"Not Good-night and Good-by, I hope," laughed Lancelot.
"Yes—the very one!" cried Peter, astonished.
"Himmel!" groaned Lancelot, in comic despair.
"You know it already?" inquired Peter, eagerly.
"No; only I can't open a paper without seeing the advertisement and the sickly sentimental refrain."
"You see how famous it is, anyway," said Peter. "And if you want to strike—er—to make a hit you'll just take that song and do a deliberate imitation of it."
"Wha-a-a-t!" gasped Lancelot.
"My dear chap, they all do it. When the public cotton to a thing, they can't have enough of it."
"But I can write my own rot, surely."
"In the face of all this litter of 'Ops.' I daren't dispute that for a moment. But it isn't enough to write rot—the public want a particular kind of rot. Now just play that over—oblige me." He laid both hands on Lancelot's shoulders in amicable appeal.