"You've got some great people there. The comedy part is excellent."
"Ah, you don't laugh at comedy," I was bold enough to declare.
"Well, not when I'm buying it. Let me have it a moment."
He stepped forward with a look of interest in his eyes, and took the play.
"In Magnolia Land, by—what's this? By The Elephant? What do you mean by that?"
"My pen name."
"Oh, it's all right enough; odd, and that counts."
"And if you decide to take the play, I don't want my name known; and if any speculation should arise as to who the Elephant may be, you are to say you don't know, even if anyone should assert positively that I am the man. I want it to be a winner before I acknowledge it."
"All right. It will raise newspaper talk, and that would help. Yes, I'll agree to put it on if we can come to terms, and especially if you'll consent to consider the suggestions which I may send to you. A play, you know, is never finished. I'll read it over carefully and make notes. As this is your first venture you can't very well expect an advance royalty."
I had not expected it, and I did not ask it. Indeed, I was delighted with the prospect of a production, and I began to think that there must be something in my alliance with a man who never had made the acquaintance of a failure. We agreed upon a percentage of gross receipts, and went down stairs to dictate the contract to the hotel stenographer. And just as we were ready for his name the Senator walked in.