Mr. Bingle did not reply. A sudden cause for rejoicing had sprung up,
occupying all of his attention. For three months, at least, he would
be free to call Kathleen his own, and for three months he could go to
the bank without being disturbed by the workings of his own
conscience--for after all, a visible Mr. Force would be something of a
tax upon his sense of honour.

Flanders waited for a moment and then began winding his watch.

"Ahem!" he coughed.

"News to me," repeated Mr. Bingle, rising above his reflections.

"By the way, sir, it may interest you to know that I'm getting along
nicely with the play."

"Good! I'm glad to hear it. They tell me there is a great deal of
money to be made out of a good play."

"There's a lot to be made out of a successful play. It doesn't follow
that it has to be a good one, you know," said Flanders, didactically.
"I am terribly keen on finishing it and getting a production as soon
as possible. It means a--well, you know what it means to me, sir.
These managers are a rum lot. Four-fifths of them don't know a good
play from a bad one. I suppose I'll have a hard time placing it,
because I don't believe it will be bad enough at the outset for them
to accept it on sight. I understand it is a theory among managers that
if a play is unspeakably bad they can hire some one else to rewrite it
from beginning to end, and make a success of it. Adversely, if it
should happen to be a good play, they don't know what it's all about