“I’ve come to see you about a play.”
“Oh, you’re a writer? What have you done?”
“Several plays, and some poetry.”
“Nix on the poetry. Who brought out the plays?”
“Nobody yet. I am just beginning to offer them.”
“What sort of stuff is it?”
“It’s a dramatic handling of the feminist movement.”
“What’s that?”
“The emancipation of woman.”
“I hadn’t heard about it. Is your stuff funny?”
“No. It is a serious presentation of an unique revolution—”
“Well, believe me, that high-brow stuff is on the toboggan. I knew it couldn’t last. I gave it to them when they demanded it, but I am cutting it out now. Haven’t you got a good melodrama, or a funny show?”
“I have not,” superbly.
“Say, do you know any Jews? I got a great idea for a Jew play that would take like the measles if some fellow would work it up. Pile of money in it.”
Jarvis rose, furious.
“It is so apparent that we have nothing to say to each other that I’ll bid you good morning.”
