"Well, you see, there's a chap called Tommy--he's the hero--and he's just come back from Oxford, and he's awfully good-looking and decent and all that, and he's in love with Felicia, you see, and there's another chap called Reynolds, and, you see, Felicia's really the same as Phyllis, who's going to marry Samuel, and that's the disappointment, because Tommy wants to marry her, you see." "I see. That ought to be all right. You could almost get two operas out of that." "Oo, do you think so?" "Well, it depends how much Reynolds comes in. You didn't tell me what happened to him. Does he marry anybody?" "Oo, no. He comes in because I want somebody to tell the audience about Tommy when Tommy isn't there." (How well Bobby has caught the dramatic idea.) "I see. He ought to be very useful." "You see, the First Act's in a very grand restaurant, and Tommy comes in to have dinner, and he explains to Reynolds how he met Felicia on a boat, and she'd lost her umbrella, and he said, 'Is this your umbrella?' and it was, and they began to talk to each other, and then he was in love with her. And then he goes out, and then Reynolds tells the audience what an awfully decent chap Tommy is." "Why does he go out?" "Well, you see, Reynolds couldn't tell everybody what an awfully decent chap Tommy is if Tommy was there." (Of course he couldn't.) "And where's Felicia all this time?" "Oo, she doesn't come on: She's in the country with Samuel. You see, the Second Act is a grand country wedding, and Samuel and Phyllis are married, and Tommy is one of the guests, and he's very unhappy, but he tries not to show it, and he shoots himself." "Reynolds is there too, I suppose?" "Oo, I don't know yet." (He'll have to be, of course. He'll be wanted to tell the audience how unhappy Tommy is.) "And how does it end?" I asked. "Well, you see, when the wedding's over, Tommy sings a song about Felicia, and it ends up, 'Felicia, Felicia, Felicia,' getting higher each time--Short has to do that part, of course, but I've told him about it--and then the curtain comes down." "I see. And has Short written any of the music yet?" "He's got some of the notes. You see, I've only just got the plot, and I've written about two pages. I'm writing it in an exercise-book." A shadow passed suddenly across the author's brow. "And the sickening thing," he said, as he leant back in his chair and sipped his ginger-beer, "is that on the cover of it I've spelt Disappointment with two 's's.'" (The troubles of this literary life!) "Sickening," I agreed. . . . . .