“In the first place,” Potter said with sudden vehemence, “it lacks Punch! Where's your Punch in this play, Mr. Canby? Where is there any Punch whatever in the whole four acts? Surely, after this rehearsal, you don't mean to claim that the first act has one single ounce of Punch in it!” “But you've twisted this act all round,” the unhappy young man protested. “The way you have it I can't tell what it's got to it. I meant Roderick Hanscom to be a disagr--” “Mr. Canby,” said the star, rising impressively, “if we played that act the way you wrote it, we'd last just about four minutes of the opening night. You gave me absolutely nothing to do! Other people talked at me and I had to stand there and be talked at for twenty minutes straight, like a blithering ninny!” “Well, as you have it, the other actors have to stand there like ninnies,” poor Canby retorted miserably, “while you talk at them almost the whole time.” “My soul!” Potter struck the table with the palm of his hand. “Do you think anybody's going to pay two dollars to watch me listen to my company for three hours? No, my dear man, your play's got to give me something to do! You'll have to rewrite the second and third acts. I've done what I could for the first, but, good God! Mr. Canby, I can't write your whole play for you! You'll have to get some Punch into it or we'll never be able to go on with it.” “I don't know what you mean,” said the playwright helplessly. “I never did know what people mean by Punch.” “Punch? It's what grips 'em,” Potter returned with vehemence. “Punch is what keeps 'em sitting on the edge of their seats. Big love scenes! They've got Punch. Or a big scene with a man. Give me a big scene with a man.” He illustrated his meaning with startling intensity, crouching and seizing an imaginary antagonist by the throat, shaking him and snarling between his clenched teeth, while his own throat swelled and reddened: “Now, damn you! You dog! So on, so on, so on! Zowie!” Suddenly his figure straightened. “Then change. See?” He became serene, almost august. “'No! I will not soil these hands with you. So on, so on, so on. I give you your worthless life. Go!'” He completed his generosity by giving Canby and Tinker the smile, after which he concluded much more cheerfully: “Something like that, Mr. Canby, and we'll have some real Punch in your play.” “But there isn't any chance for that kind of a scene in it,” the playwright objected. “It's the study of an egoist, a disagree--” “There!” exclaimed Potter. “That's it! Do you think people are going to pay two dollars to see Talbot Potter behave like a cad? They won't do it; they pay two dollars to see me as I am--not pretending to be the kind of man your 'Roderick Hanscom' was. No, Mr. Canby, I accepted your play because it has got quite a fair situation in the third act, and because I thought I saw a chance in it to keep some of the strength of 'Roderick Hanscom' and yet make him lovable.”