ay. The difficulty in the way of writing
a children's play is that Barrie was born too soon. Many people must
have felt the same about Shakespeare. We who came later have no
chance. What fun to have been Adam, and to have had the whole world of
plots and jokes and stories at one's disposal. Possibly, however, one
would never have thought of the things. Of course, there are still
others to come after us, but our works are not immortal, and they will
plagiarise us without protest. Yet I have hopes of _Make-Believe_, for
it had the honour of inaugurating Mr. Nigel Playfair's management at
the Lyric, Hammersmith. It is possible that the historians will
remember this, long after they have forgotten my plays; more likely
(alas!) that their history will be dated A.D. (After Drinkwater) and
that the honour will be given to "Abraham Lincoln." I like to think
that in this event my ghost will haunt them. _Make-Believe_ appeared
with a Prologue by the Manager, lyrics by C.E. Burton, and music by
Georges Dorlay. As the title-page states that this book is, in the
language of children's competitions, "my own unaided work," I print
the play with a new Prologue, and without the charming lyrics. But the
reader is told when he may burst into an improvisation of his own,
though I warn him that he will not make such a good show of it as did
my collaborators.

_Mr. Pim Passes By_ appeared at several theatres. Let us admit
cheerfully that it was a success--in spite of the warning of an
important gentleman in the theatrical world, who told me, while I was
writing it, that the public wouldn't stand any talk of bigamy, and
suggested that George and Olivia should be engaged only, not married.
(Hence the line, "Bigamy! . . . It _is_ an ugly word," in the Second
Act.) But, of course, nobody sees more clearly than I how largely its
success was due to Mr. Dion Boucicault and Miss Irene Vanbrugh.

_The Romantic Age_ appeared first at the Comedy, and (like _Mr. Pim_)
found, in its need, a home at The Playhouse. Miss Gladys Cooper has a
charming way of withdrawing into a nursing home whenever I want a
theatre, but I beg her not to make a habit of it. My plays can be
spared so much more easily than she. By the way, a word about
Melisande. Many of the critics said that nobody behaved like that
nowadays. I am terrified at the thought of arguing with them, for they
can always reduce me to blushes with a scornful, "My dear man, you
_can't_ do that in a _pl