“Primarily I have succeeded in doing what I wanted, and that was to convince you that I am no ordinary man. Secondly, I want to produce your play, ‘Witches,’ and if you will ask me to sit down for a minute I shall prove beyond argument why I am the only person who can do it justice.”
Lane Quiltan gestured Wynne to a chair, and seated himself.
“Fire away!” he said; “but I am afraid your chances are small. The play is already in the hands of Max Levis.”
“I know.”
“You seem pretty well acquainted with my affairs.”
“On the contrary, I know nothing about them. I knew Levis had the play, because I borrowed his copy without permission while the fellow was feeding.”
“Do you generally do things like that?”
“I have no general practices. I act as the inclination suggests. In this case it is fortunate for both of us that I did.”
“For both of us?”
“Certainly, for I mean to produce ‘Witches.’ ”