another shot....

Yes, dear reader, you are right. They are going back to Polwollop.

It might be a good plan to leave them there.



THE COMPLETE DRAMATIST


I take it that every able-bodied man and woman in this country wants to
write a play. Since the news first got about that Orlando What's-his-name
made £50,000 out of "The Crimson Sponge," there has been a feeling that
only through the medium of the stage can literary art find its true
expression. The successful playwright is indeed a man to be envied.
Leaving aside for the moment the question of super-tax, the prizes which
fall to his lot are worth something of an effort. He sees his name
(correctly spelt) on 'buses which go to such different spots as
Hammersmith and West Norwood, and his name (spelt incorrectly) beneath
the photograph of somebody else in "The Illustrated Butler." He is a
welcome figure at the garden-parties of the elect, who are always ready
to encourage him by accepting free seats for his play; actor-managers nod
to him; editors allow him to contribute without charge to a symposium on
the price of golf balls. In short he becomes a "prominent figure in
London Society"--and, if he is not careful, somebody will say so.

But even the unsuccessful dramatist has his moments. I knew a young man
who married somebody else's mother, and was allowed by her fourteen
gardeners to amuse himself sometimes by rolling the tennis-court. It was