“None of us can act to save our lives,” Amy Kendal superfluously informed us.
“I cannot write a play,” said Bill Patch very firmly indeed. “But we could get up something musical, if you liked, and write our own libretto, and just set it to any tune that fits. I’ve seen that done very successfully at short notice, and it’s all there’ll be time for, if Lady Flower’s dance is to be three weeks from to-day.”
“Fancy your saying that you couldn’t write a play! I’m sure you could write a play, Captain Patch,” said Mrs. Kendal amiably. “If a book, why not a play?”
Bill Patch looked rather desperate, and said he didn’t know why not, but he couldn’t, and Mumma remarked again, three or four times, that she was quite sure he could easily write a play.
“Miles, why don’t you stage-manage it for them?” said Mary Ambrey. “They’ll want someone....”
In the end, they settled it that way, after talking until nearly eight o’clock.
The last thing I heard, as everyone took leave of us at the same moment, was Mumma reiterating, pleasantly but steadily, her conviction (a) that it would be difficult to get enough men, and (b) that she was quite sure Captain Patch could easily write a play.
Chapter Five
Two days later, Bill Patch and Mrs. Fazackerly came to consult us about their joint production.
“It isn’t a play,” Captain Patch said, his red hair standing up on end. “Whatever Mrs. Kendal may think about it, I cannot write a play. But we’ve strung something together, more or less—mostly a few songs.”