"The gods of things-as-they-ought-to-be have awakened to the injustice of my terrestrial treatment, Bob," he announced gleefully. "I have been made theatrical critic for the Early Bird, and a story of mine has been accepted by the Piccadilly Magazine."
"Good news, old boy; I congratulate you. What is the reason for this sudden discovery of your merits?"
"Moxton's murder, I think. My editor was pleased with the blood-and-thunder report I gave of it."
"Hence he sets you to criticise the drama," said Ellis, drily.
"I suppose so. Perhaps he thinks that if I can describe the murder of a human being I can deal with the slaughter of drama and comedy by incompetent actors."
"The profession would be flattered by your preconceived ideas of their capabilities, Harry."
"Nonsense! I am thinking of extreme cases only. But now that I have a better salary I can help you, Bob. I shall be like the Auvergnat carrier in Balzac's story, and aid a great physician to reach his rightful position for the benefit of humanity."
"Thank you, Harry, but I fear I am not sufficiently gifted to deserve your self-denial. Besides, I have been discovered also."
"What? You have a patient?"
"Yes, a morbid lady with nerves. She saw my name in connection with the discovery of that poor devil's body, and came to see me about her own trouble."