"Yes, thou sayest thou hast seen all the plays I have produced. Hast thou not noticed that I have a besom in all my plays?"
"Aha! Yes, I remember," said Pinchas.
"An old garden-besom it is," said the actor-manager. "And it is the cause of all my luck." He took up a house-broom that stood in the corner. "In comedy I sweep the floor with it—so—and the people grin; in comic-opera I beat time with it as I sing—so—and the people laugh; in farce I beat my mother-in-law with it—so—and the people roar; in tragedy I lean upon it—so—and the people thrill; in melodrama I sweep away the snow with it—so—and the people burst into tears. Usually I have my plays written beforehand and the authors are aware of the besom. Dost thou think," he concluded doubtfully, "that thou hast sufficient ingenuity to work in the besom now that the play is written?"
Pinchas put his finger to his nose and smiled reassuringly.
"It shall be all besom," he said.
"And when wilt thou read it to me?"
"Will to-morrow this time suit thee?"
"As honey a bear."
"Good, then!" said Pinchas; "I shall not fail."
The door closed upon him. In another moment it reopened a bit and he thrust his grinning face through the aperture.