a breath of air. Just a breath."

"We used to settle the universe in that little back restaurant
room," said Rieger. "Not one of use had ever got a thing into
print--and me, I haven't yet, for that matter. Editors still
hate my stuff. I've kept my oath, though; I've never
compromised--never for a moment."

"Yes," Canby responded feebly, wondering what the man was
talking about. Wanda Malone was surely on the stage, now. If he
turned, walked about thirty feet, and opened a door, he would
see her--hear her speaking!

"I've had news of your success," said Rieger. "I saw in the
paper that Talbot Potter was to put on a play you'd written. I
congratulate you. That man's a great artist, but he never seems
to get a good play; he's always much, much greater than his
part. I'm sure you've given him a real play at last. I remember
your principles: Realism; no compromise! The truth; no shirking
it, no tampering with it! You've struck out for that--you've
never compro--"

"No. Oh, no," said Canby, waking up a little. "Of course you've
got to make a little change or two in plays. You see, you've got
to make an actor like a play or he won't play it, and if he
won't play it you haven't got any play--you've only got some
typewriting."

Rieger set his foot upon the step and rested his left forearm
upon his knee, and attitude comfortable for street debate.