“Well, all I meant was that it wasn’t the sort of thing I cared for myself. The public will eat it! Take it from me, the time is just about ripe for a revival of comic opera.”
“This one will want all the reviving you can give it. Better use a pulmotor.”
“But that long boob, that Pilkington … he would never stand for my handing you one and a half per cent.”
“I thought you were the little guy who arranged things round here.”
“But he’s got money in the show.”
“Well, if he wants to get any out, he’d better call in somebody to rewrite it. You don’t have to engage me if you don’t want to. But I know I could make a good job of it. There’s just one little twist the thing needs and you would have quite a different piece.”
“What’s that?” enquired Mr Goble casually.
“Oh, just a little … what shall I say?… a little touch of what-d’you-call-it and a bit of thingummy. You know the sort of thing! That’s all it wants.”
Mr Goble gnawed his cigar, baffled.
“You think so, eh?” he said at length.