The Devil. Salomé, listen to me. Be reasonable. Do not interrupt me. I will give you William Archer’s head. He is charming—a cultivated, liberal-minded critic. He is
too liberal. He admires Stephen Phillips. I will give you his dear head if you release me from my oath.
Salomé. I want Mr. Redford’s head on the top of a four-wheel cab. Remember your oath!
The Devil. I remember I swore at—I mean by—the dramatic critics. Well, I am offering them to you. Exquisite and darling Salomé, I will give you the head of Max Beerbohm. It is unusually large, but it is full of good things. What a charming ornament for your mantelpiece! You will be in the movement. How every one will envy you! People will call upon you who never used to call. Others will send you invitations. You will at last get into English society.
Salomé. I want Mr. Redford’s head on the top of a four-wheel cab.
The Devil. Salomé, come hither. Have you ever looked at the Daily Mirror? Only in the Daily Mirror should one look. For it tells the truth sometimes. Well, I will give you the head of Hamilton Fyfe. He is my best friend. No critic is so fond of the drama as Hamilton Fyfe. (Huskily.) Salomé, I
will give you W. L. Courtney’s head. I will give you all their heads.
Salomé. I have the scalps of most critics. I want Mr. Redford’s head on a four-wheel cab.
The Devil. Salomé! You do not know what you ask. Mr. Redford is a kind of religion. He represents the Lord Chamberlain. You know the dear Lord Chamberlain. You would not harm one of his servants, especially when they are not insured. It would be cruel. It would be irreligious. It would be in bad taste. It would not be respectable. Listen to me; I will give you all Herod’s Stores . . . Salomé. Shannon was right. You have taken too much, or you would not ask this thing. See, I will give you Mr. Redford’s body, but not his head. Not that, not that, my child.
Salomé. I want Mr. Redford’s head on a four-wheel cab.