"You are delightful," he says. "If I cannot get mental stimulus from _you_, then I am indeed uninspired! Nevertheless, I am not going to do as Rosenblum requests. I have never written anything salacious or even suggestive, and I never will! Furthermore, I don't believe Miss D'Lys or _any_ actress likes to play that kind of a part. It is managers of the Rosenblum type that force those rôles on them--callous, dollar-grabbing, cynical pessimists, who take it for granted that all women are bad!" "Any man who takes it for granted that all women are bad is no pessimist, Guy," I says thoughtfully. "He's an optimist!" "Great!" says Guy, slapping the table with his hand. "May I use that epigram in my play?" "I'll loan it to you," I tell him. "If I break out with the writing rash myself some day, I'll want it back. And now let me hear some of the ideas you tore up in disgust--maybe one of them is the real McCoy. Trot 'em out and I'll give you my honest opinion." Well, he did and I did. Guy rattled off a half-dozen plots, which failed to thicken and merely sickened. Honestly, they had everything in 'em but the Battle of Gettysburg, and really they were fearful--about as new and exciting as a beef stew, which is just what I told him, being a truthful girl. Guy sighs and looks desperate. "Gladys," he says, "I simply _must_ have a play ready to open the Thalia in less than eight weeks! You know that my interest in playwriting is anything but mercenary--good heavens, I have more money than I know what to do with. What I want is to see my name on another Broadway success, and I'm absolutely barren of ideas! I've simply struck a dry spell, such as all writers do, occasionally. At this moment I'd give twenty-five thousand dollars for an original plot!" I drew a deep breath and stared at him. "Don't kid about that kind of money, Guy," I says solemnly. "And--don't tempt me!" "I never was more serious in my life!" he quickly assures me. "Why, have _you_ an idea? By Jove, Gladys, if you if _have_--you are the goddess from the machine----" "Be of good cheer," I interrupt. "I'll go home and sleep over matters, which is what you better do, too--you look like you fell out of a well or something, really! I'll see you tomorrow. I don't think I'll have a plot for you by then, but----" "Naturally--still, if you even have a suggestion that I might use," says Guy eagerly, "I----" "I say I don't _think_ I'll have a plot by then, I know I'll have one!" I finish. And I did, really!