fumbled their lines as if they had never read English before. Now and then the manager appealed to the authors for the reading of a line, or an intonation, and Bambi always answered. At the end of one scene the man who was to play the young musician came to them.
“I’ve been thinking over my part, Mrs. Jocelyn, and I think that if you could write in a scene right here, in act first, to let me explain to the old fiddler my reason for being in this situation—”
“Oh, no, you mustn’t explain. The whole point of the first act is that you explain nothing.”
“Yes, but it would play better,” he began, in the patronizing tone always used to newcomers in the theatre.
“I can’t help that. I cannot spoil the truth of a whole character, even if it does play better,” said Bambi, smiling sweetly.
The actor took it up with the stage manager after rehearsal, and was referred to the authors.
“These new playwrights always have to learn at our expense,” he said, importantly.
“Can’t be helped. We have to use playwrights, however irritating they are,” remarked the stage manager.
