rld of the theatre woke up suddenly and simultaneously to
the colossal fact of Henry's genius. One day they had never thought of
him; the next they could think of nothing else. Every West End manager,
except two, wrote to him to express pleasure at the prospect of
producing a play by him; the exceptional two telegraphed. Henry,
however, had decided upon his arrangements. He had grasped the important
truth that there was only one John Pilgrim in the world.

He threw the twenty-five chapters of _The Plague-Spot_ into a scheme of
four acts, and began to write a drama without the aid of Mr. Alfred
Doxey. It travelled fast, did the drama; and the author himself was
astonished at the ease with which he put it together out of little
pieces of the novel. The scene of the third act was laid in the
gaming-saloons of Monte Carlo; the scene of the fourth disclosed the
deck of a luxurious private yacht at sea under a full Mediterranean
moon. Such flights of imagination had hitherto been unknown in the
serious drama of London. When Henry, after three months' labour, showed
the play to John Pilgrim, John Pilgrim said:

'This is the play I have waited twenty years for!'

'You think it will do, then?' said Henry.

'It will enable me,' observed John Pilgrim, 'to show the British public
what acting is.'

Henry insisted on an agreement which gave him ten per cent. of the gross
receipts. Soon after the news of the signed contract had reached the
press, Mr. Louis Lewis, the English agent of Lionel Belmont, of the
United States Theatrical Trust, came unostentatiously round to Ashley
Gardens, and obtained the American rights on the same terms.

Then Pilgrim said that he must run through the manuscript with Henry,
and teach him those things about the theatre which he did not know.
Henry arrived at Prince's at eleven o'clock, by appointment; Mr. Pilgrim
came at a quarter to twelve.

'You have the sense _du theatre_, my friend,' said Pilgrim, turning over
the leaves of the manuscript. 'That precious and incommunicable
gift--you have it. But you are too fond of explanations. Now, the public
won't stand explanations. No long speeches. And so whenever I glance
through a play I can tell instantly whether it is an acting play. If I
see a lot of speeches over four lines long, I say, Dull! Useless! Won't
do! For instance, here. That speech of Veronica's while she's at the
piano. Dull! I see it. I feel it. It must go! The last two lines must
go!'