The trials and tribulations of the gawky young dramatist from the Sucker State is but a slightly exaggerated and caricaturish recital of the difficulties that have been lying in the path of American dramatists ever since we made anything like an attempt at a distinctively national dramatic literature. It has been all along, pretty much the same with the young American who wrote a play as it was with the seedy English authors of Sheridan's time. Fresh from his garret, and as hungry for fame and fortune as he was badly in need of a meal, the young man who had written a drama appeared in shabby-genteel attire at the door of the manager's office, and after introducing himself, handed over his manuscript, which was tossed into a drawer or box, while the poor author, trembling with agitation, was told to return in a week or month. You may be sure the days and nights were nervously passed until the appointed time rolled around. Then, bright and early, still hopeful and still hungry, the author was at the manager's door. "Well, sir, what do you wish?" was the abrupt and startling greeting accorded the author. "I suppose you have read my play"-- "What play?" The author names it and the manager sternly says: "No, sir, I haven't read it and know nothing about it. When did you leave it here?" "A month ago, sir." "Well I don't think it would do me any good to read it. I haven't either the time or the inclination. If you want it search in that box, and if you can't find your own you can take your choice of any of those in there."