The old actor’s hand sought his flowing tie with an affectionate touch. “There’s something in what you say, Manning.” “There’s a lot in it. Bar a parson or a Silver King fixture, you’re not the type for modern parts. Then, again—would you cut your hair short? Not you!” “No,” said Eliphalet. “Such as I am I have always been. I should certainly decline to transfigure myself.” “There you are, then! Stick to the old stuff, I say.” “But I have a yearning for the new.” Manning shrugged his shoulders. “You’re the boss,” he said. “I want to do this play, Manning—very much indeed.” Suddenly he rose dramatically. “Manning!” he exclaimed. “If I am unsuited to the rôle of a Doctor of Medicine, why not alter him to a Doctor of Divinity?” “Mean changing the whole thing.” “Well, why not, and what of it?” “Then how about the ‘Pauline’?” said Manning, opening a fresh field of opposition. “None of our girls ’ud do, and they’re all on long contracts.” “Miss Morries.” “Tss! She’s _ingénue_—Sweet Nancy—sun-bonnet and long strings. She’d never get away with that cold-storage class of goods.” Eliphalet drew patterns on the table-cloth with a long sensitive forefinger. “It should not be difficult,” he hazarded, “to alter her part as well.” “If the author consents?” “That is a point we can decide at half-past four. Please don’t throw any more cold water on the scheme. I am really anxious to be associated with modern thought, and this forceful young man has shown me the way—‘A Man’s Way.’” At precisely four-twenty-nine the forceful young man in question was ringing the bell of Number 15, St. James’s Place, and as the skeleton clock on the half-landing proclaimed the half-hour he was ushered into Mr. Cardomay’s august presence. If Eliphalet expected to see in Mr. Lennard a pattern of masculine virility he was grievously mistaken. Nothing could have been more ineffective or retiring than the young man’s demeanour. So strange is the working of the human mind that this outward display of weakness at once affected Eliphalet’s appreciation of “A Man’s Way.” He felt that it was impossible that originality and power could flow from such a source. Subconsciously he was offended that that high, narrow forehead and the thin, nervous hands before him could have produced in literature such vigorous characteristics. And while these thoughts were passing through his brain Mr. Theodore Lennard stuttered out his apologies and excuses for intruding. “Not at all,” said Eliphalet. “I am very pleased to see you. Sit down, and we will have some tea.” It was not until tea had come and gone that the subject of the play was broached. Freddie Manning was the one to introduce it, and he did so as though it were of secondary interest to a tooth he was picking with the whisker of a recently-devoured prawn. “To be sure,” echoed Eliphalet. “The play! Well, Mr. Lennard, we have read it and, with certain reservations, we like it.”