_ WALTER COZENS _to the right of him, lighting a cigarette._
WALTER _is a few years younger than his friend, moderately
good-looking, with fine, curly brown hair and a splendid silky
moustache. His morning-clothes are conspicuously well-cut--he is
evidently something of a dandy;_ HECTOR _wears a rather shabby
dress-suit, his boots are awkward, and his tie ready-made._
BETTY, _a handsome woman of thirty, wearing a very pretty
tea-gown, is talking to the maid at the back of the dining-room._

HECTOR _puts down his glass and comes into the sitting-room,
followed by_ WALTER. HECTOR _is puffing at a short, stumpy little
black cigar._

HECTOR [_Talking as he comes through, continuing the conversation--he
walks to the fireplace and stands with his back to it._] I tell you, if
I'd known what it meant, I'd never have taken the job! Sounded so fine, to
be reader of plays for the Duke's Theatre--adviser to the great Mr.
Honeyswill! And then--when the old man said I was to go to all the first
nights--why, I just chortled! "It's the first nights that show you the
grip of the thing--that teach you most"--he said. Teach you! As though
there were anything to learn! Oh my stars! I tell you, it's a dog's life!

WALTER. [_Sitting to left of the round table._] I'd change places with
you, sonny.

HECTOR. You would, eh? That's what they all say! Four new plays this week,
my lad--one yesterday, one to-day--another to-morrow, and the night after!
All day long I'm _reading_ plays--and I spend my nights seeing 'em! D'you
know I read about two thousand a year? Divide two thousand by three
hundred and sixty five. A dog's life--that's what it is!

WALTER. Better than being a stockbroker's clerk--you believe _me!_

HECTOR. Is it? I wish _you_ could have a turn at it, my bonny boy! _Your_
hair'd go grey, like mine! And look here--what are the plays to-day?
They're either so chock-full of intellect that they send you to sleep--or
they reek of sentiment till you yearn for the smell of a cabbage!

WALTER. Well, you've the change, at any rate.

HECTOR. [_Snorting._] Change? By Jove, give me a Punch and Judy show on
the sands--or performing dogs! Plays--I'm sick of 'em! And look here--the
one I'm off to to-night. It's adapted from the French--we