what I've constantly insisted in print: Rostand. You commission
Rostand to do one of his magnificent things for you and we serious
men will do our part. Now, my duh good chap, I must be getting on,
or the little gel will be telephoning all round the town!" He turned
to the door, pausing upon the threshold. "Now, don't let any of
these cheap little fellows foist any of their cheap little plays on
you. This for my stirrup-cup: you cable Rostand tomorrow. Drop the
cheap little things and cable Rostand. Tell him I suggested it, if
you like." He disappeared in the hallway, calling back: "My duh
Pottuh, good-night!" And the outer door was heard to close.

Canby, feeling a natural prejudice against this personage,
glanced uneasily at Talbot Potter's face and was surprised to
find that fine bit of modelling contorted with rage. The sight
of this emotion was reassuring, but its source was a mystery,
for it had seemed to the playwright that the wasp-waisted
youth's remarks--though horribly damaging to the cheap little
Canbys with their cheap little "Roderick Hanscoms"--were on the
whole rather flattering to the subject of them, and betokened a
real interest in his career.

"Ass!" said Potter.

Canby exhaled a breath of relief. He began to feel that it might
be possible to like this man.

"Ass!" said Potter, striding up and down the room. "Ass! Ass!
Ass! Ass!"

And Canby felt easier and happier. He foresaw, too, that there