“Why don’t more writers write for the theatre, Gurdy? Ever been in Billy Loeffler’s office? Five thousand bootlickers and hussies squatted all over the place. I sent that fellow Moody that wrote the ‘Great Divide’ to see Loeffler. Had to set in the office with a bunch of song carpenters from tin pan alley and a couple of tarts while Loeffler was prob’ly talkin’ to some old souse he’d knew in Salt Lake City. And then Loeffler looks at the play and asks is there a soobrette part in it for some tomtit his brother was keepin’! A writer’s got a thin skin, ain’t he? Here Mark gets mad because this writer Mencken says managers are a bunch of hogs. Well, ain’t they? Four or five ain’t. Sure, they’re hogs. Human beings. Hogs. Same as the rest of mankind. Good thing Christ died to save us.” He contemplated redemption through the cigarette smoke. His Irish nurse crossed herself in a corner. Carlson went on, “Say, that feller Russell Mark’s got drillin’ that English comedy is all right. Was in to see me, yesterday. Good head. Knows his job. Says this Rand pinhead is raisin’ Cain at rehearsals. Better drop in there and see what goes on. Mark’s so busy with that Cuban play he ain’t got time.” Rehearsals of “Todgers Intrudes” went on at a small theatre below Forty Second Street. Gurdy drifted into the warm place and watched the director, Russell, working. On the bare stage five people progressed from point to point of the tepid comedy. Russell, a stooped, bald man of thirty-five, sat near the orchestra pit. Gurdy had watched the rehearsal ten minutes before Russell spoke. “Don’t cross, there, Miss Marryatt. Stand still.” Then, “still, please, Mr. Rand.” On the stage Cosmo Rand gave the director a stare, shrugged and strolled toward the cockney comedian, the intrusive Todgers of the plot. Russell said nothing until a long speech finished, then, “You’re all rushing about like cooties. Go back to Miss Marryatt’s entrance and take all your lines just as you stand after she’s sat down. Dora isn’t pronounced Durrer, Mr. Hughes.” Gurdy was thinking of the long patience needed in this trade when Russell spoke sharply, “Mr. Rand, will you please stand still!” “My God,” said Rand, “must I keep telling you that I played this part in--” “Will you be so good as to stand still?” Rand continued his lines. Gurdy walked down and slipped into a chair beside the director, aware that the players stiffened as soon as they saw Mark’s nephew. The handsome Miss Marryatt began to act. Cosmo Rand sent out his speeches with a pleasant briskness. Russell murmured, “Glad you happened in, Bernamer. This was getting beyond me. School children,” and the act ended. “Three o’clock, please,” said the director. The small company trickled out of the theatre. Russell lit his pipe and stretched, grinning. “Rand’s very capable and a nice fellow enough but he’s difficult. Fine looking, isn’t he? Come to lunch with me.”