Eliphalet was not an author, and he began to work tentatively. But after a while he found that to give any real tone value to the scenes and characters it was necessary to carry out very extensive alterations. It is possible to keep gold-fish in an aviary. In certain elements only a certain class of life can exist. Influences in one breath to say “Chuck it and clear out” in the next. Wherefore, for every line Eliphalet altered there arose an immediate obligation to alter a hundred succeeding lines. And this duty, with the aid of his reference library, i.e., the Repertory Plays, he most conscientiously performed.
But, alas! with the change of text came a fresh trouble. Situations had to be re-constructed to fit the new psychology. Nothing daunted, Eliphalet dipped afresh into his old lore, and emerged with stilted and stereotyped scenes which he faithfully paraphrased and transplanted.
And the finished article bore about as much resemblance to “A Man’s Way” as a cow to a nightingale.
Poor Eliphalet Cardomay! The quicksands of tradition would not let him go.
“Yes,” said Freddie Manning, “it’s more like our usual stuff now.” He took out a cigarette, which he licked thoughtfully before lighting “But I was thinking——”
“What?” said Eliphalet.
“Hasn’t it struck you, Guv’nor, that the title ‘A Man’s Way,’ doesn’t fit any longer?”
Eliphalet looked quite scared.
“But I like the title enormously. It’s so original—er—modern.”
“But it don’t belong, Guv’nor. It gives the wrong idea.”