ope containing the
only Hope of the present decadent Period.

Every time the Work came back to him, with a brief printed Suggestion
that any Male Adult not physically disabled could make $1.75 a day with
a Shovel, the Author would appear at the Afternoon Club with another
scathing arraignment of certain Commercial Aspects of the Modern Stage.
He saw that it was over their Heads.

It was too darned Dainty for a Flat-Head who spelt Art with a lower-
case "a."

Yet it was so drenched and saturated and surcharged with Merit that he
resolved to have it done by Local Amateurs rather than see it lost to
the World.

The Music was written by Genius No. 2, working in a Piano Store. He
had been writing Great Music for years.

Whenever he heard something catchy, he went home and wrote it.

He was very Temperamental. That is, he got soused on about three, and,
while snooted, would deride Victor Herbert, thus proving that he was
Brilliant, though Erratic.

He had a trunkful of Tunes that were too scholarly for the Ikeys who
publish Popular Trash.

He fitted them on to the Libretto written by the Litry Guy.

When the two got together to run over the Book and Score, they were
sure enthusiastic.

The Author said the Lines were the best he had ever heard, and the
Composer said the Numbers were all Gems.

When the Home Talent bunch pulled the whole Affair before a mob of
Personal Friends and a subsidized City Editor, it was a Night of
Triumph for all concerned.

The trained and trusty Liars who, in every Community, wear Evening
Clothes and stand around at Receptions, all crowded up to the Author
and gave him the Cordial Mitt and boosted something scandalous.
He didn't know that all of them Knocked after they got around the Dutch
Lunch.

He went home, sobbing with Joy. That night he nominated himself for
the Hall of Fame and put it to a Vote, and there was not one Dissenting
Voice.

Every deluded Boob who can bat up Fungoes in his own Back Yard thinks
he is qualified to break into a Major League and line out Two-Baggers.

There was no holding the inspired Librettist and the talented young
Composer.

They knew that the eager Public in 48 States was waiting for the Best
Thing since "Robin Hood."

The Author went up to the City and found a Manager who had a Desk and a
lot of Courage and a varied experience in risking other people's Coin.
After the two Geniuses had mortgaged their Homes, the Impresario was
enabled t