“We must not consider only ourselves in these matters,” said Eliphalet gravely. “A large percentage of the audience rely for their pleasure exclusively upon this branch of the entertainment.”
“But I can’t see how I’m to get it in with the people as I’ve written them, Mr. Cardomay.”
“Then write some more—we have quite a large company.”
“What sort?”
Eliphalet fixed his eyes on the ceiling.
“A good deal of harmless fun,” he said, “can be extracted from highly-characterised domestic servants of opposite sexes. Their mispronunciation of words, their little amours, and perhaps some good-natured horseplay among the chairs and tables.”
“Are you serious, sir?”
“I am seriously suggesting a vein of humour. And now, Mr. Lennard, if you will consider these minor alterations, I trust we shall come to an arrangement satisfactory to you and to myself.”
Mr. Lennard rose and fumbled with his hat.
“I—I’ll do what I can,” he said. Then, with unexpected courage, “But how would it be if you produced the play as it is?”