ater syphon, it might help
the piece."

I wrote him his soda-water scene, I am glad to remember, and insisted
upon it, in spite of a good deal of opposition. Some of the critics
found fault with the incident, as lacking in originality. But Marmaduke
Trevor was quite right, it did help a little.

Our return journey was an exaggerated repetition of our morning drive.
Our low comedian produced hideous noises from the horn, and entered into
contests of running wit with 'bus drivers--a decided mistake from his
point of view, the score generally remaining with the 'bus driver.
At Hammersmith, seizing the opportunity of a block in the traffic,
he assumed the role of Cheap Jack, and, standing up on the back seat,
offered all our hats for sale at temptingly low prices.

"Got any ideas out of them?" asked Hodgson, when the time came for us to
say good-night.

"I'm thinking, if you don't mind," I answered, "of going down into the
country and writing the piece quietly, away from everybody."

"Perhaps you are right," agreed Hodgson. "Too many cooks--Be sure and
have it ready for the autumn."

I wrote it with some pleasure to myself amid the Yorkshire Wolds, and
was able to read it to the whole company assembled before the close of
the season. My turning of the last page was followed by a dead silence.
The leading lady was the first to speak. She asked if the clock upon the
mantelpiece could be relied upon; because, if so, by leaving at once,
she could just catch her train. Hodgson, consulting his watch, thought,
if anything, it was a little fast. The leading lady said she hoped it
was, and went. The only comforting words were spoken by the tenor. He
recalled to our mind a successful comic opera produced some years before
at the Philharmonic. He distinctly remembered that up to five minutes
before the raising of the curtain everybody had regarded it as rubbish.
He also had a train to catch. Marmaduke Trevor, with a covert shake of
the hand, urged me not to despair. The low comedian, the last to go,
told Hodgson he thought he might be able to do something with parts
of it, if given a free hand. Hodgson and I left alone, looked at each
other.

"It's no good," said Hodgson, "from a box-office point of view. Very
clever."

"How do you know it is no good from a box-office point of view?" I
ventured to enquire.

"I never made a mistake in my life," replied Hodgson.

"You have produced one or two failures," I reminded him.

"