“A tragedy in blank verse by Slump.... Phew!” De Hanna whistled. “They won’t want laughing-gas for that.... As for us, we go snacks in biz. I’ll find the Syndicate and the theater.”
“Oond I de blays, de sdage-management, oond de kass. De Chairman chemist friend I dold you of, I hof vith him already a gontract made.”
“Perhaps it is a bit shady,” said De Hanna punctiliously, “to exploit an idea that really is Slump’s property....”
“De chokes in Slump’s comic baber he sdole from a Chairman orichinal,” said Gormleigh pachydermatously. “It is nodding poot tid for tad!”
AIR
“Sweet are the uses of advertisement.”
The Professional Shakespeare.
“I believe in the value of an ad.,” said Mrs. Gudrun one night at the Paris Grand Opera, the Sceptre Theatre, London, being temporarily closed pending a new production. “Sarah believes in it, too—and that’s another of the remarkable points of resemblance between us. And for the sake of a puff, I’m willing to do all that a woman can.”
“Can’t do more,” said De Petoburgh, shaking his head owlishly. “Can’t possibly do more.”
“Shut up, De Peto. That woman’s ready to bite you for talking through her big aria,” commanded Mrs. Gudrun, with a slight glance of imperial indifference towards the infuriated prima donna. She dropped her opera-glasses into the orchestra with a crash, narrowly shaving the kettle-drums, and causing the cymbal-player to miss his cue, as she continued: “But, though I’m generally keen to see the pay-end of a big notion, this idea of Bobby Bolsover’s won’t do for macaroons. Not that I’m lacking in what the Americans call horse-grit—wasn’t I on De Brin’s automobile when he won the Paris-Rouen race with his Gohard Cup Defender in nineteen-three? That was one hairbreadth escape, from the revolver shot that started us—you remember Bobby put in ball cartridge by mistake—to the three flying kilometers at the finish, which we did on one wheel, as the brakes refused to act. And I’ve hung by one coupling over a raging American river in my own drawing-room Pullman saloon. But when it comes to dangling in a little basket that weighs next to nothing from a bag of gas that weighs nothing at all—I’m not taking any, and I don’t care who knows it. A captive balloon’s another thing. You’re cabled and sand-bagged and what not, and, unless you jump out, nothing can happen to you. But——Do see who’s knocking at the door!”