Quiltan laughed.
“At least you are persistent,” he said.
“I am, and you are not. You take things too easily, because you’ve all this”—he made an embracing gesture. “You are too sure, Mr. Quiltan, I know. You write this play and direct it to Max Levis, and then, because fame and money are merely accessories in your life, you take no further interest in the matter.”
“How do you arrive at that conclusion?”
“Simply enough. Why did you send the play to Levis? Do you admire his work so inordinately?”
“I know very little about him.”
“Exactly. Would you hand over a best child to be taught by some one who might be an idiot for all you knew? Two years ago Max Levis was a diamond buyer—what the devil should he know about plays?”
“He engages competent people to produce them.”
“And takes forty per cent. for doing so. Do you consider he is more qualified to engage competent people than you are?”
“I have never thought about it.”