The prospect of spending several hours on the esplanade somewhat depressed Mr. Lennard, but he was rescued from such an unpleasant necessity by the opportune arrival of Freddie Manning, who thrust a long arm through the little window of the doorkeeper’s box and seized a handful of miscellaneous correspondence. Realising he was in the presence of a man of importance, Mr. Theodore Lennard coughed discreetly. “Yes?” said Manning, shuffling the letters from one hand to another. “I—Good morning—afternoon—my name is—or rather, I was hoping to see Mr. Cardomay.” “What about?” Mr. Lennard stuttered, and after a period of incoherence produced Eliphalet’s note and handed it to the stage-manager, who read it through and frowned. “I see,” he said. “Well, the Guv’nor’s busy at the moment. He’s—er—working on a play we shall probably be producing.” (This was pure fiction, or, as Manning would have said, a business stroke.) “If you come round to 15 St. James’s Place at 4.30, I’ll try to get you a hearing. Morning.” And tilting his hat well over his right eye, Manning hurried off in the direction of his master’s abode. He found Eliphalet at lunch, and started abruptly with: “What’s this business about Theodore Lennard, Guv’nor? You’re never seriously thinking of doing that play of his—are you?” Eliphalet consumed a mouthful of Bartlett Pear anointed with Bird’s Custard before replying: “When I wrote to him last night I firmly intended to do so—but this morning I am a little undecided.” “The author’s turned up, and he’s coming along here at 4.30.” “Dear me! Is he indeed?” “So you’d better prepare a choke-off right away.” Eliphalet mused. “Why should I choke him off, Manning? You said yourself it was a good play.” “I said it wasn’t too bad,” corrected Manning exactly. “Besides, I thought you’d fixed on the Lyceum piece.” “Which is exactly like every other drama we have ever produced.” “Well, we’re exactly like all the other characters we’ve ever played. No good changing our play if we can’t change ourselves to match it.” Eliphalet looked sad. “But why can’t we change ourselves?” Freddie Manning quoted briefly the proverb of the leopard and the Ethiopian. “You’re not very charitable this morning, Manning.” “This is a business talk.” “Then if we ourselves are immutable we must change the substance of the play.” “Or cut it out and do the other.” “But ‘A Man’s Way’ is so original,” came from Eliphalet, with a plaintive note. Freddie stuck his hands deep into his pockets. “Granted,” he began, “but it don’t fit us. It don’t fit us anywhere. Look at the leading part—a smart Harley Street surgeon! Ever seen a Harley Street surgeon, Guv’nor?” “No, but I could go to Harley Street, and for two guineas——” “It ’ud cost you more than that before you’d done. Why, Guv’nor, you’d have to turn yourself inside out. You couldn’t wear the clothes—and you couldn’t play the part in the clothes you do wear.”