The Great Man sat down obediently and promptly collapsed upon the floor.
"You shu'n't have sat on a chair with two legs gone," said William impatiently. "You've broke it altogether now. You can manage all right if you try one with only one gone. We're jus' going to begin."
The Great Man picked up himself and his hat and sat down carefully upon the farthermost edge of a three-legged chair.
William, holding the mangled remains of an exercise book in his hand, strode forward.
"'The Bloody Hand,' by William Brown," he announced in a resonant voice.
"Well, an' wot about us?" said the heroine shrilly.
"You didn't write it, did you?" said William. "I'm only saying who wrote it."
"Well, aren't you going to say who axe it?" she said pugnaciously.
"No, I'm not!" said the stage-manager firmly. "You jus' say the one wot wrote it. You don't go on saying all them wot axe it."
"Well, I'm not going to be in it, then," she said. "I'm going home."