“It would—and not a cent to pay, either.”
Eliphalet leant back and rubbed his fingers together.
“ ‘The Vespers?’ ” he spoke the title lovingly. “Why, Manning, it must be twenty years since I played ‘The Vespers.’ Ah, Manning, they knew how to write—those old ’uns. They had poetry, understanding. This ultra-modern business is all wrong, Manning, all wrong.”
“It’s all wrong for us, Guv’nor.” He did not overstress the “us,” but it had a meaning which Eliphalet was not slow to perceive.
“Let the cobbler stick to his last,” he said.
Manning rose abruptly.
“Well, I’ll send Lennard a letter and return the script.”
“No,” said Eliphalet, “I’ll do that.”
Manning eyed him doubtfully.
“You are under no obligation to pay him anything, Guv’nor.”