“But don’t you see, old dunce, that this is a thing no one can touch?”
“In that case there’s an end of the matter.” Pomfret’s jaw fell three inches. “The law won’t allow it to be produced in London.”
“Then so much the worse for London.”
“No doubt,” said the cynic at the breakfast table. “But seriously, if you can persuade your crackpot to be practical we may have a pretty big thing. Honeybone, the composer, has seen the music. He says it’s great, and he thinks that theme in the second act might go all over the world.”
“Well, we shall see.”
“But you won’t, my friend, I assure you, unless you can make the man hear reason.”
“We have his last word, I’m afraid,” said Brandon gravely, as he put the letter back in his pocket. “And we mustn’t forget that there’s a great purpose at the back of it all. I believe this work to be inspired, just as the gospels are inspired—although I own that a month ago I daren’t have made any such statement.”
Pomfret opened round eyes of wary amazement “Well, well,” he said. And he rose from the table and offered his visitor a cigarette.
XXXVI
“Well, well,” said Robert Pomfret. At that moment he was a very puzzled man.