'Nay--not wasted. Good work--true work--is never wasted. You ought to have learned much--very much--from this two years' labour. And, as for putting it into the fire'--he laughed genially--'I believe I can show you a better way than that. Look here, Archie--I call you by your Christian name because I have so often talked about you: we are old friends--I should be really sorry to think that you had actually lost all your time. Give me this play: I will take it--skeleton, scenario, dialogue--all, just as it is--the mere rough, crude, shapeless thing that it is. I will buy it of you--useless as it is. I will give you fifty pounds down for it, and it shall become my property--my own, absolutely. I shall then, perhaps, recast and rewrite the play from beginning to end. When I have made a play out of it worth putting on the stage--when, in short, I have made it my own play--I may possibly bring it out--possibly. Most likely, however, not. There's a chance for you, Archie, such as you will never get again! Fifty pounds down--think of that! Fifty pounds!' The dramatist laid his hand, for reply, upon his papers. 'If it should ever be brought out,' this good Samaritan went on, 'you will come and see it acted. What a splendid lesson it will be for you in the art of writing drama!' The dramatist's fingers tightened on his manuscript. 'Of course you must consider your sister,' the considerate critic continued. 'She has been able to make a few pounds of late, having been so fortunate as to attract the interest of... one who is not wholly without influence. Should that interest fail or be withdrawn you might have--both of you--to suffer much privation. The luxuries which you now enjoy would be impossible--and----' 'Oh, you kill me!' cried the unfortunate youth. 'Shall I leave you for the present? My offer is always open--on the condition of secrecy--one is bound to keep business transactions secret. I will leave you now. There is no hurry. Think it over carefully and send me an answer.' He went out and shut the door. The young dramatist, I am ashamed to say, fell to tears and weeping over the destruction of his hopes. 'Effie,' said Mr. Feilding, 'I have talked with your brother. He has read some of the play to me----' 'And you think?' she asked him eagerly. He shook his head mournfully. 'The boy has much to learn--very much. Meantime, the play itself is worthless--quite worthless.' 'Oh! Poor boy! And he has built so much upon it.' 'Yes--they all do at the outset. Mind, Effie, he is a clever boy: he will do. Meantime, he must study.' 'Oh! Poor Archie! Poor boy!' 'It seems hard, doesn't it, not to succeed all at once? Yet Browning and Tennyson and Thackeray were all well on for forty before they succeeded. Why should he despair? Meantime I have made him a little offer.' 'Oh! Mr. Feilding, you are always so good.'